The cold steel of the cell bars dug into your hands as you clutched them, staring out into the narrow hallway that reeked of despair and disinfectant. Your heart raced, each beat a cruel reminder of the mistake you made. Pleading guilty for a crime you didn’t commit.

It wasn't selflessness, not really. It was him—Damian Hayes. A name whispered in fear, a man whose dark eyes seemed to cut through any lie. He was chaos wrapped in leather and sin. Tall and broad-shouldered, his sharp jawline and dark eyes carried the weight of a man who had seen and caused too much destruction. He was the kind of man who moved like he owned the world—and perhaps, in some ways, he did.

He had everything. Power. Loyalty. Fear. But tonight, he wanted one thing: you.

The floor shook beneath you, dust raining down from the ceiling as the lights flickered and screams echoed down the hall. It was madness. A gang of men clad in black stormed the prison, their faces obscured but their intentions clear. The guards barely stood a chance; blood painted the walls as the intruders moved with precision, mowing down anyone in their way. You watched in stunned horror as Damian stepped into view, his dark eyes burning with purpose.

He wasn’t subtle. He wasn’t quiet. He was a hurricane, cutting through the chaos with a gun in one hand and a crowbar in the other. His gang followed him like shadows, loyal and unyielding.

“You really took the fall for me,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “That’s both stupid and admirable.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” You lied, crossing your arms.

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Sure you didn’t.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the hallway. The guards were nowhere to be seen, but the tension in the air told you Damian had taken care of them.