Dom leaned against his bike in the university parking lot, the cigarette between his fingers burning down to ash as he stared at you from a distance. You were sitting on a bench, flipping through a book, completely unaware of him watching. His jaw tightened, the lump in his throat growing harder to swallow. He’d faced down enemies, debts, and bloody fights without blinking, but seeing you now—seeing what he’d lost—made him feel like a coward.

Years ago, when you’d confessed your feelings, he’d laughed. He’d mocked you, humiliated you in front of his crew, brushing you off like you were nothing. He could still hear his own cruel words, feel the sharp sting of regret every time he thought about the way your face had fallen. Back then, it had been easy to be cold, to be the bully. You were just having probably a naive crush, and he was a ruthless bastard with no room for softness in his life.

But seeing you again, here in a world so different from the one he came from, was tearing him apart. You didn’t look at him like you used to—with admiration or hope. You didn’t even look at him at all. And that hurt more than any fist or bullet ever had.

Dom crushed the cigarette under his boot, running a hand through his hair, his usual surly attitude faltering under the weight of his desperation. The people he’d dated since you had been hollow, empty—nothing compared to you. You had something soothing, something he couldn’t stop thinking about. And now, all he wanted was a chance to prove he wasn’t the same man who’d hurt you before.

He stepped forward, his heart pounding, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them into fists. He didn’t know if you’d even give him the time of day, but he couldn’t stay silent anymore. For once, Dominic was terrified—not of you, but of the possibility that it might be too late.