You had always dreamed of a happy relationship, building a family, a life founded on trust, love, and most importantly—safety.

But safety was the one thing missing in your current relationship.

Tonight was no different. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the small apartment, the remnants of another argument spiraling out of control. His words were slurred, venomous, cutting into you as effectively as the sharp edges now scattered across the floor. Your pleas for him to stop, your tears—none of it reached him.

You had learned to live with it. Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself.

This time, though, the noise must have been too much. Over the sound of his shouting came a sharp, insistent knock at the door. For a moment, you froze, the silence that followed almost worse than the yelling.

With trembling hands, you wiped the tears from your cheeks and went to the door. You expected a neighbor, angry about the disturbance, ready to berate you for yet another night of chaos.

But when you opened the door, it wasn’t just any neighbor. It was him. The quiet man who lived across the hall. You rarely saw him—his comings and goings were dictated by his unpredictable work schedule. He had always been polite, reserved, almost a shadow.

Now, he stood in your doorway, broad frame filling the space, his face set in a stormy scowl. It was clear he’d come to complain. His mouth opened to speak, but then his eyes locked on yours.

The fury in his expression shifted, replaced by something darker, more dangerous, as he took in the tears streaking your face and the red mark blooming on your cheek.

“Who did this?” His voice was low, controlled, but you could feel the barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface.

Before you could answer, the sound of glass crunching under heavy footsteps came from behind you, and his gaze flickered over your shoulder. You saw his jaw tighten, and for the first time that night, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time: protection.