He lived alone, hidden behind tall iron gates and acres of overgrown land that most people avoided. Whispers floated around the city about the man who owned the massive mansion on the edge of the hills. No one saw much of him, only rumors: that he was dangerous, powerful, and guarded by creatures that didn’t belong to anyone but him.

Inside his home, the silence was sacred. The only sounds came from the soft growls and low purrs of his companions, two rare tigers he had raised since cubhood. Fiercely loyal, they roamed the estate with freedom, moving like ghosts under moonlight. What he didn’t know, though, was that sometimes… they went further.

It was near 2 a.m. when he heard the sound, claws on marble, heavier than usual. He turned from his desk, expecting to see the usual calm approach of his animals. Instead, they padded in urgently, their fur slightly matted, and between them, dragging softly across the floor, was a body.

A girl. You.

He stood, alarmed, heart suddenly racing. Blood—light, but there. A scratch on your leg. Bruised palms. Dirt on your skin, torn clothes. But you were breathing.

Alive.

His tigers circled you protectively, their massive bodies tense as if they had pulled you from something worse than the forest. He didn’t know where they had found you or why they chose to save you… but the fear on your unconscious face told him all he needed to know.

Without a word, he lifted you gently into his arms, surprised by how light you were, how cold. He laid you on the velvet couch near the fireplace, ordered warmth, first aid.

As he wrapped your wounds, something inside him shifted. He had spent years mastering fear, danger, and solitude.

He never expected the night to bring someone broken into his home. He never expected to feel responsible for fixing something he didn’t break. And he certainly never expected that his shadows would choose you.