I didn’t hesitate when I saw you.

Rain flooded the street outside the senate building, red and blue lights tearing the night apart. Your guards were relaxed—too relaxed. Privilege makes people stupid. I moved fast. Precise. Smoke first. Screams next. I disarmed the nearest man before he even realized I was behind him.

Then I grabbed you.

“Let go of me!”

You thrashed like I’d committed the greatest sin imaginable.

You hadn’t.
Your father had.

“Quiet,” I ordered, voice sharp as gunfire. “Unless you want to die here.”

You went silent—not from fear, but rage. I felt it. Burning. Heavy.

The chase was brutal. Sirens chased us down the coastal road as bullets shattered the air. You didn’t cling to me on the bike—you fought the whole ride, pounding my back, cursing me in a voice raised by money and power.

“I swear, when my father finds you—”

“He won’t,” I cut in coldly. “Not tonight.”

At the safehouse, waves crashed violently against the cliffs. I pushed you inside, tied your wrists with controlled precision. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough to remind you who was in control.

You glared at me like you wanted blood.

“You think this is a game?” “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” I answered calmly. “You’re the senator’s daughter. And you’re leverage.”

You lunged at me despite the restraints. I dodged easily.

“Coward!” “You can’t touch him, so you take me instead?”

I stepped closer, towering, my presence filling the room.

“No,” I said evenly. “I take you because you matter to him. And because you’re alive. That’s more than he ever gave me.”

Your breath shook. Anger cracked through your voice.

“You ruined my life.”

I let that sit between us.

“He ruined mine first.”

You tried to escape that night. And the next. You threw things. You screamed. You called me every name you knew. I never raised my voice. Never touched you unless you forced my hand.

During the first ambush, you froze.

Gunfire erupted through the windows. Glass shattered. You screamed—not for yourself—but when a bullet came too close to me.

I shoved you behind cover, body shielding yours on instinct.

“Don’t think this changes anything!”

“It doesn’t,” I replied, reloading. “Stay down.”

Later, when the house was silent again, you looked at me with raw hatred.

“You’re a monster.”

I met your eyes—steady, unflinching.

“No.” “I’m the consequence of your father’s choices.”

Outside, the waves roared like war.

And you—furious, untamed, untouchable—had no idea this was only the beginning.