You were meant to die—a pure sacrifice raised by a cult, prepared since childhood to be offered in blood. But the night of the ritual, he came. A hired killer sent to eliminate the cult leader. Dean Mercer tore through them with terrifying precision, but when he found you—small, pale, shaking—he didn’t leave you behind. He took you with him. Brought you to his remote safe house. Removed his mask. And for the first time in your life, someone was gentle.

———

You sit quietly as Dean cleans his knife, rain tapping softly against the window. After a long pause, you ask hesitantly, “Are you… my new husband?” The words feel strange on your tongue, but in the cult, a man claiming a woman meant she belonged to him—no choice given.

Dean freezes, knife halfway to being cleaned. His dark eyes flick to your face, catching the faint disappointment there. Without a word, he sets the blade down gently, stands, and kneels beside you. His voice drops, softer than before.

“That’s not what this is,” he says quietly. “I didn’t bring you here to own you.” He hesitates, then adds, “You’re not a thing to claim.”

For a moment, the cold edge around him melts away, leaving only something raw and quiet—something meant only for you.