Seraphina sat against the rough bark of a tree, her back supported but her body drained.
She took out her phone, trying to call someone—anyone.
No signal.
She sighed, her fingers tightening around the device before tucking it away. She was alone.
The night had fully settled in, and with it came a biting chill. She rubbed her arms, scanning her surroundings, searching for anything—any clue, any tool, any way out.
But the darkness stretched endlessly.
No landmarks. No paths. No way to tell where she had come from.
She exhaled, steadying her breath. Panicking wouldn't help.
So, she sat still, gathering her strength, letting her body relax just for a moment.
And that's when she heard it.
Footsteps.
The crunch of dry leaves under heavy boots.
Her body stiffened, instincts kicking in.
Her fingers curled around the handle of her knife, ready.
But before she could strike, a hand caught her wrist—strong, firm, stopping her instantly.
A low, mocking voice followed.
"A young, injured girl all alone in the forest."
She scanned his face immediately—a stranger.
A predator.
His lips curled into a smirk, amused by her situation.
"Hey, pretty girl, need some help?"
Seraphina's heart pounded, but she didn't react—just observed.
He was enjoying this.
His hand reached toward her face, fingers ready to touch—
Wrong move.
In a flash, she grabbed a nearby stone and slammed it against his head.
A sickening thud. Blood.
The man stumbled, groaning as he fell to the ground.
Seraphina pushed herself up, her legs trembling, but she had no choice. She had to move.
She turned—only to feel a sudden, brutal push from behind.
Her body hit the ground hard, pain exploding through her limbs.
She turned quickly, and that's when she saw him.
The man was already getting back up. His face twisted in rage, blood dripping down the side of his head.
And now—he was furious.
He lunged toward her, hovering above, pinning her down.
Seraphina fought back, kicking, clawing, twisting under his weight— but her vision was already fading.
Her wounds. Her exhaustion. The blood loss.
Her body was failing her.
Darkness crept at the edges of her mind. Her strength slipping.
And then—a hand yanked at her shirt.
Her stomach twisted.
She grabbed his wrist, but he was stronger.
He yanked her hands away with ease.
And just as his fingers curled against the fabric of her clothes—
Another hand grabbed him.
In an instant, he was ripped off of her, thrown to the side like a rag doll.
A brutal punch landed square against his face, sending him staggering back.
The weight on her chest disappeared.
And through her blurring vision, through the haze of exhaustion and pain—
She saw him.
The figure standing between her and the threat. The one man she knew would find her.
Ezrin.
That was the last thing she saw—his silhouette, his fury, his presence towering over everything.
And then—
Darkness.
The moment Seraphina's body went limp, Ezrin's mind snapped.
Everything blurred except for the man in front of him.
The bastard who dared to touch her.
Ezrin's grip tightened as he yanked the man back up, rage burning through his veins like fire.
Then—he struck.
A brutal punch to the stomach.
The man choked on impact, doubling over in pain—but Ezrin didn't stop.
He grabbed his collar and landed another, fist connecting with his jaw.
Then another.
And another.
"You dare touch her?" Ezrin growled, his voice low, dangerous—lethal.
Another punch.
Blood splattered against the ground, the man's groans turning into pained gasps.
"I'll rip you to pieces."
His rage consumed him.
His knuckles ached, but he didn't care.
He didn't care about control.
Didn't care about anything—except the fact that Seraphina was unconscious, hurt, because of him.
The man's body went limp under him, but Ezrin didn't stop.
Not until he wasn't breathing properly. Not until his face was unrecognizable.
Not until he was completely unconscious.
Ezrin exhaled harshly, his fists still clenched, his chest heaving with unspent fury.
But the moment he turned—
The moment his eyes landed on Seraphina's still form on the cold forest ground—
Everything shifted.
The rage drowned beneath something else.
Something colder. Darker.
And without hesitation, he moved toward her.
His breath slow, controlled—but inside, he was anything but calm.
She sat against the rough ground, unconscious, battered, vulnerable in a way he had never seen before.
He lowered himself, lifting her into his lap, his fingers brushing against her face, her blood-streaked skin, her pale lips.
His gaze trailed over every injury.
The wound on her head, where blood still oozed, matting her hair.
Her arm, where a deep cut ran along her skin.
Then, lower—her ankle, swollen and bruised.
Ezrin clenched his jaw, his fingers flexing against her waist.
And then, his eyes drifted to her neck.
To the mark he had left on her.
A dark, possessive stain on her skin, a contrast against the injuries that weren't his doing.
A dangerous mix of satisfaction and fury coiled in his chest.
Fury—because someone dared to hurt her.
Satisfaction—because the only mark that belonged on her was his.
He exhaled, long and slow, before shifting his hold and lifting her into his arms.
She was his.
And he wasn't letting anyone else touch her.
He carried her to his car, placing her carefully in the passenger seat. His fingers lingered on her cold skin for a second longer than necessary before he shut the door.
His mind was clear.
A hospital wasn't an option.
She wasn't safe there.
What if someone was tracking her? Watching her? Waiting for her to show up?
Ezrin didn't take risks with things that belonged to him.
And Seraphina—whether she wanted to admit it or not—belonged to him.
He started the car, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
His knuckles were still bloodied from the fight, his rage still simmering beneath the surface.
But for now, there was only one priority.
Getting her home.
The drive was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the space.
Seraphina remained unconscious beside him, her breathing shallow but steady.
Ezrin's grip on the wheel was tight, controlled—but inside, he was anything but calm.
Every time his gaze flickered to her—her bruised skin, her bleeding head, the deep cut on herarm—his fury burned hotter.
By the time he pulled into the underground parking of his penthouse, his mind had already made every decision.
He wasn't leaving her alone.
He wasn't letting anyone else handle this.
She was his responsibility.
His.
He stepped out, moving quickly to her side, opening the passenger door.
Then, without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms again.
Her body was light, fragile, but the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers grounded him.
The elevator ride was silent. He barely registered the passing floors.
The moment the doors slid open, he strode inside, heading straight to his room.
His bed.
Because there was no other place she belonged right now.
He lowered her onto the mattress carefully, his fingers brushing against her face for just a second longer than necessary.
Then, he got to work.
He grabbed the first aid kit, his movements precise as he cleaned the wound on her head.
The blood had dried in places, but it still looked fresh, still made his stomach tighten with something close to rage.
He cleaned it carefully, applying pressure where needed, bandaging it without hesitation.
Then, her arm.
The cut was deep, but not enough for stitches. Good.
By the time he was done, his hands were steady, but his mind was storming.
Then, he grabbed his phone.
Ezrin never called for help.
But this time, he did.
A doctor. Private. Discreet. Someone he trusted enough to treat her ankle without asking questions.
As he ended the call, he turned back to her.
She was still unconscious, still unaware of everything happening around her.
Ezrin leaned back against the chair beside the bed, his gaze locked onto her.
And for the first time that night—
He let himself feel it.
The pure, unfiltered rage.
Because whoever did this—whoever left her like this—
Was already dead.
They just didn't know it yet.
Ezrin sat beside the bed, his fingers curled into a tight fist as he watched Seraphina's motionless form.
Then, finally—the doorbell rang.
The doctor arrived, a trusted private physician.
Without wasting a second, Ezrin led him inside, straight to the bedroom where she lay, still unconscious.
The doctor worked silently, efficiently, checking her vitals before carefully treating her swollen ankle.
Ezrin didn't move, didn't blink. His gaze was locked on her, watching every single detail.
After several long minutes, the doctor let out a slow breath, his expression turning serious.
"It's not broken," the doctor finally said. "But it's still serious."
Ezrin's jaw clenched. "How bad?"
The doctor gently pressed against her ankle, checking for additional damage.
Seraphina's body twitched slightly in discomfort, but she remained unconscious.
"A severe sprain," the doctor confirmed. "The ligaments are strained, and there's a lot of swelling. She won't be able to walk for a while. If she puts weight on it, she'll make it worse."
Ezrin exhaled slowly.
She had been running. Fighting. Struggling to survive.
On an injured ankle.
His fingers flexed against the armrest of the chair. She was reckless.
Too reckless.
"How long until she recovers?" His voice was sharp, controlled—but underneath, his patience was cracking.
The doctor replied, "At least a week before she can start moving properly. She needs to keep weight off it for now, or the healing process will slow down. She has to rest."
Ezrin nodded once, already making a decision.
She wasn't going anywhere.
She was staying here.
With him.
The doctor carefully secured a brace around her ankle, ensuring it was firm but not too tight.
After checking her pulse and vitals one last time, he turned back to Ezrin.
"She's lost blood," he stated. "Not enough to be critical, but she's weak. She needs to eat healthy meals and hydrate properly."
Ezrin's fury returned instantly.
She didn't eat?
She had been running, fighting, bleeding—and she hadn't eaten?
His grip on the chair tightened, but he kept his voice even. "I'll take care of it."
The doctor gave a small nod, packing up his equipment.
But just as he reached the door, he paused, glancing at Seraphina again.
"One more thing," he said carefully.
Ezrin's sharp gaze flicked toward him. "What?"
The doctor sighed. "Her clothes."
Ezrin's expression darkened slightly.
The doctor continued, "They're dirty. The blood, the sweat—if she stays in them too long, she could get an infection. You need to change her into clean clothes."
Ezrin didn't answer immediately.
His gaze flickered back to her, taking in the torn, bloodstained fabric clinging to her frame.
His clothes. On her.
Something inside him stirred.
Something dangerous.
He exhaled slowly before giving a single nod. "I'll handle it."
The doctor gave a final glance at Seraphina before exiting, leaving Ezrin alone with her.
And now—
Now, he had a choice to make.
She couldn't move. She was completely under his care.
And whether she liked it or not—
She wasn't leaving his sight.
Ezrin exhaled slowly, rolling up his sleeves as he stood beside the bed.
Seraphina lay motionless, her breathing steady, but her body was a mess.
Blood. Dirt. Torn fabric clinging to her skin.
The doctor's words echoed in his head.
"She'll get an infection if you don't change her clothes."
Ezrin didn't hesitate. This wasn't a choice. It was a necessity.
He reached for the hem of her torn shirt, his fingers curling around the bloodstained fabric. His movements were precise, controlled—just like everything else he did.
He lifted her gently, pulling the shirt over her head in a single motion.
Bare skin. Bruises.
His expression remained unreadable as his gaze flickered over her injuries. A job. That's all this was.
He grabbed one of his shirts—black, loose, oversized. The fabric smelled like him, but he ignored that thought.
Sliding it over her head, he moved methodically, threading her arms through the sleeves.
Nothing more.
Next, her jeans. Torn, dirt-streaked, unwearable.
His jaw tightened slightly as he unfastened the button, dragging them down her legs. She didn't stir.
He replaced them with a pair of his sweatpants, tying the drawstring tighter so they wouldn't slip.
When he was done, he stepped back, staring down at her.
His shirt. His clothes. In his bed.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Then, without another glance, he turned and left the room.
He had done what was necessary.
Nothing more.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Ezrin sat in the lounge, one hand gripping the armrest of the couch, the other resting against his temple. But he couldn't calm himself.
The silence of the penthouse felt suffocating.
His mind was a storm—flashes of her bruises, the blood, the way she had looked so damn fragile in his arms.
His fists clenched.
She was reckless. Too reckless.
And yet, the thought of her lying in his bed, alone, injured, vulnerable—
It was unbearable.
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay.
She's fine. She's resting. She needs to recover.
But the pull was there—strong, relentless.
His patience snapped.
Ezrin got up, his movements sharp, precise, but purposeful.
Without a second thought, he strode back to his room.
She was exactly where he left her—dressed in his clothes, breathing evenly, unaware of the war in his mind.
His gaze darkened as he moved toward the bed, his control hanging by a thread.
And then—he gave in.
He slid onto the mattress beside her, the space between them disappearing as he turned toward her.
One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him.
Her body was warm, soft against him.
For the first time that night, his tension eased.
She fit against him too perfectly.
His grip tightened just slightly, possessive.
Tomorrow—she had a lot to answer for.
So, she better prepare herself.
But for now—
She was exactly where she belonged.
Next morning.
Seraphina stirred awake, her body feeling heavy, weak. A dull ache spread through her limbs, her ankle throbbing in protest as she tried to shift.
But she couldn't move.
Something firm, warm, unrelenting, was wrapped around her waist.
Her eyes fluttered open, her hazy mind catching up.
And then—she froze.
Ezrin.
She was in his bed.
In his room. In his clothes. In his arms.
Her breath hitched, her heart pounding against her ribs.
What the hell—
Her mind flashed back to the night before.
The forest. The fight. The man trying to—
A violent shiver ran down her spine before she could stop it.
But she forced herself to focus.
Right now, she needed to get out of this bed.
Slowly, carefully, she tried to shift away, pushing against his arm.
And then—his grip tightened.
Firm. Unyielding.
A deep, rough morning voice murmured behind her ear.
"Don't you dare."
Seraphina's breath caught.
Her body went rigid, her fingers gripping the sheets.
Ezrin didn't loosen his hold. Didn't move.
She could feel his warmth seeping into her skin, his presence engulfing her.
She knew she should say something—protest, push him away, anything.
But right now?
Right now, she wasn't sure she could.
Seraphina's pulse pounded in her ears.
She could feel everything.
The warmth of his body pressed against hers. The firm grip around her waist. The steady rhythm of his breathing, far too calm while she was anything but.
"Let go, Ezrin." Her voice was steady, but her body betrayed her.
He didn't move. Didn't even flinch.
Instead, his grip tightened just slightly, possessively.
"Not happening." His voice was still heavy from sleep, but there was something else in it. Something dangerous.
Seraphina swallowed, her mind racing.
She had to get out of this bed.
She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing—but he didn't budge.
"Ezrin." Her tone sharpened.
That got a reaction.
His head dipped closer, his breath brushing against her exposed neck.
"You're not going anywhere, Seraphina."
A shiver ran down her spine, but this time—not from fear.
Her teeth clenched. "I need to get up."
Ezrin finally moved—but not to let her go.
Instead, he turned her onto her back, hovering slightly over her, one arm still locked around her waist.
His dark eyes burned into hers, intense, unreadable.
"No, what you need—" his fingers brushed against her wrist, "—is to answer my questions."
Seraphina's breath caught.
This was what she had been dreading.
Ezrin leaned in closer, his voice dropping.
"Start talking, Seraphina. Now."
Seraphina's breath was unsteady, her mind scrambling for control.
Ezrin was too close, too overpowering. His arm was still locked around her waist, his weight caging her in.
Her pulse betrayed her, racing under his unrelenting stare.
"Start talking, Seraphina. Now."
She hesitated.
She had already played this moment in her mind, trying to figure out what to say. But now that she was here, pinned beneath his gaze, the words weren't coming easily.
Ezrin's eyes narrowed slightly, impatience flickering through the cold sharpness of his expression.
"Hesitation isn't a good look on you." His fingers traced the edge of her wrist, just barely grazing her skin."Talk."
Seraphina exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus.
"It started at the meeting." Her voice was softer than usual, and she hated it.
Ezrin said nothing, but the way his grip tightened told her everything.
She swallowed and continued.
"They were discussing a money transaction, but the way they spoke—it was obvious it wasn't just about business. It was another deal for a researcher."
Ezrin's jaw ticked.
She took a breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I was observing everything, every detail. But then—" she hesitated, shifting slightly under his hold.
Ezrin's fingers tightened around her waist."Keep going."
Seraphina nodded, biting her lip for a second before continuing.
"The man leading the deal… he looked at me. Not just a glance—he knew something. Icould feel it."
Ezrin's eyes darkened.
Seraphina could tell he was already piecing things together.
"So, I followed him." Her voice was quieter now, but her nerves were clear.
Ezrin's grip on her waist turned almost punishing.
"You what?" His tone dropped, deadly quiet.
Seraphina's throat went dry. Now came the part that would set him off completely.
Ezrin's entire body tensed.
His grip on her tightened, his jaw clenched so hard it could crack.
"You. Followed. Him?" His voice was low, dangerous—lethal.
Seraphina swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against the sheets.
"I had to."
Ezrin's breath was slow, measured—but the storm in his eyes was anything but calm.
"You had to?" His fingers twitched against her waist. "Tell me, Seraphina, did you also have to get yourself nearly killed?"
She knew his anger wasn't just anger. It was something worse.
It was personal.
Seraphina forced herself to meet his gaze."I was careful—"
"No, you weren't." His voice was sharp, cutting through her words. "If you were, you wouldn't have ended up unconscious in the middle of a damn forest."
Seraphina flinched slightly at his tone, but she didn't break.
Ezrin exhaled, forcing himself to calm down.
Losing control now wouldn't get him the rest of the answers.
His grip loosened—just barely."Keep talking."
Seraphina nodded, shifting slightly, her body still aching from the night before.
"I followed him in a cab. He led me to an abandoned research lab."
Ezrin's eyes darkened further.
"Inside," she continued, "I saw them. The missing researchers. The ones we thought were dead."
Ezrin's expression turned unreadable."They were alive?"
Seraphina nodded slowly. "Yes. But they weren't... normal. They were working like robots—empty, mindless. Like they weren't even aware of themselves anymore."
Silence.
Ezrin's fingers tapped lightly against her hip. Calculating. Processing.
"And then?"
Seraphina's voice was quieter now. "Then he found me."
Ezrin stilled.
"The man from the meeting?"
She nodded. "He attacked me. I fought back, but he had a knife. I managed to stab him in the leg and escape, but... he caught me before I could get far. I fell, hit my head, and after that" her throat tightened slightly, "I ran. But my body gave up. That's when... that man found me."
Ezrin's grip on her tightened again.This time, his rage wasn't just directed at her.
Seraphina felt it.
He wasn't just angry. He was barely holding himself together.
Ezrin's voice was dangerously calm. "And then he tried to—"
Seraphina cut in."But he didn't."
Ezrin didn't look convinced.
Her fingers instinctively gripped the fabric of his shirt, her voice quieter."Because you got there first."
That did something to him.
Ezrin exhaled slowly, his jaw tight, his control slipping at the edges.
But he didn't move. Didn't react.
Instead, he looked straight at her.
"You're never doing something like this again."
Seraphina's lips parted slightly, but no words came.
Because for the first time, his voice wasn't just commanding.
It was a warning.