The thought of him touching her—breathing the same air—boiled in his blood.
She deserved so much more.
She deserved him.
Every choice she made, every scar etched into her skin, every silent battle fought in the dark,
They painted her in colors so raw, so vivid, he burned to look at her.
Little Fire.
She thought she had hidden the cracks in her armor.
But he saw them.
He had traced them.
Memorized them.
They weren’t imperfections.
They were exquisite.
They were hers.
And that made them his.
A slow,creeping smile curled at his lips.
She had no idea.
How long he’d been watching.
How deep the hooks had sunk.
How far from safe she truly was.
His fingers drummed violentlyagainst the desk, his pulse thudding in his ears.
He scrolled through the files again, studying her past like scripture.
Her nursing days.
The way she’d clawed her way free.
And deeper still—the childhood nightmares she never spoke of.
A father whose rage and addiction left invisible scars.
A mother who had stood by, silent and complicit.
Arden had been forged in that fire.
She emerged strong. Unyielding.
But not untouched.
The fools circling her now? They didn’t even recognize that kind of fire.
