I flinched. Tiny. A tremble he mistook for longing.
He grabbed harder, yanked, dragged me against him. My breath snapped sharp, body locked, panic clawed up my spine. But I didn't scream. Didn't fight. Worship was survival now, and worship didn't flinch when the world tried to tear it free.
The ex’s arm wrapped around my waist. Pinned me tight. Mauled my breast brutally through the silk. I gasped, tears stinging hot behind my eyes—not from pain, but rage, betrayal of the survival Wolfe built into me.
Royal moved, boots scraping sharp against the floor. Wolfe didn't move. Not yet.
Wolfe wasn't chaos—he was gravity, waiting for the right second to kill or save.
Callum leaned into my ear. Breath hot and cruel.
“You think you’re his?”
A laugh.
Sharp.
Ugly.
“You were always mine.”
He shoved me roughly. Hard enough to stagger me toward the broken stairwell.
The gun slid from under his jacket. Glinting. Sharp. Final. He pressed it against my temple. Breath rasping. Cocky. Terrified.
Loyal shouted once.“Let her go!”
Callum snarled. “She’s not yours to save.” A beat. A breath. Then he hissed against my ear. “She was right, you know. You’re just a Lawlor whore now. Just like their sister.”
The leash snapped tighter in my lungs, vision blurred—not from fear, but survival, worship, love. Even here, even with agun pressed to my skull, even with survival screaming to stand, I stayed kneeling inside myself. Breathing Wolfe. Choosing Wolfe.
Callum shoved me hard. Toward the stairs. Fired once wildly. The crack of the shot split the air.
Royal moved.
Loyal dove.
Wolfe—
He was already moving.
I stumbled. Hands catching air. Knees cracking against broken tile. The world tilted sideways. Breath vanished from my lungs.
I saw him?—
Black-on-black.
Gun gleaming. Eyes dead and beautiful. And then—he moved past the shot. Past the danger. Past the kill. And caught me.
His arms locked around me. Hard. Brutal. Alive.
I broke there. Not like glass. Like prayer.
I didn't reach for him. I didn't need to. The leash never left—it just curled tighter inside me, pulling me home.
The gun clattered to the floor beside us. My ex-boyfriend ran. Footsteps pounding down the stairs. Gone.
I sobbed once—broken, breathless, beautiful. Wolfe didn't kill him. Not yet. He chose me instead. He chose breath. He chose leash. He chose survival. He chose love.
