Ference froze, breath ragged, fury burning in his eyes.
The elevator doors slid open with a metallic click. Thomas Mason stepped into the lobby.
“What a pleasure to see you again, my little one,” he said smoothly. “Bring her to the apartment.”
The men grabbed me and shoved me forward, guns fixed on us. Ference was forced in beside me, steel pressed to his skull.
Inside the apartment, Ference was thrown to the ground and beaten without mercy. I screamed, tried to reach him, but Mason shoved me down onto the couch. My shoulder slammed against the edge, pain shooting through me. His hand clamped down on my thigh, sliding higher with cold possession.
A raw, animal sound tore from Ference’s throat. Despite the blows, despite the blood streaking his face, he forced himself to his knees. “Let her go, you piece of shit!” he snarled.
Mason only laughed—low, arrogant, vile—pinning me with one hand while drawing his gun with the other. He aimed at Ference like he was nothing. Then, with a sudden twist, he leveled the barrel at me.
My heart lurched. His finger slid across the trigger. A small, mechanical click split the air. Not loud—louder than anything. Cold dread shot through me. I knew, in that second, I was going to die.
I froze, lungs locked tight.
Ference broke free, desperation blazing in his movements. I screamed, one single, ragged cry, as he hurled himself between Mason and me.
Everything happened at once—a crash, a gunshot, a dull thud. Ference staggered back, his hands clutching his chest where blood already poured through his fingers. His eyes locked on mine, full of pain, guilt, and something I knew would haunt me forever. His mouth opened as if to speak, but only a hoarse rattle slipped out.
“Miss… Daisy, I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible, before his legs buckled. He took the bullet meant for me and still apologized. Then sank to his knees. Mason sneered, cruel and contemptuous, and before Ference could rise one last time, a second shot thundered through the apartment. His body twitched once, then toppled sideways, still forever.
Blood spread across the floor, crawling like dark fingers toward everything it touched. My gaze stuck on him. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe. The world tilted, merciless. Ference was dead—because of me.
Despair stabbed through my chest, sharp and unrelenting. The impulse to run to him, to catch him, to hold him—even just to give him warmth in his last seconds—consumed me. He had died for me, without asking for anything in return. A scream burned inside, desperate to tell him thank you, or I’m sorry, or simply that he wasn’t alone. Not like this. Not because of me.
Mason shoved me back roughly, his grip trapping me where I stood. My heart pounded against my ribs, wild and brutal, each beat a painful drum. A faint whimper escaped my throat as my lungs fought for air, useless, failing. His hand clamped on my arm and yanked me to my feet with brutal force. All I felt was that deep, black hole yawning in my chest, widening—bottomless.
“Move, you little slut,” Mason snarled, dragging me past Ference’s lifeless body. I stumbled helplessly, my limbs refusing to obey, while his iron grip gave me no escape. He tore open the bathroom door and shoved me inside. I hit the cold tile hard, stars bursting behind my eyes. The door slammed shut.
Gasping, I lay on the floor as uncontrollable tremors shook me from the inside out. My pale hands looked like they belonged to someone else. Ference’s face flashed before my eyes—his gaze, his last attempt to reach me, his broken voice. A whimper broke from my throat. Curling onto my side, I pulled my knees tight against my chest, as if I could protect myself from what had happened, from what was yet to come. But the pain stayed, relentless, and it wouldn’t stop.
Time bled away, meaningless. Minutes, hours—it didn’t matter. I remained curled on the tiles, motionless, a heap of misery. My limbs felt numb, foreign, as though they were no longer part of me. My throat burned with suppressed sobs, each breath shallow and ragged, but I didn’t move. I should have done something. Anything. Screamed, fought, run. Instead, I lay there, useless, pathetic, while Ference...
A violent shudder ripped through me. Because of me, he was out there. Because of me, he was dead. My fingers clawed at my dress as if I could dig the pain out of myself, but nothing worked. The thought cut deeper and deeper: I should have saved him. I should have stopped it. But I had failed.
Suddenly, sounds shattered the silence. The door flung open, and I stared straight into the barrel of a gun. Mason’s hand fisted in my hair and yanked me out of the bathroom. With a vicious jerk, he threw me onto the couch and pinned me down, his grip cruel and unyielding.
“Your boyfriend is here,” he hissed, calm and venomous, eyes glittering with delight.
The elevator doors opened. Damian stepped inside. For a heartbeat, the world froze. He stared directly into the barrel of a gun. My heart pounded up into my throat, each breath sharp and jagged. Mason sat beside me, his grip brutal. Another man aimed his gun at my head, the cold metal inches away.
Damian’s gaze landed on Ference’s body. For a heartbeat, he went utterly still. Then something broke. Not loud, not visible-but I felt it. His eyes widened, as if the world had just split open in front of him. Every muscle in his face locked; pain and disbelief flashed through him, raw and violent, before his jaw tightened hard enough to tremble. His breath hitched. His hands shook-barely-but I saw it, And in that single, shattering second, I was afraid. Afraid he might lose control. Afraid he’d make one wrong move—one that could cost him everything.The man I loved, the man who could command a room with a glance, looked suddenly… human. Broken.
It wasn’t rage that froze him. It was grief. A deep, unbearable kind of grief that hollowed out the space between us. I wanted to run to him—to say I’m sorry, even though the words would have meant nothing. But before I could move, it happened.
Something shifted.The pain vanished behind a wall of steel. His fury iced over into deadly calm.When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but every word pulsed with restrained violence.
“Let her go.”
Mason grinned and pressed me harder into the couch.
“Or what?” he sneered, leaning closer. “If you move, little lioness, I’ll order my men to put a bullet in his head. Do you understand?” He yanked my hair until tears pricked my eyes. “Do. You. Understand.”
“Yes,” I stammered, trembling.
Mason’s hand slid down my body and shoved my dress upward until my underwear was exposed.
