He was so cold, so intense, it felt like my heart was seizing in my chest.

Emotions crashed over me like a tidal wave, and my tears broke through. They spilled down my cheeks, uncontrollable. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

For a second, it felt like I couldn't even breathe—like something was lodged in my throat, cutting off all air.

I didn't want him to see me this weak. I bit down hard on my lower lip, trying to hold myself together.

We stared at each other for a few long, heavy seconds before Matthew finally broke the silence. His voice was low, tight, barely holding back the fury simmering underneath.

"Your clothes. What happened?"

There was a time when I would've thrown myself into his arms, sobbing, telling him how badly I'd screwed up and waited for him to fix it all like he always did.

But that version of me was gone. I didn't need saving. I needed to stand on my own, to live like a real person. I had to sever this toxic dependency once and for all.

I dropped my gaze, letting my thick lashes cast shadows over my cheeks, and tried to keep my voice as calm and flat as possible.

"I dropped the fruit tray. The customer got pissed and decided to 'warn' me."

Matthew's sharp eyes bore into me, trying to read between the lines.

"Who? Luca Romano?"

His voice dropped even lower, laced with a quiet menace that made my skin crawl.

I flinched instinctively.

But after a beat, I shook my head. "No. He's obsessed with looks—probably wishes his eyes could float above everyone else. Just glancing my way would probably offend his precious standards. He'd never lay a finger on me."

That, at least, was the truth.

Matthew's tense expression eased just slightly. The pressure in the room lifted a fraction.

But he wasn't done.

His eyes landed on my neck, where the rip in my jacket revealed the edge of my new tattoo.

"The tattoo. Why?" he asked, zeroing in on the butterfly peeking through the fabric.

I lifted my chin and met his gaze, refusing to look away. My voice didn't waver.

"I thought it looked pretty."

But my body betrayed me—I trembled just a little.

"Pretty?" he scoffed, his laugh cruel and cutting. Behind the glint of his glasses, his eyes turned razor sharp. "Did you already forget what I told you? Kaylee—you don't need to be pretty. You can't let anyone know how pretty you are."

His words hit like a curse, dragging me back into a pit of fear I thought I'd escaped.

Since I turned sixteen and started to develop curves, he hadn't let me show my face to the world.

He'd watched me with that same look—dark, warning, and something else I couldn't name. Something possessive.

"Pretty girls," he once told me, "are like walking naked into a pack of starving wolves. Those men will tear you to pieces and lick their fingers clean."

And to drive it home, he'd taken me—on purpose—to those secret places. Places soaked in lust and shadows and whispered deals.

He made me watch it all unfold through a cold, one-way mirror.

It was raw. Violent. Ugly. Nothing beautiful about it—just bodies crashing together like animals.

Even now, I couldn't bring myself to remember the details. It was like a nightmare that I wouldn’t dare touch.

I puked my guts out afterward. I was so sick, I ran a fever for days once I got home.

That same fear now sank its claws into me again. I could practically feel it wrapping around my heart, slithering through my veins like cold poison.

My voice shook, thick with tears. I couldn't stop it.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Matt... I messed up... it won't happen again..."

I didn't even know what I was saying anymore. "I don't want to be pretty... I don't..."

Maybe my fear... satisfied him.

Finally, the frost in Matthew's eyes started to fade.

He reached out and effortlessly pulled me away from the desk like I weighed nothing.

His hold was unyielding, controlling—but oddly careful. He wrapped me up in his arms like I was something fragile.

The familiar scent of him—spiced cigar smoke with a crisp, cold note of cologne—closed in around me.

Then his voice shifted—soft, coaxing, sweet like poisoned honey.

"Kay," he murmured, "I know I've been out of the country for three months. Business went sideways."

He sounded like he was explaining. Or maybe just calming down a skittish pet.

"I know you're upset. I've been gone too long. You're just acting out."

He thought this—all of this—was just me throwing a fit. That my need to escape, to break free, was just a little girl pouting because she missed her guardian.

How funny.

After all this time, he still didn't get me.

I tried to force a smile, but my face was stiff, frozen. Even that small gesture felt impossible.

This invisible cage he kept me in—I thought I'd outgrown it. But it still had me locked down tight.

"It's my fault. I made you wait too long, I—"

He leaned in, his breath brushing over my ear, deep and coaxing, almost seductive.

That touch sent a jolt through me like I'd been shocked.

My heart kicked hard against my ribs.

The wrinkled debt notebook I had been gripping—and the pen with it—slipped from my hands and hit the marble floor with a sharp clatter.

I didn't let him finish. Without hesitation, I shoved him—hard—right in the stomach.

Matthew stumbled back a step, a flicker of surprise flashing in his eyes behind his glasses.

"I'm not acting out." Even though I was trembling like a leaf in a storm, my voice came out cold as ice. "You're getting engaged. Ms. Romano is going to be your wife. You'll live together at the Modi Estate. You'll have kids. I just want to stay out of your way."

The room fell silent. Everything went still, like the air had frozen solid.

But it was the truth—undeniable and brutal. And it marked the beginning of the end for us.

He saved me when he was only twenty.

Armed with nothing but grit and a pretty face, he clawed his way to the top in this city of lust and power. And women? He never had a shortage of them.

In just three years, I'd watched eight of them cycle through his life.

None of them lasted more than three months.

And every time they were tossed aside, he gave the same reason—

I didn't like them.

"Boss Everett, Ms. Romano is here."

David's voice rang out from beyond the door, snapping the silence in half.

Matthew instinctively snapped, "Tell her to get the hell out!"