Good morning

He knelt before her, his eyes locking onto her swollen, tear-streaked face. A sharp pang of pain pierced his heart, an unfamiliar ache he didn't welcome. Gently, he placed a finger beneath her chin, tilting her head so she'd meet his gaze. His voice, low and soothing, carried a promise. "Don't cry, little girl. You're safe now. I don't want to see those tears."

But his words only broke her further. She sobbed like a child who'd held her grief too long. "Wh…why were you so late?" she stammered between hiccupping cries. "I thought you wouldn't come. I thought I would d-die. Why did you leave me alone?"

Her words tumbled out in a torrent of raw pain, spoken as if she had every right to demand answers from him. And he listened, as though she truly did. He leaned closer, his voice a soft murmur as he vowed, "I'll make them pay for every tear they caused you. Every single one."

Her sobs faltered for a moment as his words sank in. She looked up at him, her large, doe-like eyes glistening with unshed tears. Then, with a sniffle, she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him like he was her anchor in a storm. "Don't," she whimpered. "Don't hurt them. They'll hurt you too."

Her innocence stunned him. Worry for him? After what she'd endured? He chuckled softly, his large hands resting on her trembling shoulders as he gently pulled back to look at her. "You're worried about me?" he asked, amusement flickering in his tone. "No one's ever done that before."

She blinked up at him, momentarily forgetting her tears. "I'm not a little girl," she muttered, her lips trembling. "I'm a grown woman."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Alright, grown woman," he teased lightly. "You need rest. Sleep now, hmm?"

He helped her lie down, tucking the sheets around her. But just as he stood to leave, her soft sobs reached his ears again.

"Don't go," she whispered, clutching at his sleeve with trembling hands. "Please… I'm scared."

His steps faltered, his chest tightening. After a moment of thought, he sighed and shrugged off his jacket. Without a word, he lifted her frail form, settling her on the other side of the bed. He sat down, resting his back against the headboard, and gently pulled her closer, laying her head on his lap. His hand stroked her hair in soothing motions. "I'm not going anywhere," he reassured her softly.

Her fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt, holding him close even as sleep claimed her. Watching her fragile form relax, he rested his head back, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. This little girl, this fragile woman, had the power to both unsettle and calm him in ways he never thought possible.

---

The soft chirping of birds and the warm rays of sunlight woke her. She stirred, only to realize she was being held. A strong arm was draped around her waist, while another served as her pillow. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she took in his peaceful, handsome face, bathed in the morning light.

Carefully, she tried to slip away, unwilling to disturb him. But the pain coursing through her body made her gasp audibly.

His eyes shot open, hazel and alert. "What are you trying to do?" he asked, sitting up.

"I… I just needed to use the washroom," she mumbled, staring at her lap as her fingers fidgeted nervously.

He sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement in his tone. "Trying to be a wonder woman again, I see."

Her lips pressed into a pout, and she avoided his gaze. He chuckled, shaking his head. "You should've just woken me up."

Before she could protest, he scooped her up effortlessly, making her gasp in surprise. He carried her to the washroom and placed her gently on the countertop beside the basin. "I'll be waiting outside," he said, stepping out and closing the door behind him.

She turned to look at herself in the mirror, her cheeks burning. Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to calm the storm of emotions he stirred within her.

---

The basement reeked of blood and acid, the air thick with the cries of tortured men. He sat in the center, his presence commanding, radiating danger. His sharp eyes bored into the man hanging limply before him.

"You know who I am," he began, his voice calm yet menacing. "You've seen my face. There's no reason to let you live. But if you answer my questions, I might consider sparing you."

The man, on the brink of death, trembled in fear. "I… I don't know anything," he stuttered.

A gunshot rang out, silencing the man tied beside him. The remaining prisoner screamed, his terror spilling out in frantic words. "Please, don't shoot! I'll talk!"

"Good," he said, leaning forward. "Tell me what I need to know."

The man gulped, his words tumbling out. "Kuragari Place… in Switzerland. It's the biggest hub for… for smuggling. There's a man there, with a cross tattoo under his eye. He has four fingers on one hand. He knows everything. But don't offer him money at first. He won't take it."

Satisfied, he straightened, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "One more question. Did you hurt her?"

"N-No!" the man stammered. "Just two slaps! The others hurt her more. I swear!"

His expression darkened, and he aimed the gun at the man's palms. The shots rang out, followed by a guttural scream. Acid followed, silencing the cries as the man succumbed to agony.

"Two slaps," he murmured coldly. "Even a hair out of place would've earned you the same fate."

He turned and walked away, ordering his men to clean the basement. Taking out his phone, he made a call. "Mr. Jung, prepare for a trip to Switzerland. We're getting him this time."

"But everything is ready. We can leave now," came the reply.

He paused. "Arrange the private jet. I'm not leaving her alone."