connection

As they walked away, the night air felt heavy with unspoken words. He made a call to Mr. Jung, his voice steady but urgent. "Get here now. And bring backup." Moments later, the darkened streets whispered with the sound of approaching vehicles. Mr. Jung arrived swiftly, his black SUV pulling up with a sense of purpose. The guards, professional and sharp-eyed, stepped out, scanning their surroundings.

Without a word, Mr. Jung motioned for them to move quickly. Ahana's heart raced as they walked through the alley, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. Every shadow felt like a threat, every noise amplified in the stillness of the night. She could sense his protective aura surrounding her, even as they moved with calculated urgency.

The guards flanked them, their eyes constantly shifting, anticipating any danger that might emerge. When they reached the car, he held the door open for her, his touch reassuring yet firm. She slid into the back seat, glancing over her shoulder as the car doors shut with a soft thud, sealing them inside.

He sat beside her, his gaze never straying from the rearview mirror. "We're not safe yet," he murmured, voice low but filled with a certain intensity. The engine roared to life, and the car sped off into the night, the headlights cutting through the darkness.

But the world outside wasn't as quiet as it seemed. Somewhere, someone was watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike. He could feel it his instincts were never wrong.

"Mr. Jung," he spoke again, "double the guard for tonight. I want eyes everywhere."

Mr. Jung's voice crackled over the speaker, confirming with a curt, "Understood."

Ahana shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension. She wanted to ask him what was going on, who was after them, but she didn't. Instead, she let the questions swirl in her mind, knowing she wasn't ready for the answers.

As they drove through the winding streets, he glanced at her, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. "Stay close," he said softly. "You're safer with me."

The words, though simple, carried a weight she hadn't anticipated. There was a promise in them one that she wasn't sure whether to trust or fear.

The city outside seemed to blur into nothingness as the car moved faster, further away from the danger they'd just escaped. But in the back of his mind, he knew this was just the beginning.

They arrived at beautiful looking house it shimmered soft and very modern vibes.

"Where is this place?" Ahana asked curiously.

"This is my penthouse," he replied.

"But weren't we staying at the hotel?" she asked, her brows furrowing.

"Yes, just for a while. It took some time because I needed to take care of a few things. I asked Mr. Jung to move our stuff here. We'll be staying here now."

Ahana looked around, amazed. Her mind raced with thoughts. How rich is he? Does he have a money plant or a farm where money grows?

Her daydream was interrupted by his voice. "What are you thinking?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and smiled awkwardly. "Nothing, just... random stuff."

"May I know where my room is?" she asked hesitantly.

He thought for a moment and then pointed. "Right by the staircase."

He headed to his room, removed his shirt to shower he realised the door of his room was still open but just as he was about to close the door, he heard her scream.

"Aaaaaaaa!"

A loud blast followed, making his heart leap out of his chest. He rushed to her door, banging on it. "Ahana! Are you okay?"

No response.

He shouted again, more desperate this time. "Open the door, dammit!"

"I... I can't," she replied weakly.

Without waiting, he slammed the door open. His eyes widened at the sight before him. Ahana was on the floor, her hand burnt, her expression a mix of pain and shock. But what caught his breath was her state—she was only in her undergarments.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he was already moving. Grabbing a comforter, he wrapped it around her, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to his room.

He set her down on the bathroom counter and gently washed her burnt hand under cool water. She winced but said nothing. Afterward, he brought her to the bed and grabbed the first-aid kit.

As he knelt down to tend to her wound, Ahana's gaze was fixed on his face. His clenched jaw and focused expression made her heart ache. She'd never felt this cared for before. No one had ever worried for her like this. Despite the pain in her hand, the moment felt overwhelming—precious, even.

"Done," he said, breaking her reverie.

Her eyes met his, and his gaze was so intense she quickly looked away, focusing on her wrapped hand.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, his voice firm but laced with concern.

She shook her head, clutching the comforter tightly. "N-no, I'm not."

His eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, his grip on her waist tightening slightly. "Are you sure?"

"I... I'm fine," she stammered, her face flushing.

"Let me check," he insisted, his voice soft but commanding.

She hesitated, clutching the comforter even tighter. "I… I can't."

He pulled her closer even more face few inches away" I'm not asking" she said nervously" I'm not hurt" he grip tightened more "Are you removing or should i"

Her breath stuck in her throat listening his hoarse and raw voice

He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. "Please, Ahana. I won't do anything, I promise."

He got up and dimmed the lights, the faint glow of thunder outside illuminated the room. Slowly, he pulled the comforter away.

His jaw clenched as his eyes landed on the red burn mark across her stomach. His fingers grazed her skin gently, applying ointment with the utmost care. She flinched, but he continued, his movements deliberate and tender like she was made of most delicate thing in the world.

Then, his gaze shifted. Below her right shoulder, a faded scar caught his attention. His breath hitched—it was unmistakably a gunshot wound.

"Where... and how?" he murmured, almost to himself.

He wanted to dig up the past at that very moment he looked at that scar like it was something he wanted to erase, he touched it like that scar was something that resonated like his more connecting him to her's. People connect with love care passion but she,

 she connected to him with scar and pain and nightmares.

His fingers traced the scar lightly, his touch filled with unspoken emotions. The sight of it stirred something deep within him—a connection rooted in pain and survival.

She flinched again, instinctively moving to cover herself. But he caught her wrist, his grip firm yet gentle.

"She was his only salvation—if he ever fell into the abyss, she would be his escape. If he were to die, he would rise again, only for her."

but only if he could define what his heart felt.