The lab smelled faintly of ozone and burnt metal. The shattered console still flickered, throwing fractured light across the floor where the intruder's body lay limp.
"Take him," Nicolas ordered, his voice low and sharp enough to cut glass.
Matteo and two others moved quickly, lifting the unconscious man by the arms. "Where, sir?" Matteo asked.
"Underground chamber," Nicolas said without hesitation. His eyes never left Scarlett. "Chain him. I'll deal with him myself."
The men exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed instantly, dragging the body toward the elevator that led down to the darkened lower levels — the part of the estate where Nicolas's enemies never came back the same.
As the doors slid shut behind them, silence settled over the room, thick and heavy.
Scarlett was still on the floor, her knees drawn close, Nicolas's jacket draped over her like a shield. She was trembling so hard her teeth chattered. She didn't look up until his shadow fell across her.
He knelt beside her—the man who commanded entire underworld networks—now lowering himself wordlessly in front of one trembling woman.
His eyes scanned her, sharp and assessing, and then his breath caught.
There was a dark, angry bruise already forming high on her cheekbone, and a thin, slow trickle of blood leaked from a cut on her bottom lip.
"Scarlett," he said, and his voice was raw, unrecognizable, stripped of all its authority.
His hand came up, but he stopped, his fingers hovering, visibly shaking. Nicolas Volkov, shaking. He seemed terrified to touch her, as if she were glass and he were stone. Finally, his thumb came up, brushing with agonizing gentleness at the smear of blood on her chin.
Her eyes lifted, wide and wet. She flinched at the contact, a tiny, involuntary movement that seemed to shatter what little control he had left.
"I—I tried to stop him," she whispered, her voice cracking. "He was going to take everything. I couldn't let him—"
"Shhh," Nicolas said, his voice thick. His gaze moved from her cut lip to the bruise on her cheek, and a low, animalistic sound rumbled deep in his chest. "He did this to you." It wasn't a question; it was a death sentence.
Her lip quivered. "If I hadn't been here, he would've taken your designs."
That hit him harder than any bullet could have. The thought of her, bleeding, fighting his battles—it made something inside him twist, hot and violent. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped.
"This is my fault," he said, the words torn from him. "He came for me, and you—" his voice broke, "you were caught in it."
Scarlett reached out, her trembling fingers brushing his wrist. "You can't blame yourself for—"
"I can," he interrupted harshly. Then softer, broken, "Because it's true."
A sob she'd been holding back finally broke free. She didn't just lean forward; she collapsed against him, her arms wrapping tight around his neck, burying her face against his throat as if trying to hide from the world.
Nicolas froze. The scent of her hair, the wet heat of her tears on his skin, the fragile trembling of her shoulders—it hit him like a wave he hadn't prepared for. His arms came around her, crushing her to him, one hand tangling in her hair, holding her head secure against his chest. He could feel her heart racing against his ribs, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I thought he'd—" she choked out, "I thought he was going to kill me, Nicolas."
He closed his eyes, a violent tremor running through him. "He hurt you," he whispered, and his voice was pure venom. "He'll never touch you again. He will never touch anyone you love again. I swear it."
When he pulled back, it wasn't far, just enough to look at her. His gaze darkened—not with tenderness now, but with a terrifying, cold vengeance. His thumb brushed her bruised cheek again, his touch impossibly gentle, but his eyes were pure fire.
"That man won't die until I know every single thing—who sent him, how he got in, who betrayed us. But first…" His voice dropped, becoming even quieter, more lethal. "First, he will pay for this." He tapped her cheekbone lightly. "He will pay for every tear, for the blood on your lip. I'll break him piece by piece for daring to lay a hand on you. The truth will just be a side effect."
Scarlett's hand gripped his arm, her voice trembling. "Don't—please—don't become someone else because of me."
His lips twitched into something like a bitter smile. "You don't understand," he murmured, his eyes holding hers. "He didn't just come for my work. He made you bleed. He made you afraid. That doesn't go unanswered. Not in my world."
The door slid open again. Matteo stood there, hesitant. "Sir… the prisoner's secured. He's conscious."
Nicolas's expression hardened instantly. The protective fury vanished, replaced by a cold, ruthless focus that chilled the air. He rose to his full height, his jacket still around Scarlett's shoulders. "Don't touch him," he said, his voice like ice. "I'll handle it."
As he turned to leave, Scarlett caught his hand. "Nicolas… come back to me after."
He looked down at her—his eyes softening for one brief, dangerous heartbeat. "Always."
And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall like the coming storm.
In the flickering light of the ruined lab, Scarlett clutched the jacket tighter around herself.
The air still smelled of smoke and fear—but somewhere in that chaos, she realized something had changed.
Not just the attack. Not just the danger.
But the way Nicolas had looked at her—like she wasn't just someone to protect.
Like she was the one thing he couldn't afford to lose.