The night air was still heavy with smoke and the scent of danger when he pulled her by the hand through the private gate.
No words — just motion.
A sleek black car waited with the engine running. Within minutes, they reached the airstrip hidden behind the estate's forest. The private jet gleamed under the moonlight — sharp, silver, silent.
He guided her up the steps, still half-shifted, his eyes glowing faintly golden.
She didn't ask questions. She only felt the tremor in his hand — the adrenaline, the fury not yet cooled.
Once inside, he finally spoke.
> "We're leaving everything behind tonight."
The engines roared. Through the oval window, the mansion shrank into a blur — a place that was once gilded but now only full of betrayal.
He sat beside her, jaw tense, staring ahead for long minutes. Then, as the plane steadied, his shoulders finally dropped.
He turned toward her.
> "You're safe now. I'll make sure they never come near you again."
He reached out and touched her face, thumb brushing the side of her neck — gentle, but with that wild possessiveness that lived in his veins. She leaned closer, not knowing what tomorrow would bring, but feeling something real in that moment — his protection, his promise.
When they landed hours later, dawn painted the sky rose and gold. The villa that awaited them was surrounded by sea cliffs and tall cypress trees. Modern, glass walls reflecting the waves — and far, far from anyone who might find them.
Inside, he moved with restless focus. Cameras flickered to life, hidden panels slid open — security systems humming quietly.
> "No one gets in without me knowing," he murmured, testing the sensors.
"You'll sleep safely here."
She watched him — the way his beast instincts showed in his movements, how he checked every window, every door, then finally stood before her again.
> "This is our home now," he said softly.
"Until the world dares to challenge us again."
She nodded, still absorbing the surreal shift — from fear to luxury, from chaos to safety. But when she caught the faint gleam of his golden eyes again, she wondered…
was this protection, or possession?
Days at the villa moved slower, softer.
The sea whispered below the cliffs, and the air smelled of salt and rosemary. She began to see a side of him that wasn't just command and control — the man who fixed things himself, who brewed coffee before sunrise, who stared out at the horizon like it held his answers.
He'd shown her where the boundaries of the estate ended, the secret paths that led down to the private beach, the security controls she could use if anything happened.
> "You're safe here," he said one morning, watching her barefoot in the garden, sunlight weaving through her hair.
She didn't answer — but she smiled, just a little.
That evening, they found themselves sitting together on the terrace, a bottle of dark wine between them. The night was warm, filled with the hum of distant cicadas and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below.
He poured her a glass, watching her expression when she tasted it.
> "Too strong?" he asked, amused.
"A bit," she said, laughing quietly. "But… good."
Something in that laugh eased him. It had been so long since he'd heard softness in her voice. He leaned back, the tension that usually defined his shoulders beginning to fade.
The conversation drifted — from the stars, to her life before the sanctuary, to questions she was brave enough to ask now.
> "Why did you save me?" she asked suddenly.
He paused, glass in hand, gaze lost in the darkness.
"Because they were wrong," he said simply. "And because I couldn't let them touch what's mine."
She blushed but didn't pull away when his hand brushed hers.
The hours slipped by. The wine made them slower, warmer — and when a gust of sea wind came, she shivered.
He noticed. Without a word, he drew her closer, wrapping his arm around her.
At first, she resisted — a flicker of habit, of fear. But his warmth was steady, grounding. The rhythm of his heartbeat against her back lulled her. They stayed that way, just breathing, until the stars blurred.
When she finally stirred, they were on the couch, a blanket over both of them.
He hadn't let go, even in sleep.
His arm draped over her waist protectively, his hand curled like he was guarding something precious.
She watched him in the dim light. The fierce beast of the night before now looked almost human — calm, vulnerable.
She let her eyes close again, thinking that for the first time in a long while, she felt safe.
Morning light crept through the linen curtains, soft and golden. The sea shimmered below the balcony, and the villa was quiet — too quiet.
Diana stirred first. For a moment, she didn't know where she was — the warmth around her, the faint scent of cedar and wine, the steady breath at her back. Then she turned slightly and froze.
He was still there.
His arm rested loosely around her waist, his hand relaxed on her hip. His hair — darker than the night itself — fell over his brow, and for once, he didn't look intimidating or guarded. Just… peaceful.
She remembered the night before. The laughter. The warmth. The way his voice had softened when he spoke her name.
Her heart beat faster, though she didn't know why.
Carefully, she tried to move away. But his hand tightened, as if by instinct, pulling her back against him.
> "Don't," he murmured sleepily, voice deep, still rough from sleep. "Just stay… for a little longer."
The words were so quiet she almost thought she imagined them.
She stayed.
When he finally opened his eyes, he looked at her — not with ownership this time, but with something unreadable, almost human. He sat up slowly, rubbing his neck, then said,
> "Last night… I might've drunk more than I should've."
> "Me too," she said, smiling faintly. "But I don't regret it."
That caught him off guard. He looked at her like he was trying to understand a creature from another world.
> "You're not what I expected from someone raised in the sanctuary," he said at last.
> "Maybe because I never wanted to stay there," she answered quietly. "I wanted to see what was beyond the walls."
He nodded slowly.
> "Then I'll show you," he said. "Everything. The world outside, our cities, the way things really work — not the lies they feed you there."
Her eyes widened. "You'd do that?"
He gave a small smirk. "You're mine, aren't you? If you're to walk beside me, you should at least know the ground you stand on."
She felt a strange mix of pride and unease. His tone was possessive, but the promise behind his words… was real.
He rose, stretching his shoulders, the sunlight catching faint traces of the beast beneath his skin — the quiet strength, the sharpness in his movements.
Then he turned to her.
> "Come. The world isn't kind to the weak. You'll need to learn."
She nodded. "Then teach me."
For a heartbeat, their eyes met — and something shifted. No longer a master and a kept female. Something else, something forming quietly between them.
The scent of coffee drifted through the villa when she finally stepped into the kitchen. Her hair was still a little messy from sleep, and the silk of her loose robe brushed softly against her skin.
He was already there, standing by the counter in a half-buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from a shower. The sight startled her — he looked nothing like the cold, commanding master she had first met. Just a man, quietly moving through morning light.
> "You're awake," he said, glancing over his shoulder. His tone wasn't formal this time — almost casual.
> "I smelled coffee," she replied with a small smile. "Didn't know you could make it yourself."
He gave a faint chuckle. "I can survive without servants when I have to."
On the table, two plates were already waiting — eggs, bread, fruit, and a small pot of honey. The setting looked almost… domestic. Ordinary.
She hesitated by the table, unsure if she should sit before he did. He noticed.
> "You don't have to wait for my permission," he said quietly. "Not here."
That surprised her. She sat slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the porcelain plate.
> "I… didn't think we'd eat like this," she said.
He poured her coffee, then his own. "You thought I'd keep you in a cage?"
Her gaze dropped. "It's what I was taught."
He was silent for a while, then spoke again — lower, more thoughtful.
> "Maybe that's what they wanted you to believe. But I don't plan to live that way."
For a moment, she just watched him — the small gestures, the way he added a little honey to her cup without asking, the way his eyes softened when he saw her surprise.
> "You remembered," she said softly. "I like it sweet."
He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I notice things."
The silence between them wasn't heavy now. It was warm, almost comfortable. She found herself wanting to ask questions — about his family, about the world, about why he seemed so different when they were alone.
> "You seem… calmer here," she said. "Not like yesterday."
> "That's because they're not here," he answered simply. "They make me into something I don't like."
> "And what are you, when they're not?" she asked.
He met her gaze, steady and unreadable. "Still figuring that out."
Her chest warmed at that honesty. Maybe he wasn't the untouchable master she thought he was. Maybe he was someone else beneath all that control — someone uncertain, too.
As she took a sip of her coffee, he leaned back slightly, watching her.
> "We'll go out later," he said. "I'll show you the gardens. And the cliffs behind the villa. They're beautiful this time of day."
She nodded, smiling faintly. "I'd like that."
For a brief moment, it felt like a real morning — like two people sharing breakfast, not bound by duty or claim. Just a quiet start to something they both didn't yet understand.