Third Person's Pov

The streets were quiet, the occasional flicker of a street lamp breaking the darkness as they walked side by side. Greyson's hand remained wrapped around hers, his grip firm but not overbearing.

Neither of them spoke at first, the silence between them comfortable yet heavy with unspoken tension.

"Do you always take midnight walks?" Miray asked her tone light, trying to cut through the weight of the moment.

"Only when someone decides standing outside at night is a good idea," Grey replied dryly, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Miray rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that followed. "I needed to think."

"About?"

She hesitated, glancing up at him. "A lot of things."

He didn't press her, but the way his eyes lingered told her he wasn't fooled.

They walked on, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—school, random observations about the quiet neighborhood, even a faint chuckle from Grey when Miray stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. The laughter eased the tension, but beneath their words, an undercurrent of something deeper flowed, unspoken but undeniable.

Grey would glance at her when she wasn't looking, taking in the way her features softened under the dim light. There was something about her, something that pulled him in without warning. Miray, in turn, found herself drawn to his steady presence. The way he walked with quiet confidence, his fingers brushing hers every now and then, made her feel a kind of safety she hadn't realized she was craving. The faint scar running from his right eye down to his cheekbone only added to his allure, making him look even more striking—almost heartbreakingly beautiful.

The low hum of an engine behind them broke the quiet.

Greyson's eyes immediately sharpened, his body going rigid as the car crept up slowly before stopping a few feet ahead.

He shifted slightly, positioning himself between her and the car as the doors opened. Four armed men stepped out, their movements calculated and deliberate.

Miray's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around his hand.

Grey's free hand moved subtly toward the gun at his back, though he didn't draw it yet. Instead, his thumb rubbed the back of Miray's hand—a gesture so small she almost missed it, but it sent a faint wave of calm through her.

The last man to step out of the car was Adrian.

"Hi, baby," Adrian said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. He smirked, his eyes raking over Miray. "I missed you."

Miray stiffened, her free hand instinctively gripping Grey's arm.

Greyson's jaw tightened, his voice cold and sharp. "Who the fuck are you?"

Adrian's sickening smile widened as his gaze flicked to Grey. "So you've got yourself a boyfriend now, huh?" He looked back at Miray. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Did you get tired of me already?"

"What do you want, Adrian?" Miray snapped, her voice shaking slightly but gaining strength.

Adrian tilted his head, feigning hurt. "You. You know I love you, baby. I can't live without you."

Grey's grip on her tightened slightly, and Miray could feel the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. Despite the guns pointed at them, she felt safer with him beside her.

Adrian's gaze turned venomous. "Why don't you just hand her over, man? She's nothing but a slut anyway."

"Do not call her a fucking slut again," Grey roared, his voice low and deadly. His green eyes blazed with fury as he stepped in front of Miray, shielding her. "Touch her, and I'll break every fucking bone in your pathetic body."

The tension exploded.

Adrian's men moved first, and chaos erupted.

Grey reacted instantly, shoving Miray behind him as he ducked the attack. He grabbed the man's arm, twisting it sharply until the gun clattered to the ground. Another man lunged for Miray, but she dodged, adrenaline surging as she kicked out hard, sending him stumbling back.

Grey took down the man with brutal efficiency, landing a sharp punch to his jaw before throwing him to the ground. He moved like a predator—calculated and unrelenting.

When Adrian reached for Miray, she turned and drove her knee into his groin with all the force she could muster.

"You bitch!" Adrian screamed, doubling over.

Grey seized the moment, his fury boiling over. He grabbed Adrian by the collar and landed a series of devastating punches, his movements precise and unrelenting until Adrian was bloodied and gasping.

"Let's go," Grey said roughly, grabbing Miray's hand and pulling her away.

They didn't stop running until they reached a quiet, dark alley.

Grey pressed her gently against the wall, his hands gripping her shoulders as they both caught their breath. His eyes scanned her face, his voice low and urgent. "Are you hurt?"

Miray shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "No. Are you?"

He nodded once, his green eyes softer than she'd ever seen them.

"Fuck," Grey muttered under his breath before leaning in, his lips capturing hers in a possessive, heated kiss.

It wasn't gentle—it was raw and filled with everything he couldn't say. His concern, his protectiveness, his care—it was all there, in the way his hands framed her face and his lips claimed hers.

Miray kissed him back, her hand clutching his biceps for support. When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling, Grey rested his forehead against her, his voice low."We should go."

Miray nodded, her hand still clutching his shirt.

---

The delicate resonance of the house was a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded earlier. Greyson pushed the door to his room open, the low light casting shadows across the walls. He stepped aside to let Miray in, his sharp green eyes scanning her from head to toe as if to confirm she was still in one piece.

"Sit," he said, nodding toward the bed. His tone left no room for argument.

Miray hesitated for a second before obeying, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed. Grey disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, returning moments later with a first aid kit in hand.

Kneeling in front of her, he opened the kit with practiced efficiency, his movements precise and calm despite the tension radiating from him. His jaw was clenched, his expression unreadable, but his eyes gave him away—there was a storm brewing behind them.

"Where are you hurt ?"

Miray hesitated, then held out her arm to reveal the thin scratches trailing down her skin. Grey's gaze darkened, his fingers brushing lightly against the marks.

"This shouldn't have happened," he muttered, his voice low and clipped.

"It's not that bad," Miray said softly, attempting to ease his frustration. She bit her lip, looking away as he began cleaning the scratches with gentle precision. His touch was surprisingly soft, but the tension in his jaw only grew.

When he was done, Grey packed the kit without looking at her. "You're fine now."

Miray frowned, her gaze dropping to the dark stain on his shirt. "What about you?"

"I'm fine," he said curtly, standing to put the kit away.

"Angelo, you're bleeding," she said, her voice firmer this time.

He turned to her, his expression cold. "I said I'm fine."

Miray narrowed her eyes, standing up to block his path. "Sit down."

Grey raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. "Ordering me around now, princess?"

"Just sit," she repeated, crossing her arms.

With a low exhale, Grey relented, sitting on the edge of the bed. He peeled off his shirt with deliberate slowness, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Miray's breath caught for a second, her eyes briefly tracing the scars scattered across his skin before focusing on the fresh gash near his ribs.

Kneeling before him, she rummaged through the kit, her hands steady despite the rapid beat of her heart. "This might sting," she said quietly, dabbing antiseptic on the wound.

Grey didn't flinch, his gaze fixed on her face.

"You don't have to stare," Miray said softly, her cheeks warming under his intense scrutiny.

"Don't tell me what to do," he said, though there was no edge to his voice.

She rolled her eyes, focusing on cleaning the wound. "Asshole," she muttered under her breath.

His lips twitched again, but the amusement in his expression faded as his eyes softened. "You didn't answer me earlier," he said, his tone dropping slightly.

Miray paused, her fingers stilling against his skin. "About what?"

"Who was he?"

The question was a quiet demand, his voice calm but firm.

Miray's breath hitched. She forced herself to look up, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away again. "I-I don't know him."

Grey's eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not—"

"Miray," he said sharply, cutting her off. His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to make her flinch.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to pack up the kit. "It doesn't matter—"

Grey's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before she could move away. His grip wasn't rough, but it was firm, keeping her in place.

"Look at me," he said, his voice low and commanding.

Miray hesitated, her heart pounding as she slowly turned back to him.

"Who was he?" Grey repeated, each word deliberate.

She attempted to pull her hand away, but his grip firmed, holding her in place. Rising to his full height, he loomed over her as she pushed herself up from the floor.

Miray's breath came in shallow gasps, her gaze darting to the side. "He......my ex."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Grey's jaw clenched, his green eyes darkening with something that wasn't entirely anger—but something close to it.

"Your ex," he repeated, his voice cold and detached.

Miray nodded, her eyes fixed on the floor. "H-he was abusive," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw tightened as his fists clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath, exhaling sharply as he struggled to keep his composure. Without looking at her, he turned away. "Go to your room," he said flatly.

Miray hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding. "Good night," she muttered softly, her voice trembling. Swallowing hard, she turned and quietly retreated to her room.

---

In the stillness of his room, Grey paced like a caged predator, the tension in his body coiled tight. His green eyes glinted under the dim light of the desk lamp, his jaw set in a sharp, unrelenting line.

He grabbed his phone from the desk, dialing a number with quick, precise movements. The line rang once before a gravelly voice answered.

"Sir?"

Greyson's voice was low, cold, and simmering with barely restrained fury. "I want Adrian found. Now."

"Yes, sir. Any specific instructions?"

Grey exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening around the phone. His mind was filled with a single, unrelenting thought:

Pagherà. Per ogni lacrima che ha pianto a causa sua, lui la pagherà tutta

"Not a single scratch on him." Grey hissed, his voice dropping even lower. "When you find him, I want him alive and unharmed."

"Yes, sir," the voice on the other end said immediately.

"Good," Grey growled before ending the call abruptly.

He tossed the phone onto the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly as he leaned forward. His breaths came in slow, heavy exhales, but his mind raced with violent thoughts.

Adrian's smug face, the way he'd spoken to Miray, the sheer audacity of him showing up tonight—it burned like poison in Grey's veins.

Soffrirà.

Grey's jaw clenched tighter as he stood upright, running a hand down his face. But no matter how much rage bubbled inside him, it didn't drown out the image of Miray's eyes—wide, uncertain, and filled with something that twisted his gut.

She'd been scared.

And that, more than anything, was unforgivable.

---

The smell of coffee and pancakes filled the air as Miray stepped into the dining room. Lorenzo sat at the head of the table, scrolling through his tablet with his coffee in hand. Ethan was perched on the counter, munching on toast, while Maxim worked at the stove, flipping pancakes like a pro.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Ethan called, grinning.

"Morning," she smiled, sliding into her usual seat as Elijah entered from the hall, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"Look who finally made it," Elijah teased, ruffling her hair as he passed.

"She gets the royal treatment," Lorenzo remarked, eyeing the stack of pancakes Maxim set down in front of her. "Special treatment for our favorite, huh?"

"She eats better than you do," Maxim replied with a smirk, setting down another plate for Greyson, who walked in just then, his cold presence instantly commanding the room.

Grey's sharp green eyes flicked over everyone before they landed on Miray. "Morning."

"Morning," she murmured, trying to ignore the way her cheeks warmed under his gaze.

As breakfast wrapped up and the others began to drift off, Miray found herself alone in the dining room with Greyson.

He stood by the window, his broad shoulders outlined by the morning light, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Miray," he said suddenly, his voice calm yet commanding.

She glanced up, startled by the sound of her name.

"You won't have to deal with him again," Grey said, his tone sharp and certain.

Her breath caught. She didn't have to ask who he meant—Adrian's name lingered unspoken between them.

"Angelo... I don't want you to—"

"You don't have to worry about me," he interrupted, stepping closer. His green eyes bore into hers, unyielding. "He won't come near you again. That's a promise."