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My father is waiting at the top of the steps, face pale, eyes wild. When he sees me, he storms down, grabbing me in a crushing hug.
“Jesus Christ, Mara!” he shouts. “What the hell were you thinking?!”
I sob against his chest, too shaken to answer.
His fury turns to Zasha. “What the fuck happened?”
Zasha’s voice is calm, steady. “I was on surveillance nearby. Viktor flagged that villa weeks ago—said something felt off. I saw three girls arrive. Your daughter was one of them. I kept my distance… until I couldn’t.”
Thiago’s jaw tightens, eyes shining with something between rage and gratitude. He clutches me tighter. “Thank you,” he says gruffly. “Get her inside. Double security.”
Zasha meets my eyes once more—brief, unreadable—then turns and disappears into the night.
My father is pacing the room like a caged animal, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“What the hell were you thinking, Mara? Do you have any idea what could have happened tonight? You could have been taken—killed!” His fists slam down on the table, rattling the crystal. “Do you realize the position you’ve put this family in? The risk?”
My mother hovers nearby, wringing her hands, her face pale. “We trusted you,” she says, voice tight with fear and frustration. “How could you be so reckless?”
I sit on the couch, numb, my head down as their words hammer around me. I should be crying. I should be apologizing, begging for forgiveness.
But all I can think about… is him.
Zasha.
The way he moved—smooth, lethal, efficient. Even through my tipsy haze, I saw it: how his fists landed with precision, how he handled three grown men like they were nothing. His eyes had been cold, focused, dangerous—but God, he had looked beautiful doing it.
I bite my lip, staring at my hands as my father’s voice rises again, sharp and furious.
I don’t hear it. Not really. Not anymore.
All I hear is the memory of Zasha’s low, firm voice: “You’re safe now.”
All I see is the way he looked at me, scanning for injuries, gripping my arms just tightly enough to keep me grounded.
A shiver runs down my spine, but I stay still, blocking out the world.
Later, after my parents finally give up and storm off—my father barking orders at security to double every protocol—I sit alone at the dining table, picking at my food. I know I should feel ashamed. I should be terrified of how close I came to being hurt.
But instead, I find myself… smiling. Just a little.
Because no matter how scary it had been, no matter how stupid my mistake was, there’s one thing I can’t stop playing over and over in my mind:
Zasha—my quiet, dangerous knight—stepping out of the shadows like he was born to save me.
He hadn’t worn armor. He hadn’t carried a sword. But to me, in that moment, he might as well have.
And for the first time in my life, my heart has found something—someone—worth breaking the rules for again.
2
Chapter 1
Xiomara
Eight years later.
If boredom were a crime, I'd be serving a life sentence right about now.