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For survival.

Maybe they shine because they were forged under fire.

Because the heat didn’t break them—it made them.

Just like her.

Lucy Volkov looks like perfection on the outside—flawless skin, elegant as hell, born with the kind of beauty people want to own.

But that’s not what gets me.

That’s not what holds me in place like gravity every time I look at her.

It’s what’s beneath all that.

The fire.

The fight.

The scars she doesn’t show anyone.

The way she laughs even when she’s tired.

The way she still opens her heart, even when the world tries to shut it down.

Like tonight. She could have called her father, and he would’ve gone to her. Would’ve fixed it all for her.

But didn’t call him, she called me. Me.

Yeah, Lucy’s not some fragile thing meant to be protected in a case.

She’s the kind of diamond you find after the ground’s been cracked wide open.

The kind you don’t display.

The kind you keep.

Close.

Protected.

Mine.

Even if I don’t deserve her.

Even if I’ve spent my whole life convincing myself I’d never have something this fucking good.

She’s here now. With me. And I intend to keep her here.

One taste and I’m fucking addicted.

Her body arches into mine as I back her toward the bed. She tugs at my shirt like it’s the only thing standing between us and salvation.

“Off,” she breathes. “Balor, please.”

Goddamn.

When she says my name?