Damian's POV
I watched from the trees as they ran.
Three men. Each one willing to kill—or die—for her.
Callum was the first to reach the building, wild in the eyes, like nothing mattered except getting her out alive. Julian wasn't far behind, calculated, every move precise, like he'd already played the whole rescue in his head. And Sebastian—limping, bleeding—still wouldn't stop, wouldn't rest, not until she was safe.
They fought like she belonged to them.
Like they knew her.
And maybe they did.
I never did. Not really.
I was her husband once, in name. In law. But I never fought for her. Not like that. I never even tried to understand the parts of her that bled in silence. I saw her pain. I just... looked away.
Even now, when they found her—bruised, hollow-eyed, wrapped in Julian's arms like she'd shatter if he let go—I didn't go to her.
I didn't need to.
I knew she was surrounded. Protected. Loved.
