Sebastian found a small house, far away—hours of driving from all of them, from every place that had swallowed me whole. It was nothing special, not at first glance; a small wooden place with peeling paint and a creaking porch. But to me it was everything. Safe. Quiet. A space where no one would knock on the door and demand my phone, or my obedience, or my soul.
I didn't feel safe anywhere near the regions where my ex's family or my own lived. He knew this without me even telling him. Maybe he'd seen it in my eyes, in the way I flinched at certain names or places.
There were days we spent going to doctors, tests, endless waiting rooms that smelled of antiseptic and exhaustion. Days I couldn't even stand. Days when my legs refused me and the pain burned so deeply I couldn't hide it anymore. On those days, he carried me. His arms strong under me, his breath steady. And each time, shame clawed at my chest.
I felt small. Shy. Hurried. Broken. Ashamed that my body had betrayed me. Depressed that I had become someone who needed to be carried instead of someone who carried others. But even as the shame burned, I knew without him I'd be on the ground, alone.
He never once complained.
I wanted desperately to hear my girls. To know they were safe. But every time I called, my ex lied. He said he didn't have time, that they were with someone else, that they were busy.
The few times I actually managed to speak to them over the phone, my heart ached so deeply it felt like it might shatter. I could hear their voices—soft, innocent, unaware of the full danger that had surrounded us—but the distance was unbearable. I couldn't hold them. I couldn't hug them. I couldn't keep them from the people who had hurt me.
Each call left me hollow, a little more broken, but also burning with a quiet determination. One day… one day I would bring them to me. I would protect them. I would build a life where no one could ever hurt us again.
But for now, I had to survive. I had to keep my body moving, my mind alert, my soul intact. The world I was building—however small, however fragile—was the only shield I had until that day came.
That night, we shared a bottle of wine. The soft clink of glasses and the muted hum of the small house felt strangely safe, almost like a world apart from everything that had hurt me.
I told him pieces of my past—the moments that still burned, the words that cut, the nights I couldn't sleep, the days I felt invisible, powerless, trapped. Just fragments, not the full story. It was exhausting, but for once, I felt heard.
Sebastian's face darkened with each detail, his jaw tight, eyes flashing with something I couldn't name. Enraged. Furious at the injustice I had suffered.
"I will avenge this," he said finally, voice low and shaking with controlled anger. "For what they did to you. For everything you endured."
I reached out, hoping to calm him, to temper that fire. "Sebastian… it's okay. You don't need to—"
He cut me off, voice sharper but calm in its edge. "No, Aria… you are too good. Too pure to be left broken. I won't let this go."
I looked at him, both in awe and fear. His protection was absolute, unrelenting—but it didn't frighten me. Somehow, it made me feel… safe.
As the days passed, my body didn't seem to get much better. Each morning I woke to the same ache, the same numbness, the same exhaustion. Yet Sebastian never wavered.
One evening, he leaned back, his dark eyes shadowed. "They will pay for what they did," he said quietly, but there was a steel underneath the words that made my stomach twist.
Later, I received a message. It was vague… but it hinted that something was happening. People I knew, connected to them, were losing their cows, their wives, their children. A sense of unease spread through me.
Sebastian called his friend right there in front of me, giving instructions, speaking in a tone I couldn't fully understand. His voice was calm but carried authority, a quiet promise that things would be corrected.
I could feel it—the weight of action being taken—but I didn't know what. Not fully. And somehow, not knowing made my chest tighten with a mix of fear and relief.
Even though I had tried to focus on healing, even though I had tried to take small steps toward independence, this world—this unseen force of protection and influence—was moving around me. And I realized: I was no longer alone.
That night, everything inside me felt heavy. My chest, my thoughts, even my hands as I shoved them into my coat pockets. I slipped out of the small house quietly, the sound of the door barely a whisper behind me.
I walked until my legs burned, until the cold air stung my face. The town was asleep; only the street lamps and the soft echo of my footsteps followed me. I reached the bridge without even realizing where I was going.
I stopped and stared down at the water. The dark, slow current moved like a mirror of my thoughts—heavy, endless, pulling. For a moment a terrible idea flickered in my mind. What if I just… stopped? It was a horrible, quiet whisper inside my head.
But then another voice came, louder. I have beautiful daughters. I can't leave them. I need to fight. For them.
I gripped the cold rail so hard my knuckles ached and took a deep breath, pushing the thought back into the dark water where it belonged. Then I turned and walked away, step by step, even though my legs shook.
When I came back to the small house, Sebastian was waiting at the door. His face was tense, his eyes searching mine. "Where were you?" His voice was low but sharp with worry. "Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be out at night?"
I looked down, my throat tight. "I just needed air," I whispered.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stepping closer. "Don't do that again. I thought—" He stopped himself, exhaling. "I was worried you'd be hurt again."
Something in his voice cracked a piece of the ice inside me. Someone was worried. For me.
He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine, and his voice softened—but carried a weight I couldn't ignore.
"Aria… listen to me," he said. "I will help you. Forever. No matter what they do, no matter how broken you feel… I will be here. I will make sure you are safe. I will make sure you rise."
His words hit me like a wave. Forever? I barely let myself believe in moments like this, but hearing him say it… it felt like a tether, a lifeline in the chaos of my life.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to collapse into him and let all my fear, my pain, my exhaustion spill out. But I stayed still, letting the warmth of his presence seep into me.
"I… I don't know what to say," I whispered, voice trembling.
"Don't say anything," he replied. "Just trust me. That's enough for now."
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I felt… a little safe.
Sebastian took me to the lawyer the next day. I had no idea what to expect, only that this was another battlefield in the war my life had become.
We sat in the office, the leather chairs stiff under me. The smell of polished wood and paper made my stomach twist. The lawyer, a calm woman with sharp eyes, began explaining the process: custody, legal rights, restraining orders, evidence. Everything was foreign, overwhelming, and yet necessary.
I listened, nodding when I could, though my mind kept wandering to my girls. I knew this was going to be a long fight. Months, maybe years. A battle I hadn't prepared for, a war I didn't have resources for.
I looked down at my hands. Nothing. No money in my pockets, no belongings beyond what Sebastian had helped me bring. For months I had lived off him—his protection, his care, his strength.
And yet, for the first time in my life, I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in years: hope. Maybe not complete hope, not yet, but enough to keep me listening, enough to make me believe I could survive this too.
Sebastian glanced at me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hand brushed mine briefly. "We'll get through this," he said softly. "Step by step. You won't face this alone."
I swallowed hard, letting the words sink in. I had survived so far. I would survive this too.
Sebastian found a car, and we drove for hours to a town near the sea. I sat in the open space of the café, the sun warming my face, a gentle breeze brushing past. He ordered coffee for both of us, and I let myself just breathe for a moment. The fountain nearby spouted water in rhythmic arcs, sunlight glinting off the spray.
I closed my eyes, and for the first time in months, maybe years, I felt… peace. A real, fleeting peace. My chest unclenched, my shoulders loosened. Sun on my skin, the sounds of the town, the faint scent of salt from the sea—it all whispered that life could be gentle.
I turned to him, voice soft. "This place… it's beautiful."
"Yes," he said simply. "I've lived here for a few years. Built a house worth millions and gave it away as charity."