Page 110 of Velvet Corruption

I just moved.

Because something was happening. And someone had sent a message.

My stomach twisted. I knew this playbook. I’d used this playbook. Quiet neighborhood. Dead street. A broken window. A woman home alone.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t some junkie breaking in. This was surgical. Personal.

Tristan.

My feet hit the pavement before my mind caught up. Didn’t matter. I was already halfway there. I moved fast, like muscle memory—like every instinct I’d spent years trying to bury had just snapped back into place.

He fucking sent someone. After her.

The realization hit harder than the cold air in my lungs. Rage clawed up my throat, coiled around my spine.

I crossed the street in seconds, heart slamming against my ribs, the taste of metal on my tongue. The window was still there, blown wide open like a challenge. It drove me forward, every breath sharper than the last.

She screamed.

Not imagined this time.

Real. Ripped from her throat. Real enough to gut me. Real enough to make me want blood.

I didn’t pause. Didn’t slow.

This was a hit.

And he’d made a mistake.

Because he hadn’t just come after Ruby.

He’d come after what was mine.

I reached the front door, tried the handle, found it locked. Didn’t let it stop me, didn’t let it get in the way. I kicked. Hard. Wood met bone, and for a second it held. For a second I thought I’d have to break every bone in my leg to get through. But I didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, just drove my heel into it until the world exploded, until the wood shattered, until the whole thing crashed open.

And then I was inside.

The house was dimly lit, warm even in its silence, the glow from the under-cabinet lights spilling into the hallway. But it wasn’t quiet. A crash. A grunt. A sharp, choked gasp. I followed the sound, moving fast. Something—someone—was struggling with her.

I heard her voice, breathless, pained, and my vision went sharp with focus.

The staircase.

My boots barely made a sound against the hardwood as I rounded the corner, taking it all in at once.

My legs burned as I ran, my entire body locked into one singular purpose. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.

Ruby—struggling against a man twice her size, his hands on her, pinning her against the railing. She was fighting him, her nails digging into his skin, her breath coming in sharp, pained bursts. He was trying to kill her.

Everything seemed to move at half speed. Every sound, every crash and grunt and scrape, was sharp enough to cut through the fog of adrenaline, every sight a flashbulb moment burned into my brain. I saw everything, heard everything. And then it all happened at once.

He was on her. That was the only thing that mattered.

And I was going to rip him apart.

I reached the stairs, my heart pounding, the urgency in me building, mounting, turning into something fierce and raw and uncontainable. The risk of the situation didn't slow me down, didn’t scare me.

It pushed me forward, drove me to do what I needed to do, what I was good at. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the sharp clarity of the moment, the kind I hadn’t felt in weeks. The kind that felt like it was going to split me open.

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