Sebastian's POV

Sebastian sat in his dimly lit office, a cigarette between his fingers, but his mind was elsewhere.

It had been three days since he last saw her.

Three days since Valarie Ivanov stormed into Mikhail's safe house, all fire and fury, demanding answers, fearless even in the den of wolves.

And now... she wouldn't leave his head.

It started with a dream.

A vivid, dirty dream.

Valarie, trapped beneath him, her golden-brown eyes blazing with defiance, her lips swollen from his kisses, her body pinned under his as she cursed him-then moaned for him. His name.

He had woken up hard, panting, his obsession deepening into something darker. He never felt this.

Now, he found himself needing to see her again.

It was almost amusing. Damien Volkov, the feared mafia king, had fallen for a soft little lawyer. And Sebastian? He was obsessed with his opposite-a warrior. A goddess carved from steel and fire.

And he wanted her to burn for him.

So he followed her.

From a distance, watching as she went about her life. A simple coffee shop visit, a meeting at the precinct, a late-night drive home.

She had no idea he was there.

Or maybe she did.

Because tonight, as she left the station, her shoulders tensed slightly, her steps slowing as if she could feel his eyes on her.

Sebastian smirked from his spot in the shadows.

Valarie Ivanov was sharp.

But he was patient.

And soon... she would see him, whether she wanted to or not.

******

Sebastian watched from the shadows, his fingers twitching with barely restrained rage.

She moved like a panther through the darkened streets, leading her team on a mission, her golden-brown eyes scanning the area with calculated precision. Even dressed in tactical gear, gun in hand, she was a vision. A goddess of war.

There she was. His Valarie.

She moved through the alley like a predator, all sharp eyes and lethal grace, her golden-brown hair tied back, her expression carved from steel. She had been hunting a lead for hours, chasing down one of Mikhail's rats, and Sebastian had enjoyed every second of watching her work.

She was ruthless, a force of nature, and the more he observed, the more his obsession deepened.

"Mine."

The thought curled inside him like a snake.

But then it happened.

A sudden scuffle. A blade flashing too fast in the dark.

Sebastian stiffened when he saw blood. Just a thin cut on her arm, but enough to piss him off.

And then-that bastard-

Elijah was there, grabbing her.

His filthy hands on her, touching her arm, pulling her closer. His voice was too soft, too intimate, whispering something as he pressed against her.

Sebastian's vision darkened.

His fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into his palm as he fought the vicious need to rip Elijah apart.

She let him. She fucking let him touch her.

What was this? A moment of weakness? Giving in to a man unworthy of her?

Something sharp and ugly twisted inside him.

He imagined wrapping his hands around Elijah's throat. Watching the life drain from his eyes. He imagined Valarie looking at him instead, her fiery spirit bending only for him.

She would belong to him.

And if he had to carve his claim into her soul, he would.

He watched as she sighed, exhausted, letting Elijah check the wound, his fingers grazing her skin.

Sebastian's breathing slowed. Calculated.

In his mind, Elijah was already dead.

He imagined the officer screaming, his bones shattering one by one, his pathetic hands crushed so he would never touch her again. He imagined Valarie standing over Elijah's broken body, looking at Sebastian with something close to fear-close to submission.

She belonged to him.

He would remind her soon.

*******

The drive home was a blur.

His hands gripped the wheel too tightly, knuckles bone-white, his mind replaying the disgusting sight of Elijah touching her. His Valarie. His deity wrapped in mortal flesh. His golden-eyed goddess who moved like war and destruction itself.

And that pathetic excuse of a man had the audacity to put his hands on her.

Sebastian stormed into his estate, his chest heaving, blood boiling, teeth grinding. His men froze at the sight of him, sensing the storm brewing in their master's rage.

"Elijah," he growled under his breath, voice dripping with venom.

They had been together for years. Eight years of that bastard having her, touching her, kissing her, owning what should have been his. Eight years of her whispering someone else's name.

A cruel, twisted smile stretched across his face.

"Bring them in."

His guards knew exactly what that meant.

Minutes later, a group of trembling men were dragged into the basement-rivals, traitors, mere pests he had been keeping alive for convenience.

Not anymore.

Sebastian stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves, eyes gleaming like a beast about to feast. He wanted to paint the floors red, drown in the scent of blood, release the black fury roaring inside him.

And so he did.

The first scream pierced the air as he drove a knife into a man's thigh, twisting slowly, savoring the agony, the helpless sobs.

Another one cried for mercy.

Sebastian laughed. "Mercy?" He plunged the blade into his throat, yanking it out in one brutal motion, blood spraying across his face. Warm. Sticky. Beautiful.

One by one, he slaughtered them.

He crushed skulls beneath his boot. He shattered fingers, breaking them joint by joint. He carved into flesh, inscribing his wrath into their skin.

By the time he was done, the room was a grotesque masterpiece of crimson and mutilated bodies.

But it wasn't enough.

Because no matter how much blood he spilled, it didn't erase the image of Elijah touching her. Holding her. Whispering to her.

His grip on the knife trembled.

"I'll fucking kill him," he muttered, voice thick with madness.

Elijah wouldn't just die.

He would suffer.

And when he was done with him, Valarie would never let another man touch her again.