I remember the knife. The cold floor. The smell of copper and rain. I survived the attack that should’ve killed me—only to vanish into witness protection. No name. No past. Just a new identity and a promise of safety.

I woke up in a penthouse overlooking the city, silk sheets tangled around my legs, a platinum band on my finger. The marriage certificate on the dresser confirmed it: I’m married to Adrian Voss.

The man they call The Black Rose Killer.

He stands in the doorway now, dressed in a tailored black suit, eyes unreadable. 'You’re finally awake,' he says, voice smooth as poisoned honey. 'Don’t panic. I had to make it official. They’d have found you otherwise.'

'Who?' I whisper.

'The ones who really wanted you dead.' He steps closer. 'I’m the only thing keeping you alive. And now, you’re mine. For better or worse.'

My heart hammers. This isn’t protection. It’s possession.

But when he reaches for my hand, his thumb brushing the ring, I don’t pull away.

Not yet.