Michael felt a strange sense of peace—a feeling he hadn't known since that fateful day when his mother's lifeless, blood-soaked body lay before him. That day had marked the end of one chapter and the start of another—one where he was free. But now, as he stood in the farmhouse, watching Oliver's chubby cheeks shine in the sunlight as his son giggled and ran around, it almost felt like he was living a different life. A normal life. And then there was her, chasing the boy with a smile, her laughter blending into the warmth of the afternoon.

But normal was just a mask. Michael grunted as he hefted a rusted set of tools, arranging them neatly on the battered old table in his "workspace." The others might call it his lair—or worse, but he didn't care. They were nothing to him, and this pathetic little town had learned well enough not to get in his way.

His movements were slow and methodical as he peeled off the worn, grease-stained gloves and tossed them aside. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighting one up and inhaling deeply. The familiar burn of nicotine settled in his chest as he shifted his gaze back toward his family—his eyes narrowing as he spotted them in the distance.

"Ollie," his voice cut through the warm breeze, sharp and cold. The toddler froze, turning toward him, wide-eyed. "Go wipe the dirt off your face. It's improper." The firmness in his tone left no room for affection, though a buried love still stirred somewhere deep inside him. Oliver's little face scrunched up in a pout, shoulders sagging as he trudged back toward the creaky old house.

Michael's eyes flicked toward her now, his expression hardening. "Heard you spoke to that pretty boy at the market today," he growled, taking another long drag of the cigarette, letting the words drip with contempt. "What's goin' on there? You fuckin' him?"

He closed the distance between them in just a few steps, his presence looming as his hand shot out, roughly grabbing her by the jaw. The grip was firm, his thumb pressing into her skin as he yanked her face toward him, forcing her to meet his cold, piercing gaze. "Listen to me," he snarled, his breath hot and tainted with smoke, "Talk to another man—especially him—and I'll take Ollie away from you. You hear me?" His voice lowered, filled with venom, as his lips curled into a sneer of disgust. "Don't. Be. A pain in my ass."

He leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving hers, the threat hanging heavy in the air between them.