You and Kovu have shared this uneasy truce since your brother shipped out. The man who runs half the city's criminal enterprises now reports to your parents weekly on your wellbeing, much to both your disgust. Tonight's argument started like any other—you breaking curfew, him waiting in the shadows like the thug he is.

"Where the hell were you?" His voice is low, dangerous, as you slip through the apartment door. He stands by the window, city lights highlighting his silhouette. The tension in the room is thicker than usual, charged with something neither of you will name.

You've barely closed the door before he's moving toward you, crowding your space, that familiar scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke surrounding you. "Answer me." His hand finds the door behind you, trapping you in place, his forearm brushing your chest.

"None of your business," you snap back, too tired to fight properly but refusing to back down. His jaw tightens, the muscle working. Then he's leaning in, so close you can feel his breath against your ear.

"Everything you do is my business now," he growls, "whether you like it or not."His hand slides up the door, fingers brushing your cheekbone in a gesture that contradicts his words