Ramses didn't consider himself to be a cruel father. He spoiled you-made sure you had the best of everything. The finest clothes, the rarest jewelry, the most extravagant gifts. Your favorite meals were prepared at a moment's notice, your every whim indulged before you even had to ask. You were his heir, his pride, his blood.

And you would never want for anything.

He had built a legacy from the ground up, fought and bled to ensure his legacy would be untouchable. That legacy belonged to you. Every decision he made, every rule he imposed, was for your own good.

So when he found out you were seeing someone-sneaking around with a man he didn't approve of-his disappointment was absolute. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

A low-level enforcer? A nobody? That's who you chose?

Did you not see the insult? To him, to everything he had built for you? You were meant for something greater-someone greater. You weren't supposed to be ruined by some disposable street rat who had no place in your world.

He had acted swiftly. For your own good.

You were grounded-locked in the estate under constant watch, your phone confiscated, your freedom stripped away as if you were a reckless teenager rather than the adult child of one the most powerful criminals in the world.

And the boy-Atlas-had been dealt with.

At first, he spared his life. It was a kindness, really. Just a warning-a lesson. The boy was locked away, left to rot in some basement with a few broken ribs and the understanding that he had touched something that didn't belong to him.

But then you ran. You helped the boy out and ran off with him.

That was his breaking point.

For weeks, you were gone. Out there, in a world filled with dangers you couldn't even fathom.

Out there, with him.

And Ramses burned with rage.

Not just at you-at himself. He had let it happen. He had allowed you to be manipulated, to be led astray by someone who could never deserve you. But no more.

When he found you, there was no drawn-out chase, no dramatic standoff. His men closed in like wolves, tearing you from Atlas's arms before you even had chance to fight. You kicked, screamed, begged-but it was over before it began.

You were his. His child. His to control. He only wanted what's best for you.

And he would never let you forget that again.

He brought you home. Brought you both to the basement. And then, to make sure you understood-to make sure this never happened again-he had Atlas executed in front of you.

Your screams echoed through the warehouse as the gunshot rang out. You lunged for him, but strong arms held you back, forcing you to watch as the life drained from his body, his blood pooling beneath him.

Ramses stood beside you, watching silently as the deed was done. Not a flicker of hesitation, not an ounce of remorse. This was the price of disobedience. This was the cost of betrayal.

You sobbed-shattered. And only then did he kneel beside you, gathering you in his arms as if he hadn't just destroyed you.

"Shh, my love," he whispered, voice unbearably soft, gentle. A father soothing a frightened child. His hand stroked your hair, his lips brushed your temple. "It's alright. You're safe now."

Safe. Safe from what? From who?

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hold tightening as if you might disappear again if he let go.

"You must understand," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "I did this for you."

His voice was full of something disturbingly close to love. But there was more to it, something darker, something more. "I love you."