Chapter 1

I bought a pair of novelty handcuffs. While trying them on, the key fell into the crack of the bed, and I had no choice but to call 91

The door was forced open, and fully equipped firefighters burst into my bedroom. The captain leading them turned out to be my ex-boyfriend, whom I had dumped.

He saw me wearing a lace dress with pitifully little fabric, my hands locked to the headboard with pink fluffy handcuffs, in an extremely suggestive position.

The young team member beside him blushed, stammering: "C-Captain, this requires hydraulic cutters..."

My ex raised his hand to stop him, his gaze scraping across my exposed skin like a blade.

He walked to the bedside, looking down at me from above, his chest heaving violently, his voice so cold it could freeze:

"Quite the games you play, Ares. Where's the bastard? Did he handcuff you here and run off after pulling up his pants?"

1.

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning.

My hands cuffed to the headboard instinctively clenched, the metal core of the pink fluffy handcuffs digging viciously into my wrist bones.

It hurt.

But nowhere near as much as the shock of seeing Gustavo's face.

He stood there looking down at me, his firefighting combat gear still covered with wood splinters from breaking down the door, his helmet tucked under his arm, his whole body carrying the cold wind from outside.

His features still had that devastating quality. Sharp brows, high nose bridge, a jawline sharp enough to cut your finger.

Only those eyes—three years ago when he looked at me, they held entire galaxies.

Now they contained only murderous ice.

"C-Captain, these handcuffs are novelty ones, there's no keyhole, we need hydraulic cutters..."

Behind him, young team member Kane, blushing to the roots of his neck, held a toolbox, his voice shaking like a sieve.

His gaze clearly didn't know where to land.

Well, anyone would be stunned to see a woman wearing a black lace slip dress, hands locked to an iron headboard with pink fluffy handcuffs, positioned like a sacrificial lamb.

Especially when that woman was their captain's ex-girlfriend.

Gustavo didn't turn around.

He reached out, snatched the hydraulic cutters from Kane's hand, then slowly turned back.

That look made my spine run cold.

It wasn't the look you give a person. It was the look you give prey.

"Everyone out."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a knife stabbing into cotton—muffled and vicious.

Kane froze: "Captain, this isn't really regulation..."

"I said, everyone out."

Gustavo didn't raise his voice the second time, but his tone carried an additional layer of unquestionable coldness.

The team members behind him exchanged glances, but ultimately left with their heads down.

The bedroom door slammed shut, cutting off all sound.

The entire world shrank to this space of a few square meters, leaving only him and me.

I heard my own heartbeat, racing like it would explode.

Gustavo set the hydraulic cutters on the nightstand. He didn't immediately unlock me.

He turned and knelt on the bed with one knee.

The mattress sank sharply under his weight, and I slid uncontrollably toward his side.

The strap of my lace slip dress slipped off my left shoulder.

I bit down hard, desperately trying to pull it up with my cuffed hands, but couldn't reach it.

Gustavo's gaze slowly moved down from my exposed collarbone, sliding past what the slip dress barely covered, finally settling on my legs that I was trying to press together.

He reached out. Five fingers, one by one, closed around my ankle.

His palm was burning hot, his knuckles rough—calluses earned from years of gripping fire hoses and climbing ladders.

Goosebumps exploded across my entire body.

"Gustavo, what are you doing!"

He didn't answer.

He just brought his face close to my ear, his burning breath washing over it.

His voice was so hoarse it was like sandpaper scraping glass:

"This guy's got no guts."

"Ties you up like this, then pulls up his pants and runs?"

"Doesn't even clean up after himself?"

Each word carried the hatred of a dull knife cutting flesh.

My eyes instantly stung and swelled.

Not from fear, but from guilt. Guilt so profound my organs were trembling.

This man—three years ago, I had pushed him away with my own hands.