❗DISCLAIMER ❗

🔞 This book contains mature and erotic themes intended for adults Audiences only (18+). Reader discretion is strongly advised. All characters portrayed are fictional and of legal ages. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This work is created solely for entertainment purposes.

The cellar air tasted of copper and damp concrete, a stagnant weight that clung to the back of the throat.

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‎A single, naked bulb hummed overhead, casting a harsh, flickering light that carved deep shadows into the corners of the room.

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‎Alexander backed away, his heels clicking sharply against the floor, until the rough grit of the wall scraped through the fine silk of his cream-colored shirt.

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‎He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, the scent of his expensive, citrusy cologne clashing with the smell of mildew and old oil.

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‎Matthew stood three paces away.

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‎He hadn't moved a muscle in minutes.

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‎He remained a statue in a charcoal suit, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his posture a perfect imitation of the professional shield he had been for over a decade.

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‎But his eyes—usually flat, opaque voids—were burning.

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‎There was a frantic, starving energy behind his pupils, a hunger that had been simmering since he was twenty and Alexander had first bloomed into a reckless, golden youth.

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‎"You think I was protecting you from them, Alexander?"

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‎Matthew’s voice was a low, jagged rasp that seemed to vibrate in the small space. It lacked the deferential cadence he had used for years.

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‎The "Sir" was gone.

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‎The respect was gone.

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‎Alexander spat, a glob of saliva landing on the concrete between them.

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‎

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‎He tried to summon the arrogance that usually acted as his armor, the red-flag confidence of a man who had never been told no.

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‎"Get out of my way, Matthew. My father will have your head for this. Do you have any idea what happens to guards who forget their place?"

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‎Matthew didn't flinch.

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‎He took a slow, deliberate step forward. The leather of his shoes creaked.

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‎"I’ve known my place since I was fifteen, Alexander. I’ve lived in your shadow. I’ve breathed the air you discarded. I’ve watched every single person you let into your bed, every girl who thought she could touch what belongs to me."

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‎Alexander’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

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‎"What the fuck are you talking about? I don't care who you watch."

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‎Matthew smiled.

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‎It wasn't a warm expression; it was a predatory baring of teeth.

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‎He stepped closer, invading Alexander's personal space, the heat from his body radiating through the thin fabric of the heir's shirt.

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‎"Do you remember Chloe? The blonde from the club three months ago? The one who suddenly stopped calling? Or Marcus? The boy with the lip piercing who vanished after that weekend in the Hamptons?"

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‎Alexander froze.

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‎The air in the room seemed to thicken.

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‎"They just... they moved on. They left."

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‎"They didn't leave,"

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‎Matthew whispered, his voice dropping to a primal, guttural register.

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‎He reached out, his fingers grazing Alexander’s jawline.

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‎The touch was light, but the grip tightened suddenly, bruising the skin.

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‎"I cleared the path. I pruned the garden. I spent years scrubbing the filth of other people off your skin. I was protecting me from them. Because I’m the only one allowed to touch you. I’m the only one allowed to break you."

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‎Alexander’s eyes widened.

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‎The reality of the situation crashed over him like a freezing wave.

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‎He tried to wrench his head away, but Matthew’s hand locked like a vice.

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‎"You're insane. You're a fucking psychopath!"

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‎"I am your shadow, Alexander. And the shadow always wins when the lights go out."

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‎Matthew slammed him against the wall.

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‎The impact knocked the wind out of Alexander, leaving him gasping, his head snapping back against the concrete with a dull thud. Before Alexander could scream, Matthew’s mouth crashed onto his.

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‎It wasn't a kiss; it was a collision.

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‎It tasted of desperation and salt.

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‎Matthew’s tongue forced its way past Alexander’s lips, aggressive and demanding, sucking the breath right out of his lungs.

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‎He tasted the sweetness of Alexander’s panic and the metallic tang of blood where he had bitten the inside of his cheek.

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‎Matthew groaned, a deep, animal sound that vibrated through both their chests, his tongue swirling and claiming every inch of the other man's mouth, exchanging saliva in a messy, frantic slurry.

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‎Alexander struggled, his hands clawing at Matthew’s shoulders, trying to push the larger man away.

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‎But Matthew was a weapon, molded by Don Ceaser to be an unstoppable force. He pinned Alexander’s wrists above his head with one hand, crushing them against the cold wall.

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‎"Stop! Let me go!" Alexander shrieked, though the sound was muffled by Matthew’s relentless mouth.

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‎Matthew pulled back just an inch, their lips still brushing, a thin string of saliva connecting them.

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‎"You've spent your whole life taking whatever you wanted, Alexander. Now you get to find out what it feels like to be the thing that is taken."

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‎Matthew’s free hand descended, ripping the silk shirt open.

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‎Buttons flew, pinging off the concrete walls like tiny bullets.

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‎He exposed Alexander’s pale, smooth chest, the skin glistening with a fine sheen of cold sweat.

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‎Matthew leaned in, burying his face in the crook of Alexander’s neck, inhaling deeply.

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‎He smelled the citrus, the fear, and the raw, pheromonal scent of a man who was losing control.

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‎Matthew bit down hard on the junction of Alexander’s shoulder and neck.

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‎Alexander let out a sharp, broken cry, his body arching.

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‎The pain was sudden and searing, but beneath it, a traitorous spark of heat ignited in his gut.

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‎He had always been a creature of excess, of intensity, and the sheer, violent certainty of Matthew’s obsession was an intoxicant.

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‎Matthew’s hand slid down, gripping the waistband of Alexander’s designer trousers and ripping them down with a single, violent jerk.

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‎He didn't bother with finesse.

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‎He wanted the skin.

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‎He wanted the vulnerability.

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‎Alexander was trembling now, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches.

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‎He looked up at Matthew, seeing not the loyal dog he had kicked for years, but a master who had finally decided to stop pretending.

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‎"Please,"

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‎Alexander whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for the violence to stop or for it to finally consume him.

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‎"Please what?"

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‎Matthew murmured, his voice a low vibration against Alexander's skin.

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‎"Please hurt you? Please own you? Please make you forget that anyone else ever existed?"

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‎Matthew dropped to his knees.

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‎He grabbed Alexander’s thighs, pulling them wide, exposing him to the cold, damp air of the cellar.

❗ CHILD-SAFE DISCLAIMER ❗

‎> This work contains mature themes intended for adult audiences only (18+). Reader discretion is strongly advised. All characters are fictional and depicted as being of legal age. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental. This story is created for fictional entertainment purposes only.

‎

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‎Alexander felt his body react instinctively to the intensity of the moment and the dominance in the air. Matthew watched him closely, his expression filled with a fierce, all-consuming devotion.

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‎He leaned forward, moving with deliberate focus, and Alexander gasped at the sudden, overwhelming sensation.

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‎“You are everything to me,” Matthew murmured, his voice low and heavy with emotion. “And you belong to me—completely.”

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‎Matthew drew closer, his actions firm and possessive, and Alexander’s head fell back against the wall as a sound of mixed surprise and surrender escaped him. The cold air of the cellar stood in sharp contrast to the intense heat and closeness between them.

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‎Matthew held Alexander firmly, stretching and guiding his body in a way that felt both forceful and intentional. Alexander cried out, caught between discomfort and the strange pull of the connection they shared.

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‎“Be still,” Matthew whispered, looking up at him with dark, intense eyes. “Accept this. Learn what it means to be mine.”

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‎He continued, his movements calculated and unyielding, and Alexander trembled under his touch, feeling the conflict between pain and a strange, rising longing.

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‎When Matthew stood, his own desire was clear in his posture and gaze. He removed his outer clothing with quick, cold efficiency, then stepped closer and pulled Alexander toward him, pressing his back against the wall and lifting his legs around his waist.

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‎“Look at me,” Matthew commanded.

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‎Alexander opened his eyes, blurred by tears and overwhelming feeling.

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‎“I am the only one who will never let you go,” Matthew said softly.

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‎He pressed forward, and Alexander gasped as he felt the full weight of their union—sharp, intense, and impossible to ignore. He felt as though he was being claimed entirely, the line between agony and desire blurring completely.

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‎Matthew paused briefly, letting Alexander adjust, then began to move. At first slow and deliberate, every motion deepened the connection between them. Alexander’s hands found their way to Matthew’s back, gripping tightly as he sobbed, the sound mixing between protest and desperate need. His world narrowed down to nothing but the feeling of Matthew’s presence, the scent of sweat and closeness, and the heavy atmosphere of the cellar.

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‎Matthew’s movements grew more urgent, driven by years of hidden longing and fierce obsession. He held Alexander’s hips with such force his knuckles turned white, his focus unbreakable.

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‎“Don’t look away!” he ordered, his voice rough. “Stay here with me. Feel every part of this.”

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‎The rhythm between them quickened, and Alexander felt his control slipping away, his mind unraveling under the weight of Matthew’s fixation. Tension built inside him until it reached a breaking point, while Matthew breathed in ragged, heavy gasps, his own climax drawing near like a powerful wave.

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‎He leaned in, biting gently at Alexander’s ear, his voice a whisper of possession.

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‎“You are mine. Forever and always.”

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‎With one final, deep motion, they both reached their peak. Alexander cried out as the sensation washed over him, while Matthew held him tight, releasing years of repressed feeling into the moment.

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‎They stayed pressed together, chests rising and falling in unison, their sweat mixing in the cool, damp air. After a long while, Matthew slowly pulled back.

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‎Alexander slid down the wall until he sat on the concrete floor, his clothes torn and his body marked by the encounter. He looked up, his eyes distant and weary.

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‎Matthew stood over him, his expression shifting back to the cold, controlled demeanor he usually wore—though his eyes still burned with unspoken intensity. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair from Alexander’s face, a gesture so gentle it felt more frightening than the force before it.

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‎“The door is locked,” Matthew said softly. “And I hold the only key.”

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‎Alexander stared up at him, a single tear rolling down his cheek through the dust and grime.

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‎“My father… he will come looking for me,” he said weakly.

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‎Matthew smiled, and this time the smile reached his eyes—calm, certain, and utterly terrifying.

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‎“Your father is a busy man. He will believe whatever I tell him—that you ran off, that you grew tired of your old life. He will never suspect the truth.”

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‎He stepped back, looking at Alexander’s exhausted form. In his mind, the work was done; the person he wanted was now fully his to protect—and to control.

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‎“Come,” Matthew said, his voice returning to its usual low tone. “Let me help you clean up. We have all the time in the world to learn everything about each other now.”

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❗ CHILD-SAFE DISCLAIMER ❗

‎> This work contains mature themes intended for adult audiences only (18+). Reader discretion is strongly advised. All characters are fictional and depicted as being of legal age. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental. This story is created for fictional entertainment purposes only.

The silence in the apartment had grown heavy and suffocating, like a thick curtain that blocked out even the usual sounds of the city outside.

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‎Alexander sat at a small wooden table, spread with photographs, handwritten notes, and a calendar marked with bold red circles. He couldn’t remember when the quiet had started to feel threatening, but it had deepened along with the empty spaces in his life.

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‎First there was Sarah—full of laughter, always sketching, and smelling of paint and flowers. Then Leo, a musician whose hands were always moving. Last came Julian, with a voice that felt calm and reassuring. All of them had brought brightness and warmth into Alexander’s world, and all of them had vanished just as suddenly. No goodbye messages, no calls, no trace—only a quiet, empty space where they used to be.

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‎Alexander stared at a photo of Leo\, his face lit up with joy. Beside it lay a note he had written days before: *Matthew met Leo on Tuesday. By Friday\, he stopped answering.*

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‎Looking at the other dates, he saw a clear, disturbing pattern. Every person who had gotten close to him—every friend, every companion, anyone who let him see a life beyond Matthew’s influence—had disappeared one by one.

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‎The front door clicked open. The sound rang through the hall like a sharp warning. Alexander froze, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He made no move to hide his notes; he was too tired to be afraid anymore.

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‎“Alex? My dear, I’m home.”

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‎Matthew’s voice was smooth and calm. He walked in with a deliberate, practiced grace, carrying a bag that smelled of fresh bread and butter. He stopped just a few steps from the table and glanced down at the scattered photos and marked dates. He showed no shock, no surprise. He simply set the bag down and gave a slow, thin smile that never reached his eyes.

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‎“You’ve been thinking a lot,” Matthew said.

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‎Alexander’s voice came out rough and strained. “Where are they, Matthew?”

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‎Matthew tilted his head, feigning confusion. “I’m sorry—who are you talking about?”

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‎“Stop pretending!” Alexander raised his voice, rising so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Sarah, Leo, Julian—all of them! People don’t just disappear without a trace. Not three times, and not every time I find someone who makes me feel happy.”

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‎Matthew sighed, sounding truly disappointed. He stepped closer, and the scent of his cologne wrapped around Alexander—once it felt like comfort, now it felt like a warning.

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‎“Happy?” Matthew repeated, as if the word left a bad taste. “You thought they made you happy? Sarah was restless; she would have left you sooner or later. Leo only wanted someone to support his work. And Julian… he had nothing real to offer you.”

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‎“They cared about me!” Alexander shouted, his voice breaking. “Or they were trying to. Why did they leave? What did you do?”

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‎Matthew’s expression shifted. The gentle mask didn’t just slip—it faded away, revealing something far more intense and controlling beneath. He reached out, brushing Alexander’s cheek lightly at first, then held his face firmly, forcing him to look straight into his eyes.

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‎“I protected you,” Matthew whispered.

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‎Alexander trembled, cold dread running down his spine. “Protected me from what?”

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‎“From everything that pulls you away,” Matthew answered, his voice lowering into a deep, possessive tone. “From distractions, from people who only take from you and leave you empty. You are too special, Alex. You keep letting others drain your energy and your light. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you waste yourself on people who don’t deserve you.”

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