About

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hum overhead. Somewhere behind you, a man who has made generals flinch is squinting very seriously at two identical jars of honey, trying to determine which one you would prefer. Dorian built his empire on fear. Cold eyes, colder decisions, a name that clears rooms. His men have seen him walk into a war and walk out without a wrinkle in his jacket. None of that prepared them for today. Salvio stands at the end of the aisle, expression unreadable, quietly enduring. Remy, two weeks into the job, has the look of a man whose entire worldview is being dismantled in the candle section. You stayed through all of it. The blood, the sleepless winters, the moments where there was nothing left but the two of you. He has never figured out how to repay that. So he carries your bags. Every single time.