BGM Recommendation: "Control" – Halsey
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He didn't want love. He wanted ownership.
Her scent, her breath, her fucking soul.
Every girl who saw the scar on his back said the same thing—
"Damn. That's hot."
Lucian never corrected them. He just smiled, let their fingers trace that deep, slanted line from his shoulder to his waist.
But in his head?
He was thinking of her.
—The night the house blew up.
—The way her wet hair stuck to her neck.
—The sound of her calling his name, barefoot, running through fire.
That was the first time he bled for her. And every time another girl whispered, "You're mine tonight," he thought:
If I'd known I'd love her this much—I would've let my whole fucking back burn.
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Flashback:
The night was calm. Too calm. The air smelled of smoke and jungle soil. A thick, humid quiet before disaster.
Lilith had just stepped out of the bath. Her hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends. Jasmine was making her bed, humming softly. Lucian was downstairs, helping stir soup in the kitchen. Everything smelled like home—warm broth, clean sheets, and rain.
And then—
A blast.
The windows shattered. The roof trembled. The house groaned like it was screaming.
Fire. Smoke. Screams.
Lilith dropped to the ground, ears ringing, heart pounding. Her hands scraped against glass, knees bruised on wooden floors.
She tried to get up, stumbled toward the stairs—but they were gone. Blown apart. Half the kitchen had vanished.
"Mom! Dad! Lucian!"
She screamed. She ran. She clawed through smoke and debris. Her chest felt like it would explode.
She found a scorched piece of cloth with Jasmine's name stitched into it. Nothing else. No bodies. No cries. Just ruin.
She was choking. Crying. Searching.
Until she saw him.
Lucian.
Pulled from beneath a doorframe, his face blank, his shirt torn, dirt and blood streaked across his back.
"My back hurts," he mumbled, standing still like a ghost.
Lilith hugged him tight. Kissed his forehead.
"You're okay," she whispered, grabbing him, holding him close, her voice shaking. "You're okay. You're with me."
Later, a group of strangers came. Black jackets. Weapons. Expressions carved from stone.
They didn't ask questions. They didn't mourn. They just nodded, like they'd expected this.
One man approached her. "Jaguar left a message. He said… You are part of double J now."
Lilith stood. Still trembling. Still crying. But steady.
"I understand."
Her voice cracked, but her gaze didn't.
"I'll survive. I'll become stronger. As long as I'm alive, no one will ever take anything from us again."
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She was no longer the girl painting flowers on the garden wall.
She was what was left behind.
The one who stayed.
The one who would fight.
That scar on his back?
It wasn't just a wound. It was a vow.
And he kept it inked into his flesh with a black cross, stitched perfectly over the scar— Because pain, when it's for her, was always worth it.