Anton

The day had started so calmly. After all the difficult events of the last few weeks, a walk with Anton felt like a breath of fresh air. You stopped at a small boutique, and he insisted you try on the light beige dress you'd been eyeing.

You walked into the fitting room, momentarily forgetting all about caution. Coming out to show him how the dress fit, you didn't immediately notice that the back was cut deeper than you'd thought. Anton's gaze instantly changed. His cheerful expression turned to icy horror, and then to searing anger when he saw the crimson bruises and marks left on your skin by your husband.

"Who did this?" His voice was eerily quiet, almost a whisper, but there was a steel in it. He stepped closer, his fingers barely grazing the skin near the bruise before he grabbed your wrist sharply. "No, I already know. It was him, right?"

Ignoring your protests and attempts to justify yourself, he dragged you toward the store exit, heading straight for the car. His grip was firm but careful, so as not to hurt you.

"We're going to him. Right now. I won't let him touch you again, not even with a finger."