The night was still and heavy, as if the city itself were holding its breath. Benjamin stood in the dimly lit alley, his sharp suit marred by smudges of dirt and blood. His face bore a cold intensity as he stared down his adversary. The man before him—one of Moriarti's key enforcers—clutched a knife, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
"You thought you could walk into my territory," Benjamin said, his voice a low growl. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"
The enforcer smirked, though fear flashed in his eyes. "You can't stop us all, Benjamin.The Blackstone gang is growing. You're just a one man."
Benjamin didn't reply. Instead, he moved, swift and calculated, disarming the man with a brutal efficiency. The knife clattered to the ground, and in the span of seconds, the fight became one-sided. Benjamin's fists struck with precision, each blow carrying a warning—this was what happened when someone crossed him.
The enforcer collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain. Benjamin knelt beside him, gripping the man's collar.
"Tell your boss," he hissed, "this city belongs to me. If he wants a war, I'll give him one."
With that, Benjamin stood, straightened his suit, and walked away, leaving the man to crawl back to his boss.
---
By the time Benjamin returned to the mansion, it was nearing dawn. The faint light of morning crept over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink. Clara was still asleep in their room, her figure curled up under the blanket.
Benjamin paused at the door, his heart softening at the sight of her. She looked so peaceful, so untouched by the violence that dominated his world. He stepped into the room quietly, careful not to wake her, and made his way to the bathroom to clean up.
The fight had left a few scratches and bruises, but nothing serious. As he wiped the blood from his knuckles, Benjamin's mind raced. He hated keeping things from Clara, but he couldn't bear the thought of her worrying. The less she knew about his battles, the safer she would be—or so he believed.
---
The morning passed uneventfully, though Clara noticed that Benjamin seemed unusually quiet. She attributed it to the stress of his work and didn't press him. Instead, she busied herself with her flowers, arranging bouquets for the mansion's various rooms.
It wasn't until later in the afternoon that Clara overheard something that made her pause.
"I heard Benjamin took down one of Blackstone's men last night," Marcus said, his voice carrying through the hallway. "It was brutal. The guy didn't stand a chance."
Clara froze, her heart sinking. She knew Benjamin had been out late, but he hadn't mentioned anything about a fight. Why would he keep something like that from her?
Determined to get answers, Clara sought out Benjamin. She found him in his study, poring over documents.
"Benjamin," she said, her voice firm.
He looked up, his expression softening when he saw her. "Clara. What's wrong?"
"Why didn't you tell me about the fight last night?"
Benjamin's eyes flickered with surprise, followed by a guarded look. "How did you find out?"
"Marcus," she replied. "He was talking about it in the hallway. Why didn't you tell me?"
Benjamin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Clara, I didn't want to worry you. It's not something you need to concern yourself with."
Her eyes narrowed. "Not something I need to concern myself with? Benjamin, this isn't just about you. If you're putting yourself in danger, I have every right to know."
"I'm trying to protect you," he said, his tone growing defensive. "The less you know, the better."
Clara shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You don't get to decide that for me. I'm not some fragile doll you can keep in the dark."
"Clara—"
"No," she interrupted, her voice trembling with anger. "If you can't trust me enough to share what's happening, then what's the point of all this?"
Benjamin stared at her, his jaw tightening. For a moment, it looked like he might argue, but instead, he simply nodded. "Fine. If that's how you feel."
Without another word, Clara turned and left the room, her heart heavy.
---
The days that followed were tense. Clara withdrew, her anger manifesting in cold shoulders and curt replies. Benjamin, for his part, tried to bridge the gap, but every attempt seemed to make things worse.
One evening, as Clara sat in the greenhouse tending to her flowers, Benjamin entered, his expression determined.
"Clara," he said, his voice softer than she expected.
She glanced at him but didn't reply.
"I'm sorry," he continued, stepping closer. "I shouldn't have kept it from you. I just... I didn't want to burden you with the ugliness of my world."
Clara set down her watering can and faced him. "Benjamin, I know your world is dangerous. I accepted that the moment I fell in love with you. But keeping secrets only makes it harder for me to trust you."
He reached out, taking her hands in his. "You're right. I'll try to be more open with you. But you have to understand, Clara, my first instinct will always be to protect you."
She softened at his words, though the hurt still lingered. "I don't need you to shield me from everything. I just need you to let me in."
Benjamin nodded, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I'll try," he promised. "For you, I'll try."
As they stood there, the tension between them began to ease, replaced by a mutual understanding. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but together, they could weather the storms.