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Also I am hungry so suggest me something that I can quickly make. I am vegetarian

Alexander's POV

She wasn't breathing.

I'll never forget the way my chest hollowed out when I pulled her from the sea. Her body was limp, her lips blue, her chest still, and in that moment, I thought I might lose her. The fear gripped me like nothing I'd ever felt before. It wasn't just panic. it was something darker, more consuming. I'd always thought my obsession with my darling Rose was manageable—something I could control. But as her lifeless form sagged in my arms, I realized the truth.

She wasn't just an obsession. She was my addiction. A life without her wasn't just unbearable—it was meaningless.

When I finally felt her sputter and cough, relief flooded through me and then later, it was rage. It seethed inside me, burning hotter than the fury I'd ever known.

I carried her back to the estate, her frail, soaking form in my arms, and the rage didn't just simmer—it boiled. Rage at those filthy bitches who dared to hurt her. Rage at the world for thinking they could take what was mine. My little rose was broken—and I couldn't tolerate it.

Her clothes clung to her like a second skin, her skin pale, trembling. Her casted arm hung awkwardly by her side, and every detail of her injuries—the bruises, the scratches, the swelling—felt like a personal insult.

Her trembling body in my arms felt too fragile, too breakable, and yet, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fit against me. My hands tightened around her instinctively, possessively, as I carried her to my room. She wasn't just cold from the water—she was cold because of them. And the rage simmering under my skin didn't subside as I looked down at her pale, damp face. It only grew stronger.

But beneath the rage, there was something else. Guilt. An unfamiliar, jagged thing that I couldn't ignore. My brothers and I had done worse to her—much worse. Lucian beating her to the point where she was wrapped in casts, heard her whimpers when Elijah pushed her too far as he mentally and physical harassed her, and I'd felt nothing but cold amusement. But now, looking at the marks those sluts had left on her, I wanted to burn them all. Slowly.

Laying her down gently on the bed, I let my eyes roam over her. The bruises on her cheek, the bloodied split on her lower lip, the faint red marks where fingers had dug into her arms. My fingers brushed over those marks, the heat of anger rising in my chest again.

I couldn't stand it.

I forced myself to step back, to breathe, to focus. I had to take care of her now. My anger could wait. The water was running in the bathroom, hot enough to drive out the cold clinging to her skin. I stripped off my wet shirt and returned to her, leaning down to lift her carefully.

Her head lolled against my shoulder, and the warmth of her breath tickled my neck. I swallowed hard, biting back the darker thoughts swirling in my mind. This wasn't the time. She needed me.

"Rose," I murmured as I carried her to the bathroom. Her eyelids fluttered faintly, but she didn't respond. "I've got you."

I set her down carefully on the counter, her wet clothes clinging to her skin. My fingers worked on the buttons of her soaked dress, the fabric peeling away to reveal her bare, bruised shoulders. My knuckles brushed against her skin, and even in her state, she shivered at my touch.

She was cold—too cold.

It took every ounce of control not to crush my fist into something, someone—anyone—them.

I undressed her gently, trying to focus only on the task, though every inch of her bare skin made it harder to breathe. I lowered her into the bath, the hot water enveloping her, and for the first time, I saw the tension in her body ease.

The sight of her - skin pale, her body trembling, the casted arm hanging awkwardly—felt like a violation of everything I held dear.

Her head lolled back against the edge of the tub, and my hands brushed over her arms and legs, washing away the salt water and sand. My touch lingered longer than it should have, my fingers tracing over her bruises. Every mark made my jaw tighten, but I forced myself to focus on her.

"Those fucking hags..." I muttered, my fists clenching until my knuckles cracked. "They'll regret this."

Her flinch when I lowered her into the water made something dark twist inside me. "It's alright, Rose," I whispered, my fingers brushing through her damp hair, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be. "You're safe now."

Safe. The word tasted bitter, false, in my mouth. She wasn't safe—not from me, not from my brothers. But the difference? We owned her pain. We controlled it. When Lucian bruised her, it was calculated. When Elijah pushed her limits, it was deliberate. This chaos—this senseless cruelty from outsiders? It was intolerable. It didn't belong.

I cleaned her carefully, my hands moving over her bruises, my anger rising with every stroke. The water turned pink with her blood, and the sight of it nearly made me snap. With each careful movement, I vowed to make them suffer. To make them pay—not just for touching her, but for making me feel this way.

Afterward, I dressed her in one of my sweatshirts, the fabric swallowing her small frame. It smelled like me, and for some reason, that pleased me more than it should have. I changed quickly and slid into the bed beside her, pulling the duvet over both of us. But her shivering didn't stop. Her body was ice beneath my touch, and I couldn't stand it.

I pulled her closer, my hands rubbing over her arms, trying to bring warmth back into her cold skin. Her head rested against my chest, her hand curling faintly against my sweatshirt. But her body was still trembling, still haunted by the memory of their cruelty.

"Please..." she murmured, her voice soft, broken.

The words hit me like a knife, sharp and precise. I tightened my grip on her, pressing a kiss to her damp hair. "Shh," I whispered, my voice low, my own desperation breaking through. "You're safe, Rose. No one will ever hurt you again."

I thought her trembling had eased, that she might drift into sleep, but the truth was, it was my own rage that wouldn't rest. It burned hotter now, the anger refusing to go away, refusing to allow me peace. No one could touch her. No one could mark her. That was my right. Mine alone.

Lucian and Elijah entered the room, their expressions grim. Lucian's eyes softened when he saw her, but the hardness in his gaze never wavered. He sat beside her, brushing his fingers through her hair. "She has a fever," he muttered, his jaw tight with anger. "Those cunts will pay for this."

Elijah settled at the foot of the bed, rubbing her cold feet. He kissed her ankle lightly, his gaze darkening with malice. "They'll wish they were dead," he said, his voice low.

"But She's our priority tonight," Lucian said, his gaze meeting mine, the intensity mirrored in my own. "We deal with them tomorrow."

Elijah smirked, his fingers lazily tracing circles on her feet. "Let them spend the night in terror, thinking about what's coming. They deserve that much."

I nodded, my lips brushing against August's temple. "Tomorrow," I said quietly. "But they'll suffer. For every mark on her, they'll suffer."

Lucian leaned down, kissing her forehead. His voice was soft but firm. "She's ours, Alex. No one else's."

I tightened my grip on her, my thumb tracing over the bruise on her cheek. "And anyone who forgets that," I murmured, my voice low and dangerous, "will learn the hard way."

Lucian's POV

She looked so small, so fragile, curled up in Alexander's arms. Her shivers hadn't stopped even as he tucked her into the bed, wrapping her in layers of warmth. I stood by the door, my jaw clenched, my hands balled into fists at my sides as I took in the sight of her bruised cheek, the crimson gash on her lip, the faint red imprints on her arms—marks that didn't belong to me.

The thought alone sent a rush of anger through my veins.

I walked over, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow, and as I brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, her feverish skin burned against my fingertips. She was too warn, yet her body trembled as though trapped in an eternal chill.

I pressed my lips together, frustration bubbling under the surface. When I'd hurt her before, it was my right—a lesson, a way to remind her who she belonged to. It wasn't meant to kill her, just to make her understand. But this? This was different.

Someone else had laid their filthy hands on my doll. Someone else had dared to mark her.

I reached for the cloth Alexander had set on the bedside table, dampening it in the cool water before gently pressing it to her forehead. She whimpered softly at the touch, her face turning slightly toward me. The sound sent a pang through my chest, unexpected and unwelcome.

"You gotta breathe Alex" I muttered to Alexander, though my voice lacked its usual edge. "Nothing would happen to her if you breathe too hard. She won't crumble in your embrace "

"She's is in pain already, too much because of those fucking whores," he replied flatly, not bothering to look at me. "And she's ours to put back together."

His words hit something deep in me, but I shoved the thought aside. I focused instead on her fevered face, on the way her lips moved faintly, murmuring something I couldn't quite hear.

My fingers brushed against the red mark on her cheek, and a surge of anger flared up again. "They'll pay for this," I said quietly, my tone hard and certain. "Every bruise, every mark—they'll pay for all of it."

Alex didn't respond, but the sharp glint in his eyes told me he felt the same.

I leaned closer, my hand cupping her jaw as I tilted her face slightly toward me. "Doll," I murmured, my voice softer now, coaxing. "You're safe. No one will hurt you again. Not while I'm here."

Her lips parted, a faint whisper slipping through. "Don't... please..."

My chest tightened, the words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. I'd made her beg before, seen the fear in her eyes, and it hadn't fazed me. But hearing it now, knowing someone else had pushed her to this point—it twisted something in me.

"You don't get to plead like that with anyone but me," I whispered harshly, more to myself than to her. "You hear me, doll? No one else."

I pressed the cloth to her forehead again, my thumb brushing lightly over her temple. She shifted slightly, her trembling easing just a fraction, and I allowed myself to exhale.

Elijah moved to the foot of the bed, sitting down and taking one of her cold feet in his hands.

"She's burning up," he said, his tone unusually soft as he rubbed gentle circles over her skin.

"I know," I muttered, my jaw tightening. "And they'll burn for it."

Elijah's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Let them spend the night in terror, wondering what's coming for them. We'll deal with them tomorrow."

I nodded, my gaze never leaving August's face. "They deserve worse than we'll give them, but they'll get enough to make them regret ever breathing the same air as her."

Elijah's fingers tightened slightly on her foot. "We've hurt her before," he said quietly, a rare moment of honesty slipping through. "But it's different when it's us. It's discipline, control. This..." His voice hardened. "This was fucking cruelty. And no one gets to be cruel to her except us."

I couldn't argue with him. Seeing her like this, broken and feverish, made something in me ache—something I couldn't quite name. I didn't care what it was. All I cared about was making sure she never looked like this again not unless it was me or my brothers.

I leaned down, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. "Rest, doll," I whispered. "You're safe now."

Safe in our hands, where no one else would dare to touch her.

Elijah's POV

The room felt heavy, suffocating almost, as I sat at the edge of the bed, her fragile foot in my hands. August's face was pale, her body unnaturally still, and for the first time in years, I felt something foreign clawing at my chest—fear.

Her bruises didn't bother me before. Hell, I loved the way her skin would bloom with color after one of us disciplined her. She looked divine wearing our marks, like she belonged to us in every possible way. But now? These marks weren't ours. They were filthy, foreign reminders of someone else's hands on her. It made me want to rip the sisters apart with my bare hands.

I rubbed her foot gently, almost absentmindedly, my eyes tracing every line and bruise on her body. Her cheeks, one side swollen and red from the slap; her lip, split and scabbed; her arms, marred with scratches. And then there was the cast on her hand, her legs barely healed enough for walking. They had pushed her back to square one.

My hands tightened around her foot for a moment, and Lucian's sharp voice broke through my thoughts. "Elijah."

I glanced up, meeting his dark gaze. He was sitting beside her, his fingers combing through her hair in slow, repetitive motions. His face was calm, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the simmering rage beneath the surface. "You are increasing the pain those bitches caused her," he hissed.

I loosened my grip and began rubbing her foot again, slow and deliberate. "They're going to pay for this. I'll make sure they remember every second of it."

Alex didn't look at us. He laid stiffly holding August like she was the most fragile thing in the world. His arms were wrapped around her, her head tucked against his chest. He'd been silent majorly since we returned, his focus entirely on her.

"She wasn't breathing," he said suddenly, his voice low and raw.

I froze, the weight of his words settling over me. I didn't need him to elaborate; I'd seen it too. That moment when he pulled her out of the water, when her body was limp and lifeless. For a split second, I thought we'd lost her.

"She'll be fine," I said, more to convince myself than anyone else.

Lucian's hand paused in her hair, his fingers curling into a fist. "She will," he said firmly. "And when she wakes up, she'll know we'll protect her. They won't touch her again. She will see what happens to those who tries to mess with her"

I snorted, shaking my head. "No. They won't even breathe near her again."

Lucian's fingers resumed their motion, brushing through her hair with an almost obsessive focus. "They'll regret it," he said softly, but the promise in his voice was deadly.

I nodded, my fingers still working to warm her icy foot. "They'll regret it," I repeated.

The room fell into silence again, the tension thick and unyielding. I couldn't stop staring at her, at the faint tremble in her lips and the way her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

I leaned down, brushing my lips against the top of her foot. It was an unfamiliar gesture for me—soft, almost tender—but I couldn't help it. The thought of someone else's hands on her, someone else's violence marking her, made my stomach churn.

"She's ours," I said, my voice low and firm.

No one gets to touch her. No one gets to hurt her.

"She's too quiet," Alex murmured. "Even in her sleep, she's never this quiet."

Lucian's hand froze, and I felt my chest tighten at Alex words. He was right. She was always murmuring, whimpering, or shifting in her sleep. Now she was completely still, like all the fight had drained out of her.

"She'll wake up," I said, more to myself than anyone else. "She has to."

I nodded, my hands still working to warm her foot.

My little dove.

No one gets to hurt her except me and my brothers.

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