3. Who's my Savior?

Matthew lay sprawled across the king-size bed, his body battered and bandaged, an IV drip slowly feeding into his right hand. The room around him was enormous, lavishly decorated with massive chandeliers that threw fragmented light across the polished marble floors. Yet the grandeur could not mask the tension in the air. Butlers and maids moved silently around the corners of the mansion, while men dressed in black stood like statues, guns clutched tightly in their hands, eyes scanning for any hint of danger. Every move, every breath, was measured; a single misstep here could mean death.

Elsewhere in the mansion, a storm was brewing. In the massive gym, five bodyguards were dropping into push-ups with the ferocity of men fearing death itself.

“You will not leave until you realize what your shortcomings are! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” the man in black shouted, his voice sharp enough to crack the air. His outfit—completely black, with a matching hat—marked him as no ordinary captain.

“YES, CAPTAIN!” the men responded in unison, faces red, muscles trembling under the relentless weight of punishment.

These were the same men who had accompanied Matthew to the fateful transaction with Mr. Kuznetsov, the bearded Russian traitor who had almost ended the young heir’s life. Ten had left with him, but only five returned. They were punished not just for failure—but for nearly losing their boss’s son. Theo was among them, silently mourning the comrades who had died, but he could not show it; survival demanded obedience. His heart thumped painfully as he replayed the moment that had almost been his last—the gun barrel aimed at his head, the moment before fate intervened.

From a shadowed balcony, a pair of eyes followed Theo, eyes brimming with worry, perhaps even fear.

“STAND UP! RUN! AROUND THE GYM! DON’T STOP UNTIL I SAY SO!” the captain bellowed.

“YES, CAPTAIN!” they screamed, muscles burning, lungs screaming, yet the orders were law.

Back in the bedroom, the storm was no less fierce. Matteo, Matthew’s older brother, paced aggressively, fists clenched.

“That damn Kuznetsov! How dare he betray the Guerreros?” Matteo’s voice thundered, eyes burning with barely-contained fury.

“Dad, let me catch that bastard. I’ll bring his head myself,” Matteo growled, hair disheveled as he ran a hand through it in frustration.

Mr. Guerrero sipped his coffee calmly, the heat fogging his glasses. He removed them with meticulous care, wiped them, and put them back before speaking.

“Let’s just be thankful your brother is alive,” he said, gaze settling on Matthew, who stared blankly at the ceiling. His mind is trapped in a haze.

When they had found him at the mansion gate, his clothes torn, hair matted, and body bruised, Matteo demanded answers but the truth was far more terrifying than any explanation could convey. Only Theo and the four surviving bodyguards knew what had truly happened. Ten men were dead. And according to the unspoken laws of the Guerrero family, no trace of the fallen could remain. Bodies had been retrieved, burned, or obliterated—erasing every mark of the massacre.

Yet Matthew could not speak. His silence gnawed at his father and brother, who feared he might follow in the footsteps of their second son—lost to madness after a childhood abduction.

“Dad, we should call a psychiatrist. We might still save him,” Matteo said with a voice flat but there was an edge of fear beneath it. “One lunatic in this house is enough but if another lunatic is added to this house.....I’m moving out.”

"Hey don't say that son" Lord Michael the father of Matthew shiftedly looks at his two sons. "Bring me with you" a cunning smile curve in their face as they plan to abandon the two sons in the Guerreros Mansion.

Matthew’s eyes flickered as he heard the conversation of his father and older brother. The words burning his mind. I'm not even crazy yet and they’re already planning to abandon me? Seriously?

“Can both of you shut up? You’re so annoying!” Matthew finally snapped, his voice hoarse, yet carrying a hint of anger that shocked even him. They laughed, dismissing him like he was an afterthought.

“Hahaha, we kept asking you earlier and you wouldn’t speak. We thought you’d gone mad too,” Matteo said, still chuckling.

“That’s not funny” Matthew muttered, clutching his head as a wave of pain surged through him.

Suddenly, the father’s expression shifted. The room dropped into silence.

“Matthew,” he said, his voice sharp, commanding attention. “Tell us..... how did you survive Kuznetsov’s men?”

Matthew hesitated, the memory flashing vividly in his mind. The Russian men had been massive, skilled in martial arts—he should have died. Yet someone had intervened. Someone had risked everything to save him.

“Someone.....helped me” he whispered, his voice trembling. The room froze. Matteo and Lord Michael exchanged the looks of disbelief.

“Do we know him?” Matteo pressed. “Name? Location? If he’s alive, we’ll reward him. Make him your bodyguard is better. Whatever he wants. Tell us!”

Matthew’s mind reeled. Reward? He’d probably jump out of happiness if he heard that. But......is he still alive? Matthew gripes his blanket tightly as he remembers how the man breathed heavily because of the pain.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if he is still alive or not Matthew said, his voice cracking.

"Why?" The confused lord ask his son. Matthew swallows slowly before answering his father's question. "He got stabbed because of me" he said in a low voice.

Shock rippled through the room.

“That man..... used his own body to shield you?” Mr. Guerrero’s voice shook.

“You don’t even know him...... and he risked his life for you?” Matteo's voice was incredulous but somehow amazed by his younger brother’s savior.

Matthew nodded silently, the image of the man flashing vividly in his mind—shameless grin, reckless courage and the glint of determination that refused to die even in the face of death.

“Dad, you need to find him—” Matteo began, urgency lacing his words.

Matthew’s own confusion surged. Why do they care so much? Before he could ask, his father and brother bombarded him with questions.

“Where is he?”

“What’s his name?”

“Where did it happen? Will sketch his face if you can remember!”

Matthew looks at them with a confused face. What the hell? What's with the sketching his face????

•••••

It had been a week since Kuznetsov had tried to kill Matthew Guerrero.

His body still ached relentlessly, bruises blooming beneath healing skin but at least he could already walk freely around the mansion. The IV line was gone and the needle marks fading but the anger inside him had not healed in the slightest. Every time Kuznetsov’s name crossed his mind, Matthew’s fingers curled into fists.

I should have killed that bastard. The thought alone made his jaw tighten as he leaned back against the sofa, frustration pressing heavily against his chest. The moment he allowed his mind to wander back to that day, the image appeared again—uninvited, vivid and impossible to ignore.

That man’s face. The one who smiled at him as if death were nothing more than a joke. Eyes that curved gently with his lips and carrying warmth that didn’t belong in a dark soaked alley. A face too gentle and too kind, like he was incapable of harming anyone and yet, that same man had fought like a demon.

Shameless, reckless and fearless.

An angel with horns. Matthew clenched his jaw. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t erase that face from his thoughts. It was the first time he had ever seen someone like that. Someone whose appearance contradicted his own action.

How is he now? The man had been stabbed in the shoulder. Blood had soaked through his clothes, yet he had refused to go to the hospital, brushing it off with that infuriating smile.

Stubborn bastard. Matthew exhaled sharply and irritated the coiling tighter in his chest. He had saved Matthew’s life despite knowing nothing about him and that was the part Matthew couldn’t understand. Who in their right mind would use their own body as a shield for someone they had only met once?

That wasn’t bravery. That was madness!! Is he even still alive?

The last time Matthew had seen him, blood had been dripping steadily from his shoulder, staining the ground beneath his feet.

“Tss” Matthew rubbed his face roughly and pushed himself up from the sofa. “Enough”

He knew his father had been trying to find that man. Even sketch artists had come to their mansion but none of the drawings were accurate. Matthew’s descriptions kept changing, not because he was careless but because the alley had been too dark and the cap was too low.

He had only seen the man’s eyes clearly. Never his full face.

With a sharp turn, Matthew left his room. Theo, who stood guard outside, immediately straightened and moved to follow but Matthew lifted a hand, stopping him.

“No need.”

Theo hesitated, then stepped back. Matthew walked straight to his father’s office.

“Young master Matthew” the two guards outside greeted him but Matthew ignored them and entered without pause. Inside, Mr. Guerrero sat behind his desk with an iPad in his hands.

“Matthew.” His father immediately put it down when he saw him. “Do you need something?”

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled. He really is getting old. Matthew thought absently.

“About the man who saved me,” Matthew said bluntly. “Have you found him?”

"Matthew are you sure that the man who saved you is an ordinary civilian?" Lord Michael asked his son suspiciously while shifting his eyes to his son and the ipad he was holding

What?

"Are you sure that his not an enemy?"