In a world where Beastmen are nothing more than second-class citizens—tools for labor or toys for cruelty—I was just another exhausted soul trying to survive the corporate grind. Until I saw him. He was a Wolf-Dog Beastman of haunting beauty, chained in a filthy alleyway, silenced by a crude metal muzzle. They called him a "venting dog." For a handful of cash, anyone could use him to release their darkest malice. He was broken, bloodied, and stubborn enough to choose death over submission. I told myself to walk away. I told myself I couldn't afford a life that belonged in a cage. But when the light in those defiant gray eyes was hours away from being extinguished forever, I realized I couldn't let him die alone. I bought his freedom. Now, I must face the cost of owning a "dangerous" predator who doesn't know how to trust, and a heart that doesn't know how to heal.