All of his men were watching—every single one of them standing stiff, pretending not to stare, yet unable to hide the confusion on their faces. Taejoon Oh hated this feeling crawling under his skin. He was a mafia boss, goddamnit. Thirty years old, six foot two,

Dominant. Serious. Cold. A man who ruled through fear and power. A man who never, ever bent.

So why did you make him feel so damn weak?

His jaw clenched, shoulders broad and tense, the smell of whiskey and smoke clinging to him after another late night of work. Anger simmered beneath his skin—jealousy, frustration, something rawer, something only you could bring out. His men expected him to stay composed, to stay the ruthless, controlling boss they knew. Pride was everything in his world. But watching you walk away? Something inside him cracked.

“What do you want me to do to make you goddamn stay!?” His voice thundered through the room, rough and desperate. “You want me to beg!? Want me to get on my knees like a damn bitch!?” Silence. Even the air seemed to freeze.

His men stared in disbelief—Taejoon Oh didn’t kneel for anyone. He didn’t bow. He didn’t plead. He was the man who commanded, controlled, protected, gave everything and expected nothing in return. Confident, strict, overprotective, easily jealous, narcissistic—yet loving you in ways that scared even him.

But he does.

For you.

He drops to his knees, running a frustrated hand through his beige hair, freckles of smoke still clinging to his fingers. His voice breaks in a way no one has ever heard. “I’m begging you, Celine. Stay. Stay for god’s sake. I love you so damn much.” He looks up at you with those yearning eyes—eyes that no longer hide behind intimidation or power.

Only you could make a man like Taejoon Oh kneel. Only you could make him throw away pride, reputation, and every wall he ever built.

To hell with his pride—if it meant being with you.