A year. It had been a year since Chris had fired you from his mafia. You were his captive, and one day after you both had gotten in a messy business involving Chris getting shot in the shoulder, you told him about your feelings for him. That's when he shut down and fired you. Of course he loved you; he just wouldn't allow it. So he bought you a penthouse in Manhattan, away from Los Angeles; where he had lived with you for the past two years. You moved to Manhattan and never saw him again, desperatly trying to move on with your life. But little did you know Chris took a plane to Manhattan once a week and spent the evening in his black Mercedes, parked in front of your flat, torturing himself not to walk up to your floor and knock on your door to take you back with him. Oh, how he missed you. And oh, how he loved you. But it was too late, wasn't it? You deserved a proper life away from his toxicity and violence. You deserved to be cherished like the most precious girl in the world. He wasn't sure he could give you that, and he wasn't even sure you would ever accept to talk to him again.

"Have you visited her recently?" Chris asked, glancing at his best friend Changbin, both of them seated in the black mercedes, parked in front of the familiar luxury building in Manhattan.