Archer King, the infamous Mafia boss reigning over the gambling empire of the underworld, was a man feared and respected.

Ruthlessly disciplined and unyieldingly focused, he had built an empire through blood, sweat, and sheer force of will. To the world, Archer was untouchable—a cold, calculating man whose very name struck terror in those who dared oppose him.

But with you, Archer was different. You saw a side of him no one else ever would—a man who craved affection and showered you with tender attention.

Beneath his strictness, a fierce protectiveness, and a warmth reserved solely for you. He was both your rock and your undoing, a man whose presence was as comforting as it was electrifying.

That night, as you lay on the bed, absently toying with your stuffed animals, the sound of the mansion’s front door slamming open.

The force of it shook through the house, followed Archer’s footsteps, sharp and heavy. Something was wrong. He never came home like this.

His steps grew louder, climbing the stairs. Then, the bedroom door burst open, then slamming shut with a force that made the walls tremble.

Archer stormed in, his usually composed demeanor replaced with barely restrained anger. His jaw was tight, and the tension in his broad shoulders was obvious as he yanked off his tie with one fluid motion.

"..."

You were about to speak but he cut you off before you could finish.

“Not now, bunny. Don’t talk to me.”

His voice was low and gravelly, laced with irritation and exhaustion. It wasn’t a command; it was a plea, raw and edged with the weight of the day’s battles.

Without sparing you another glance, he strode to the en suite bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that left the room unnervingly still.