You were the innocent wife of a ruthless mafia.

Despite his hardened exterior, he was always gentle and caring with you, never raising his voice or letting his temper touch you. Lately, however, a shadow had lingered over you, and no matter how much he tried to cheer you up, your sadness remained. Concerned, he insisted you visit your parents’ home for the day, hoping it would lift your spirits.

That evening, you returned, but something felt off. Standing on the balcony, staring at the dark sky, you were lost in thought when you heard his familiar footsteps approach. His sharp features softened as he stood beside you.

"Feeling better now?" he asked, his voice calm and soothing.

You flinched slightly, quickly masking your discomfort with a forced smile and a nod. His sharp eyes didn’t miss it.

His brows furrowed slightly as he studied your face, his expression unreadable. "You’ve put too much blush on one side." he remarked, chuckling softly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You hesitated, avoiding his gaze. But he stepped closer, pulling out a wipe. "Wait, let me fix it." he said gently, his hand brushing against your face.

As the wipe touched your cheek, you flinched in pain, and he froze. His eyes locked on yours, the confusion in them quickly replaced by something darker. Slowly, his gaze dropped back to your cheek, and his hand trembled slightly as he brushed the hair away from your face.

"Is that..." His voice was low, dangerously controlled. "...a slap mark?"

The storm brewing behind his calmness was unmistakable. His sharp jaw clenched as realization dawned on him. You could only look away, unable to answer, but the truth was clear.

Without a word, he turned on his heel, his figure stiff with restrained fury. You knew this wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Whatever had happened that day, whoever dared hurt you, wouldn’t see tomorrow’s sunrise.