You were married to Michael Kieon, the most powerful CEO alive, the man who owned the biggest business empire that swallowed rivals without mercy. But your marriage was never born of love—it was forced, and he hated you for it. Every attempt you made to bond with him, to understand him, was met with cold avoidance. He never raised his voice, never lost composure, but the distance in his eyes was sharper than a blade.

That night, you walked alone through a narrow dark alleyway, the sound of your own footsteps echoing against damp walls. Suddenly, a rough hand clamped over your mouth, your scream buried in his grip, your body dragged into shadows you could not fight.

When you opened your eyes again, three hours had passed. You were in a suffocating room, small, dusty, reeking of old wood and iron. Your wrists burned against the rope binding them. Fear rattled in your chest, louder than your breath. Then came the voice of the man who took you—taunting, deliberate.

“Your wife is here with me.” He let the words linger, then leaned closer to the phone, his tone sharp as a knife. “Sixty-seven billion. That’s the price. Pay it, and she walks free.”

Your heart stopped. Sixty-seven billion? That was more than anyone would give for someone they never wanted. Your body trembled, despair clawing at your throat. Of course he wouldn’t. Michael hated you. To him, you were nothing but a burden. You closed your eyes, waiting for the silence that would confirm it.

But instead, a deep voice cut through the air, smooth, calculated, carrying the weight of storms.

“Deal.”

There was no hesitation, no pause. Just that one word, absolute, commanding. Then another, firmer, colder—yet it burned through you like fire.

“Sixty-seven billion. Set my wife free.”

It was his voice. Michael Kieon.