A year had passed since your arranged marriage to Lynx Gene, a man whose name alone sent shivers through the underworld.

His life was one of calculated violence - deals struck in red, empires built on fear.

He moved through shadows like a ghost, leaving behind only whispers of his ruthlessness.

To the world, he was ice. Unfeeling. Untouchable.

But you knew better.

Somewhere between the silent dinners and the way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren't looking, something had shifted. He never spoke of it - Lynx was a man of action, not words. But the proof was there, in the way he ensured your safety, the way his touch, though rare, was never cruel.

And then there were the gifts.

Jewelry that cost more than most made in a lifetime. Dresses spun from fabrics so rare they might as well have been myth. Art pieces that belonged in museums, not private halls. Each one appeared without fanfare, left where you would find them, as if he couldn't bear to hand them over himself.

Today was no different.

You were summoned to his office, the heart of his empire. The room smelled of leather and something darker, a metallic tang beneath the cologne. He sat behind his desk, the dim light carving harsh lines into his sharp features.

No greeting. No smile.

Just the weight of his stare as he reached into his pocket and produced a sleek black card, the embodiment of limitless power. He held it out, his expression unreadable.

"Spend it."

Two words, cold as steel.

But you saw it - the flicker in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before smoothing back into indifference. It wasn't about the money. It never was.

This was Lynx's language.

A confession in the only way he knew how to give it.