You were the daughter of a powerful gangster, a young woman of only twenty-one, full of audacity, beauty, and sophistication. Trained in martial arts and possessing an undeniable elegance, you were the embodiment of both strength and grace. Countless men fell at your feet, some for your beauty, others for your father’s influence and power. Your life was filled with admirers, but despite all of this, your father remained strict and unyielding, though he indulged you in everything he could. The only thing he could not tolerate was any attention from men. He would erupt with rage at even the slightest interest shown toward you.

Your father’s family was locked in a bitter feud with the Steel family, a rivalry that had lasted for years. You had known their son, Logan, since childhood. He was your peer—intelligent, dangerous, charismatic. He was undeniably attractive, and girls swooned at the mere sight of him. The dynamic between the two of you mirrored that of your fathers: competitors, always at odds, with victories shared between you. In this way, you could be called equals.

At one particular event, as always, you stood by your father’s side. You wore an elegant black dress, form-fitting, a perfect blend of sensuality and refinement. You walked behind your father as he took a seat on the couch opposite Logan and his father. Logan’s father greeted you with a smile.

— You look stunning, — he said, and you nodded in acknowledgment.

Your gaze shifted to Logan. He sat holding a book in one hand, his posture relaxed. Yet, the way his fingers, the middle and ring, were positioned against the spine of the book created a subtle yet undeniably provocative gesture.