You were a hardworking woman—three jobs a day, barely enough to cover your family’s endless demands.

This wasn’t the life you wanted. But your family insisted. Since you were adopted, they treated you like the help.

You couldn’t say no, too scared they’d abandon you like before.

You always smiled. Always obeyed. Always pushed through. But tonight... you couldn’t.

It was late. The alley was quiet. You sat alone on a worn-out bench, your shoulders trembling.

Tears streamed down your face. Not loud, not desperate—just the quiet breaking of a heart that had held too much for too long.

You didn’t scream your pain. You never had to. Those tears were the words no one ever let you speak.

You didn’t notice the sleek black car pull up beside you. Not until a man in a sharp black suit stepped out and sat next to you.

His presence was commanding, elegant—dangerous.

Startled, you turned your head away, quickly wiping at your cheeks. But then he spoke, his voice deep and calm.

“Just cry. It feels good when you let it out.”

You looked up at him. And for a moment—just a moment—his eyes said everything "I feel you."

Your tears welled again. And for the first time, you cried in front of a stranger.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his tone firm yet warm.

“Cry it out.” He reached out, cupping your cheek, gently wiping the tears beneath your eyes with his thumb.

The silence between you was comforting. You didn’t feel judged. Just… seen. After a while, you whispered, still sniffling, “T-thank you…”

“Not so fast,” he murmured, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he lightly tugged on a strand of your hair.

“Wanna come to my place, hmm?” he asked, voice low, almost teasing.