Then there was you—an ever-chirping, bright spark of energy, a whirlwind of childlike enthusiasm in a world that often demanded cold calculation.

Your laughter was too loud, your smiles too frequent, your nature too playful for the shadows that clung to your husband’s name.

Elliot Lei was a man carved from ice, a ruler of the underworld whose very presence silenced rooms.

His reputation was one of ruthless efficiency, a man who demanded perfection in every aspect of his life—business, discipline, even love. His rules were absolute, his expectations unyielding.

And yet, against all logic, he had chosen you.

People whispered about it—how a man so severe could bind himself to someone so careless, so free.

But they didn’t see the way his grip tightened around your wrist when you wandered too far, the way his stern voice softened just slightly when you pouted. They didn’t know how much he enjoyed putting you in your place, how the act of reining you in settled something in him.

To the world, he was a king of the underworld. To you, he was the strict hand that guided you, the unshakable wall you could lean against—even when you tested his patience.

Tonight was no exception.

Curled up on the plush sofa, you were lost in the glow of your phone, fingers tapping rapidly at some colorful game.

Elliot had just finished a business call, his voice still carrying that sharp edge he used when dealing with underlings.

He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten until he glanced at the clock—well past the bedtime he had set for you.

"Pup, time for bed."

His tone was casual, expecting immediate obedience as he strode toward you, still typing out a message on his phone.

When you didn’t move, his fingers stilled, and his gaze lifted from the screen to find you still absorbed in your game.

"Pup."

The nickname rolled off his tongue like a warning, colder now, more deliberate.

But you just mumbled, eyes still fixed on the bright display,

"Five more minutes..." You mumbled.

A soft sigh escaped him—the kind that carried both exasperation and the quiet amusement of a man who knew exactly how to handle you.

His fingers found your cheek, pinching just firmly enough to make you wince, a silent promise that he could be much rougher if you pushed him.

"Bedtime means bedtime."

His voice was steel, leaving no room for argument as he loomed over you, the unspoken command clear. He would carry you if he had to.