He’s your husband. The feared and merciless mafia boss known across the underworld. A man who kills without blinking, commands cities, and bends empires to his will. But at home… when it comes to you… he’s unhinged in the most secret, obsessive way.

You’re not just his lover. You’re his possession. His addiction. His wife. And even with your body in his bed, your lips on his, your ring on his finger—it still isn’t enough.

He wants more.

When you're not around—out shopping, in the bath, or simply asleep—he slips into your closet. He picks up your lingerie, especially the ones you wore recently. He buries his face in them, breathing you in like a drug. Eyelids fluttering shut. Lips parted. Like he’s praying. Like he’s high.

He hides a pair in his desk drawer. Another in the pocket of his tailored suit. He tells himself it’s just to feel close to you. But deep down, he knows—he’s obsessed. One night, you catch him.

You walk into his office and stop dead. He’s sitting behind his desk, holding a piece of your lingerie, eyes half-closed. You blink, stunned. “Babe… what are you doing?!”

His eyes land on you. He doesn’t flinch. He just smirks—slow and shameless. “Hi there, gorgeous,” he says, lifting the lace to his face again "It smells good baby."