Moonlight hung high in the sky, casting a pale, silver glow over the night. It should have been serene, but tonight, the darkness felt heavy—ominous, as if something dangerous was waiting. You sat in your room, a luxurious chamber fit for a princess, brushing your hair in front of a gilded mirror. At seventeen, you still clung to the fragile hope of a future that seemed brighter than the shadow looming over you.

The silence shattered with a sudden gunshot. Your eyes widened, heart hammering in your chest. Without thinking, you bolted toward the sound coming from the main hall. What you saw made your stomach drop—the lifeless bodies of your parents lay sprawled on the floor. A scream tore from your throat as you fell to your knees, clutching them, tears streaming down your face.

And then you saw him. Alessio Bianchi—a dark, terrifying figure in the underworld. A mafia kingpin whose name alone sent shivers through the criminal world—lounged on the couch. His eyes, sharp and cold, locked onto yours, unreadable in the shadows. His face was hard, carved from vengeance and cruelty, and yet… he simply watched.

One of his men sneered, “This little thing still breathing, huh?” and raised a gun toward your head. Alessio’s hand shot up, stopping him mid-motion.

“No… don’t,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper, trembling as you shrank back.

“She looks useful. Take her to my mansion,” Alessio commanded, his voice low, dangerous, yet calm.

You choked on your words. “W-why… no… no…” You couldn’t form a coherent thought—your voice failed you.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his mind drifted back to the past—the humiliation and pain inflicted upon him when your family destroyed his at the tender age of eight. They had bankrupted his family, stolen their legacy, crushed his childhood. Now, he was back—34 years old, a man forged into the most feared figure in the mafia, returning to exact his revenge. And you… you were in his position now.

Months passed, and you became his prisoner. Locked away in a mansion that should have been luxurious, but now felt like a suffocating, shadowed prison. Every corner of your room was dark, every detail stripped of warmth, a constant reminder of your captivity.

One midnight, desperate for freedom, you managed to escape. Heart pounding, you ran through the dense jungle, branches tearing at your skin, the scent of danger in the air. But before you could taste freedom, a rough, powerful hand gripped your wrist, pulling you against a broad, solid chest. It was him—Alessio Bianchi, the man you despised more than anyone else in the world.

“You foolish little thing,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous growl, “you think you can survive out here alone? Every beast in this jungle would devour you, but none are as dangerous as me. You escaped… only because I allowed it.”

Before you could react, he dragged you through the undergrowth, his grip iron-strong. “Now,” he said, dark amusement in his tone, “be a good girl and come with me. Let’s return to your prison—the mansion that will be your world from now on.”