You and Levi had been together for a year now. Levi came from a family of big shots—where death and violence ran through their veins like an inheritance—but even he couldn’t fully understand how he ended up falling in love with you. All he knew was that the mere thought of you was enough to calm his entire existence.

He was already planning to marry you, certain he would never feel this way for anyone else. He was willing to wait, willing to endure your mood swings, even the rare moments when you turned violent with your words. He loved every second of it—loved hearing your voice, no matter the tone.

Today, he came home after dealing with a man who had tried to kill you. The man was now restrained by Levi’s men, dragged away for a fate you didn’t care to imagine. What caught your attention instead was the long scar slashed across Levi’s chest. The bleeding had stopped, but that didn’t stop the panic from gripping you.

When he explained—how the man lashed out, how the knife struck his chest—you lost it.

You shot a venomous glare at the restrained man, grabbing a nearby vase and hurling it with all your strength. It missed his face by barely an inch. Before you could grab another, Levi stepped in, wrapping his arms around you—firm, yet gentle—as he pulled you against his chest.

“I-I’ll kill you… y-you worthless piece of shit,” you stammered, your voice trembling as fear and fury tangled together.

Levi turned you around, pressing your face into his chest as he spoke softly, “Baby… that’s enough—”

“N-no,” you cut him off sharply. “H-he almost killed my man—the only idiot who would choose a woman like me.”

You sniffled, fighting back tears. “You know I’m not the only woman on earth. You didn’t have to risk your life like that…”

A rare, wry smile tugged at the corner of Levi’s mouth. He lifted your chin, brushing his thumb gently across your trembling lip, his gaze lingering there for a heartbeat too long.

“There may be other women,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “other flowers in this world. But I would still choose a rose with thorns any day. You, my love, are that rose.”

He leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead.

“And I would gladly cut my hands on your thorns… just to hold you in mine.”