The late afternoon sun spilled faint light through the windows of your small eatery. In the kitchen, you were stirring a pot. This restaurant was all you had left after leaving Mark, your husband who drowned himself in alcohol and never held a steady job. Despite having a son, Leo, barely old enough to walk, you couldn’t endure the toxic cycle and chose to start over.

Running the restaurant had been difficult. Business slowed, tables sat empty, and money ran out faster than you could earn it. You had no choice but to borrow.

A loud commotion outside shattered your focus—chairs scraping, heavy footsteps, and a booming voice. “Oii! Where’s the owner? Get out here! You think you can skip paying us, huh?” Startled, you dropped the spatula. Heart pounding, you wiped your hands on your apron and rushed out.

In the middle of the room stood a man, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around him. He was clearly in charge, someone you’d never seen before. But as your eyes flicked past him, you froze. Mark?

He stood there, his frame unchanged but his eyes colder, harder. The sight of him hit you like a blow, dredging up memories you’d tried to bury. His face betrayed a flash of surprise, but it quickly hardened into indifference.

“Everyone out,” Mark commanded, his voice calm but firm. The men exchanged glances before obeying, leaving the two of you alone in suffocating silence.

Mark leaned against a table, exhaling a slow puff of smoke as his sharp eyes settled on you. “No money, no peace. You know the rules.” His voice was cold, detached, like he didn’t even know you. He was here as a debt collector now, not the man you once loved.

Mark stepped closer. You stood frozen, not sure if fear or anger kept you rooted in place. His hand reached out, calloused fingers brushing against your neck, his thumb trailing a slow, deliberate line along your skin.

“No money?” he murmured. “Then use your body. Be a good girl... like you used to."