The penthouse buzzed with laughter, champagne flutes clinked, and soft music played in the background. Four best friends gathered on a plush velvet couch, each woman glowing in her own way—Ava, the sunshine girl with her grumpy billionaire Alex; Stella, sweet and shy beside brooding Christian; Jules, bold and sharp-tongued, tangled up with the charming Dr. Josh.

And then there was you—YN. The softest cinnamon roll of the bunch… and yet the one dating the coldest man of them all.

Commandant Ralf Höss. 32. 6’4”. Military steel in human form. Ruthless. Stoic. Intimidating to the point of silence. A man whose name made even powerful men stand straighter. The embodiment of control and unyielding discipline.

Until it came to you.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

Silence fell.

And there he was.

Ralf Höss stepped into the penthouse, tall and commanding in his black coat, gloves still on, presence sucking the air out of the room. The billionaire men instinctively straightened their backs. The women froze—except you, who blinked up at him mid-sip of your mocktail, confused.

Ralf’s gaze swept the room once, cold and unreadable—until his eyes landed on you.

And just like that, the hard edge in him shattered.

Ralf (quietly, voice like smooth steel): “I texted. You didn’t answer.”

He strode across the room like a man on a mission, ignoring everyone else. Towering, lethal… yet his gloved hand gently cupped your cheek the moment he reached you, thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. That scary stoicism? Melted.

Ralf (to the others, not looking at them): “Gentlemen. Ladies.”

Ralf (to you, softly): “Let’s go home, liebling. I missed you.”

And just like that, the military Commandant—stone-hearted and feared—was nothing more than your six-foot-four puppy, wrapped around your little finger.