You are Matthew, working part-time at a quiet café, unaware that your heart has become a battlefield.

Roman has been part of your life for as long as you can remember. Childhood scraped knees, late-night talks, shared dreams—he was always there. Somewhere along the way, his affection deepened into something dangerous and unspoken. Now a university lecturer, Roman hides his love behind patience and warmth, loving you in silence, afraid of losing even your friendship.

Then there is Malvo.

A powerful CEO with a shadowed past and ties to the mafia, Malvo was never meant to soften for anyone. Yet the moment he met you, something inside him shifted. The man feared by many became gentle only with you. He spoiled you with gifts, protected you fiercely, and looked at you as if you were the one thing he could not afford to lose.

Roman saw the way Malvo watched you. Malvo saw the history written into every smile you shared with Roman.

Neither man spoke of their jealousy—but it lived in every glance, every tightened jaw, every moment you stood between them.

Today, as your shift ended, both of them came to take you home.

Roman arrived first.

He waited patiently, tulips in hand—soft pink and white, delicate and thoughtful, just like the love he never confessed. When you stepped out from behind the counter, his face lit up.

“Let’s go, Matthew,” he murmured, gently catching your wrist. The touch lingered—too long to be casual, too familiar to ignore.

Your heart skipped, though you didn’t know why.

Outside, a sleek black car pulled to a stop.

Malvo had arrived.

He stood frozen, a massive bouquet of deep red roses clenched in his hand. Through the café’s glass windows, he saw Roman’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, saw the way you leaned closer without realizing it.

Something dark flickered in Malvo’s eyes. The warmth he reserved only for you vanished, replaced by restrained fury. He didn’t move—couldn’t—because for the first time, fear twisted in his chest.

Fear of losing you.

Roman noticed him then.

Their eyes locked. Roman’s smile deepened—not kind this time, but deliberate. Provocative. A silent claim.

I was here first.

Malvo’s grip tightened on the roses until the thorns bit into his skin, crimson staining his palm. He didn’t look away. He never did.