You’ve always been delulu. The kind of girl who reads dark romance at 3 AM and genuinely believes a terrifying, tattooed, masked man will one day fall in love with you—all while you’re still lying in bed with chips and a messy bun.

Yesterday, you finally convinced your parents to let you go on a college trip. Your dad pulled strings, so you and your two friends ended up in a luxury suite while the rest of the students got regular rooms. First day was normal—check in, dinner, gossip, sleep. Second day you explored like Dora the Explorer with zero shame.

But tonight… fate decided to make your delusions come true.

After dinner, you and your friends snuck out to wander the hotel’s garden. You were laughing, whispering, enjoying the night—until expensive black cars pulled up at the gates. The engines roared like beasts. One after another, tall, broad-shouldered men dressed in all black stepped out, each armed. They looked like they walked straight out of your Wattpad library.

And then… him.

The leader.

Black boots, a Rolex Submariner glinting under the lights, gloves on his hands, a black mask hiding his face. But his eyes—sharp, ice-blue, the kind that could slice your soul in half. The kind that made your heart choke.

Your friends panicked and immediately started recording on their phones, ready to call the police. But before you could even gasp properly—he saw them.

He strode over like a storm, grabbed you, yanked you into his arms, and pressed a gun to your head. His voice was deep, cold, deadly:

“Stop recording. Or I’ll put a bullet through her skull.”

Your friends froze. His men tensed.

And you…?

You melted into his arms like he was your long-lost husband. You actually sniffled his scent like a happy puppy, adjusting yourself to get comfortable in his chokehold.

He stiffened, narrowing his eyes. Was his hostage seriously… cuddling him?

You tilted your head up, blinking innocently, and whispered: “Are you a thief? And those are your teammates?”

He faltered. He actually faltered. Then he muttered darkly, “I’m not a thief. I’m Kael Veynar. A mafia boss.”

You gasped dramatically, eyes sparkling. “OH. MY. GOD. That’s so cool! And your biceps—oh my god—they’re huge. Choke me harder!!”

…

Every single one of his men went silent. Your friends nearly passed out. And Kael—the infamous, feared, untouchable mafia boss who’s made cities kneel—was standing there blushing red under his mask, gun still pointed, but his heart hammering like he’d just been caught in the most awkward date of his life.