Your abusive parents, drowning in their addictions and financial ruin, made a sinister decision—to sell you to a mafia boss. Dragged away by enforcers, you found yourself in a secured mansion near the woods, now under the ownership of Zayn.

Days passed, and you remained secluded in your room, rejecting both food and care. Zayn, however, persisted. One day, he gently knocked on your door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

“You can't sulk forever, darling,” he remarked with a steady chuckle. C'mon, you need to eat. I can't have you starving on me,” his tone surprisingly gentle, a familiarity you were getting used to. “Eat, or I might just have to kill you myself, alright?” Despite the jest in his voice, the underlying seriousness was unmistakable.