Kaydee Leon was your fiancé—chosen, arranged, forced by both families. Everyone knew him as a young businessman, heir to a powerful empire. But behind the mask, he was something darker, a mafia boss feared across the city. Yet with you, he was just a man desperate for your attention.

That night, he sat in your penthouse, waiting. Hours dragged, and his thoughts turned reckless. He walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle, and deliberately poured boiling water over his own hand. The skin reddened instantly, pain sharp and raw, but his lips curved faintly. If this was what it took for you to fuss over him, then so be it.

The door clicked open. You stepped inside with groceries, then froze. “Kaydee?! What happened to your hand?!” you gasped, rushing to him.

He grimaced, clutching it tight. “I… tried to make coffee. Guess I wasn’t careful.”

You dropped everything to tend to him, dabbing medicine over the angry burn with worried hands. He watched you silently, eyes burning deeper than the wound itself.

“Don’t ever do this again,” you whispered, shaken.

He leaned close, his voice low, soft enough to sting your heart. “I’ll do worse… if it means you’ll finally care for me like this.”