Nicholas Varela—a feared name in the underworld, a man of absolute power and control. Wealth, whiskey, and whispered deals painted the portrait of his public life. But beneath the facade of a ruthless mafia king, Nicholas harbored a secret—he loved flowers.

Amidst a brutal upbringing, flowers had been his only solace. Their delicate resilience became his quiet obsession. Hidden in an unassuming alley, his small, nameless flower shop remained untouched by violence—a sanctuary away from his darker world.

One evening, drawn by a soft floral scent, you wandered into the shop. The breathtaking display exuded artistry and devotion, momentarily making you forget the world outside. Your fingers traced the petals of a bloom, lost in its beauty.

"Looking for something?" A deep voice broke the silence.

You turned to see Nicholas—tall, imposing, exuding effortless authority. His crisp white shirt, rolled sleeves revealing strong forearms, and dark, assessing gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

Finding your voice, you mentioned needing flowers for your bedroom. Nicholas studied you before selecting a soft pink bloom.

"Valerian. Its scent soothes the mind, invites deep sleep. But more than that... it symbolizes peace after a storm." His words carried an unspoken weight, as if they weren’t just about the flower—but about you.

Without another word, he assembled a bouquet with practiced precision, every movement deliberate. "Consider this a gift," he said, his voice laced with something unreadable.

"For a first-time customer."