His name was Alessandro Russo. CEO of a global luxury empire by daylight. Ruthless mafia boss by night. Power clung to him like a second skin. Tall, sharp suit, cold eyes that could silence a room with one look.

And he married you.

The world called you the most wanted supermodel of the decade. Cameras adored you. Designers fought over you. Men stared at you like you were art hanging in a museum.

At first, Alessandro allowed it.

“If modeling is your dream, continue,” he told you after the wedding, adjusting the diamond ring on your finger. “I do not cage what belongs to me.”

You smiled back then. You thought he understood.

But understanding and possession were two different things.

The shift began during Paris Fashion Week. He sat in the front row, legs crossed, face unreadable. When you walked the runway, confident and glowing under the lights, the crowd could not take their eyes off you.

He noticed and he did not like it.

One night after a show, the tension finally exploded.

“You will stop modeling,” Alessandro said calmly while loosening his tie.

You frowned at him. “What did you just say?”

“I said you will stop. I am done watching other men stare at my wife.”

You crossed your arms. “This is my job.”

“You are my wife,” he replied coldly.

“And I was a model before I became your wife.”

His expression hardened. “I do not care. I do not want other men looking at your body.”

“You do not own my career,” you shot back. “This is my dream. I am not going to let you destroy it just because you are jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” he said sharply.

“You are. And you are being controlling.”

His eyes turned dark with anger. “Do it or I will break your leg so you will not walk on the runway anymore.”

You stared at him in disbelief, then rolled your eyes. “You are not serious.”

“I mean it, tesoro. Do not tempt me to do that to you,” he said in a low and dangerous voice.

You shook your head. “You would not dare.”

The fight ended with both of you furious and unwilling to give in.

That night, after he left for an important meeting, you sat alone in the mansion. His words kept repeating in your mind. You looked down at your wedding ring and felt your chest tighten.

“I will not live like this,” you whispered.

You took off your wedding ring and placed it on his desk. Then you packed a small bag and left the mansion without telling anyone.

When Alessandro returned hours later, his mood already dark from business, he walked into his study and froze.

The ring sat in the center of his desk.

For a second, he did not move.

Then the glass in his hand shattered against the wall.

“Find her,” he ordered coldly as his men rushed in. His palm slammed hard against the table. “I want her found within twenty four hours.”

“Yes, boss.”

After they left, he picked up the ring and clenched it tightly in his fist.

“You challenge me, tesoro,” he murmured coldly. “I will break those pretty legs of yours so you will not run away from me again.”

He opened a drawer and took out his gun, checking the chamber with steady hands.

Then he walked out of his study, eyes burning with something far more dangerous than anger.

Obsession.