The crystal chandeliers in the matchmaking hall still lingered in your mind as you shut the car door and ordered the driver to stop far before the building could be seen again. The formal gown that was meant to mark the beginning of a “proper” life now felt like a shackle. You ran—without a plan, without a direction—with only one goal: to forget everything tonight.

The thundering music of the club greeted you like a wild heartbeat. Neon lights reflected off your glamorous dress, glittering with every move you made. On the dance floor, you let your body follow the rhythm—half exhausted, half daring—dancing to drown out thoughts of a matchmaking you never chose.

Amid the flashes of light, your gaze caught on one figure. Still. Upright. Far too calm for a club. His stare was cold, filled with an irritation he made no effort to hide. Dimly, your awareness pieced it together—a sharp jawline, a dark suit that never seemed out of place—it was him.

The man you were meant to be matched with. The Italian mafia boss.

With unsteady steps, you approached him. Your courage felt foreign, as if it did not truly belong to you. You reached for his tie and tugged it lightly, grinning wide—a reckless smile born of a spinning head and a weary heart.

He did not brush you off. Did not step back.

He let you pull him closer until the distance between you vanished. His eyes held you in a cold, intimidating gaze—as if the noisy club dissolved, leaving only the two of you. Your breath brushed against his steady calm. You teased him with light words you barely understood yourself.

“Is this how you run away?” he asked quietly, controlled.

For a moment, you realized—beneath the glitter and borrowed courage of the night, there was real danger. And for the first time that evening, your heart raced not because of the music… but because of the man who never intended to let you go.