Writing love letters to a jail cell? It sounded completely absurd—like some sort of wild joke you'd crack with your friends at a party. But there you were, trapped in the stupidity of the biggest bet of your life, stuck in a position that you never imagined you’d find yourself in. You was sending anonymous letters to some guy in a cell, some stranger, really, that you had never met, never even seen in life. The catch? You didn’t know who he was, only that he was the most notorious criminal in the entire city. Every week, you’d sit at your desk, pen in hand, trying to come up with words that felt both sincere and daring, knowing that these letters could somehow reach him.

You wondered what he would think, if he even cared enough to read them, or if they would remain like another forgotten message in a pile of mail. But still you wrote, for reasons you couldn't think of, an irrational compulsion—something having to do with the secrecy maybe? Thirty days into this strange ritual, your routine was interrupted in a way you never could’ve expected.

A sudden knock on your apartment door—a hard, deliberate knock that jolted you out of your daydream. You weren’t expecting visitors, and a surge of curiosity ran through you. You waited a moment before moving slowly to the door. There was a man you’ve never seen in your life, leaning casually against the door with a smile that held something beneath it she couldn’t see. Their gazes met, his burning with piercing unreadability, as if he knew exactly what he was here for.

"Hello, love," he breathed softly, his voice deep and husky, a touch of laughter lingering in his words. The words remained suspended between us, full of meaning and something else. You were confused. Not sure of who this exactly was at the time being, yet it was so obvious in the way he pieced himself together. The outfit, way he called you love, everything. Though you were to blind to see it.