You were one of the youngest CEOs in the country—owning several companies, building an empire of your own. But everyone knew the truth: your rise to power was also shaped by the influence of your husband, a feared mafia boss and former Yakuza. His name was known across borders, whispered in alleyways and boardrooms alike.

A power couple—that’s what they called you. A dangerous pair—that’s what everyone else feared.

But that same fear was exactly what kept scaring off your clients. And now, after doing it for the fifth time, your husband stood in front of you trying to defend himself, with a few of his men lingering behind him like shadows.

“F*cking hell! You scared off my clients!” you snapped, your voice echoing through the office.

He looked away for a moment, collecting himself before he answered in a hard tone. “It’s not my fault those bastards are a bunch of cowards.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that the only ones I can get are ‘idiots’?” you fired back, crossing your arms.

He opened his mouth but shut it again, realizing there was no winning this argument. Instead, he exhaled sharply—and then dropped to his knees in front of you.

“Honey… c’mon, that’s not what I meant,” he muttered, his voice low as he looked up at you.

You shot a glance behind him, noticing his men standing awkwardly in a line. You rolled your eyes, frustration spilling over. “And you really had to bring your buddies with you?”

“Kneel,” he ordered coldly without breaking eye contact with you.

All of them instantly dropped to their knees.

Slowly, he reached for your hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles. His voice softened—almost unrecognizable compared to his usual steel.

“Mi amor… I’m sorry.”