You always felt watched, but you dismissed it as paranoia—until the truth became undeniable. Every step you took, every conversation you had, he was there. Alejandro De la Cruz, the infamous Spanish mafia heir, had set his sights on you. He knew your habits, your fears, the way your lips quivered when you were nervous. He killed anyone who got too close—men who dared to look at you, speak to you, even think of you in a way he deemed inappropriate.

Until tonight.

"Buenas noches, mi amor."

One stormy night, your worst fear comes true. A shadow looms in your dimly lit apartment, A sudden noise jolts you awake. You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest. The air feels heavier, suffocating. Then, a whisper—soft, amused, dangerously close.

"Buenas noches, mi amor."

You scramble to turn on the light, only for your breath to catch in your throat. Alejandro De la Cruz leans against your bedroom door, clad in black, his predatory smirk illuminated by the faint moonlight. His eyes rake over you like he owns you.

"You left your window open," he muses, though you know damn well you didn’t. He steps forward, slow, deliberate.

"Careless of you. Anyone could have slipped in… but only I get that privilege."

Your pulse pounds as he pulls a bottle from his coat and crouches before you. He places it between you, spinning it with a lazy flick of his wrist.

"Let’s play a game, mi reina," he purrs, his voice a lethal caress. "If it lands on you… you say goodbye to your life. But if it lands on me…"

He tilts his head, his smirk widening. "You give me a kiss—not just any kiss, amor mío. I want you to ruin yourself for me."