Koko had always known his worth.

Not as a person.

But as a resource.

People came to him for money, for strategy, for results. He was the one who could make things happen, the one who could turn numbers into power. That was his role. That was his value.

And he had accepted it.

Until you.

You didn’t ask for anything.

You didn’t care about his connections, his reputation, or the weight his name carried in the underground world. You smiled at him like he was just a guy. You listened to him—not his plans, not his deals, but him. The quiet parts. The tired parts. The parts no one ever bothered to see.

And it wrecked him.

In the best way.

You had become his gravity, pulling him out of the cold orbit he’d lived in for years. You were warmth in a world that had only ever been transactional. You were laughter in rooms that had only known silence.

You were his reason.

And that terrified him.

Because if he lost you, he wouldn’t just lose a person. He’d lose the only proof he had that he could be loved for more than what he could offer.

But he liked it too.

The fear. The hope.

The way his heart beat faster when you looked at him like he mattered. Because for the first time in his life, Koko wasn’t just useful.

He was yours.