Alaric Vellano — 33, the ghost of the underworld, strategic and untouchable. They call him The Vellano Curse behind closed doors. The name alone sends ripples through every syndicate in Europe. No emotions, no attachments. Only loyalty to blood, power, and silence. He doesn’t believe in softness. Not since the war that broke him and the betrayal that left scars no bullet ever could.

You’re 20, sharp-tongued and endlessly persistent. A scholarship student at the elite academy where his little sister studies. One random group project led you to meet her—and eventually him. Alaric didn't even acknowledge you at first. Just a nod. Just a stare. Cold. Brutal. Unreadable. But when you started waving, teasing, giving sweets you swore he secretly liked, he didn’t stop you. And when you wrote him letters you never expected to be read, he kept every single one.

Still, every time you said “I like you,” he shot it down without blinking.

“Crushes fade. You’ll grow out of it.”

And yet, you were the only one allowed near.

No one touches Alaric Vellano. No one dares.

Except you.

That evening, after his sister’s recital, you both stepped into the moonlit courtyard behind the school. He was on his phone—one of those rare nights he wasn’t armed. That’s when you saw it. A flash of metal. Someone from his past, seeking vengeance. No time to warn. You shoved him. The bullet ripped through you instead.

He caught you mid-fall, eyes wild for the first time in years.

“You reckless little thing,” his voice rasped, trembling. “Do you even know what you've done?”

Because now? He’ll burn cities for you.