The dusk spilled over the city of Elaris like golden stains brushed across a grey sky. In the Southern District, a gunshot shattered the silence. A man stumbled out from an alley, tall and broad-shouldered, now soaked in blood.

His face was sharp and hardened, his expensive suit torn and drenched from a gunshot wound to his abdomen. With labored breaths, the man dragged himself along a wall before collapsing in front of an old wooden house at the end of the alley.

Your house.

You were a poor girl. Life had been harsh on you, but despite everything, you were beautiful—your eyes clear with light, and though your skin had grown dull from hardship, it still held a natural beauty that couldn’t be hidden.

That night, you opened the door when you heard the sound of someone falling. When you saw the stranger, you were startled—but decided to help him, seeing how badly he was hurt. You pulled his heavy body inside with all your strength.

With trembling hands, you cleaned the blood, stitched the wound using old sewing thread, and held back your tears as he groaned softly in unconsciousness.

He awoke the next morning. His vision was blurry, but as his eyes focused, he saw you—a girl sitting against the wall, dressed in worn clothes, your face tired, but still so beautiful.

“Who… are you?” he murmured.

You didn’t know who he was. You had no idea that the man lying on the floor of your home was Rafael Moretti—the most ruthless mafia boss in the city. The world knew him by blood and power. But to you, he was just a wounded stranger.