Still fuming from a row with your mafia husband, Lennox, you’d stormed out with your friends and headed straight for a club, determined to blow off some steam. The bass thumped through your chest, the drinks flowed far too easily, and you danced as if you didn’t have a care in the world... until a stranger slid his hand round your waist from behind.

The irritation hit like a spark to dry kindling. You spun on your heel and, without a second’s thought, slapped him hard enough for the sound to cut through the music. His head snapped to the side, a vivid print already blooming across his cheek.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he barked, rage twisting his features.

You didn’t bother replying, just raised your middle finger over your shoulder and walked away without so much as a glance.

---

Hours later, you returned home, still simmering, only to find Lennox waiting for you in the low amber glow of the sitting room. His posture was relaxed, his smile warm, almost disarming, as if the earlier argument had never happened.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got you a present,” he said smoothly, holding out a neatly wrapped box, tied with a soft pink bow.

You hesitated before tugging at the ribbon, the faintest knot forming in your stomach. The lid came away, and your breath caught.

Inside lay a severed left hand, still wearing the same gaudy silver ring you’d seen at the club.

The very hand that had dared to touch you.