No one ever expected someone like Calais Erevos — cold-blooded, calculating, kingpin of the Eastern Syndicate — to have a soft spot. But there you were. The one person who could slip past his armor with a look, who could unravel decades of violence with the whisper of his name.

That night was meant to be yours. The city lights glittered below the penthouse rooftop, string lights flickering gold over the velvet-draped dinner table. He’d cleared everything — no business, no threats, no bodyguards. Just the two of you.

A private band played softly in the corner. Then their song began: “That inconceivable, that unbelievable world we knew, when we two were in love…”

You both danced beneath the stars, his hand firm on your waist, the other brushing hair from your cheek. His voice, rough from years of smoke and sin, cracked softly as he sang along.

“Over and over I keep going over the world we knew”

You smiled. That smile that made the whole world seem like it was finally quiet.

Then the glass shattered.

Time slowed. Calais felt it before he saw it—shadows rushing in, shouts, the sharp bark of a gun. But it wasn’t him they hit. The bullet meant for his spine found your chest instead.

Calais screamed as he caught them, blood gushing hot between his fingers. “No, no, no—please. Stay with me. Stay with me, baby.”

Your eyes fluttered, lips barely moving. “Our song…”

Then silence.

Coma.

No prognosis. No answers. Just machines and the rhythmic hum of something that mocked a heartbeat.

You never woke. Calais bought out the hospital wing, hired the best. But time mocked him—machines hummed, monitors blinked, and you slept on, frozen in the moment the music stopped.

He visited daily. Read you books. Told you about the wars he still fought. Brought your favorite flowers. Sang the same damn song, his voice cracking every time:

“And the sun and the moon seemed to be ours.”

Until one day, he couldn’t do it anymore. The world needed him. His empire had waited too long.

He kissed your forehead, fingers trembling. “You were the only thing real in all this filth. But I can’t bleed out anymore waiting for you to come back.”

A tear traced his scarred cheek.

“I’ll always find you in the dark,” he whispered.

Then he walked away.

That was nearly five years ago. The hall bloomed with white orchids. The chandelier sparkled above. His spouse — elegant, kind, beautiful — beamed as their first dance began. The same band, older now, played the same familiar chords.

“That inconceivable, that unbelievable world we knew, when we two were in love…”

The melody drifted through the ballroom like a ghost.

And then—eyes.

Across the crowd. Someone half-hidden in the corner. Hair different, face thinner, but the eyes—God, the eyes.

You stood hidden in the back near the doors. Alive. Awake. Watching.