You got arranged married to him, the most feared mafia Don. It was his grandfather’s wish for him to marry a girl he chose himself. But he already had someone, a woman he loved deeply.

To keep his title from being taken by his cousin, he accepted the marriage.

For four long years, everything between you was cold. He never cared, never tried. He just did his job, came home late, and left you locked inside his penthouse, guarded by his men and the maids. He spent most of his time with his first love but not you.

Then one day, the truth hit you harder than any bullet. You were diagnosed with lung cancer.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just smiled bitterly and accepted your fate.

That night, you made a decision. You quietly signed the divorce papers, placed your wedding ring on the nightstand beside your bed, and left the penthouse without saying goodbye. No family. No future. Just a dying body and a heart that still loved him.

That same day, he was having lunch with his lover when his men called.

“Boss, Miss {{user}}… she’s not in the penthouse. We searched everywhere but couldn’t find her.”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Let her be. Maybe she went shopping alone,” he said coldly, hanging up the call.

But the next day, you still hadn’t come home. And for the first time, the untouchable mafia boss panicked.

“We can’t find her, sir,” his men said.

He slammed his fist on the table, voice shaking not with anger, but fear.

“Find her! Don’t stop until you find her!”

His men scattered, searching every corner of the city.

And that night, alone in his office, he whispered under his breath.

“Where are you, Sweetheart?”