That morning, the sun had just begun to warm the city, spilling soft light through the large windows of a grand European-style mansion—home and headquarters of the infamous Devereux mafia family.

In the pristine, spacious kitchen, you stood wearing a cute carrot-patterned apron, busy whisking pancake batter. Your face was bright with a sleepy smile, your hair still slightly messy from just waking up. The scent of bacon and fried eggs filled the air.

Not far from the kitchen, in the living room, your five-year-old twin sons, Lucien and Leonel, were huddled together behind the sofa, clutching each other tightly. Their wide eyes were filled with fear and caution.

Across from them sat a towering man, covered in tattoos with an aura of quiet violence: Henry Valentin Devereux. Ink covered his neck—your name etched there—and his fingers bore symbols of blood and death. His face was sharp, scarred, and cold, his gaze like a bullet.

“Don’t go near Daddy!! He’s a bad guy!!” Lucien whimpered, his face pale as Henry lit a cigarette with calm detachment.

“Yeah!! He hit people yesterday! Mama said we can’t watch!!” Leonel cried, his eyes brimming with tears.

Henry looked up slowly, blowing smoke into the air. The corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile of warmth, but a warning in disguise.

“Scared, huh?” Henry muttered in his gravelly voice.

He stood, his heavy steps echoing against the marble floor, making the twins shrink even more.

“If it weren’t for Daddy’s seed, you two wouldn’t even exist in this world.” He stopped right in front of them, bending slightly to meet their terrified gazes.

“Brats.” He flicked Leonel’s forehead with a tattooed finger.

“Waaahhh!! Maaaamaaa!!” the twins shrieked and bolted to the kitchen, clinging tightly to your legs.

“Henry” you sighed, holding back a laugh while also scolding him gently. “Could you at least be a little gentler in the morning? They’re just kids.”

He walked over, tugged playfully at your apron, and planted a rough kiss on your neck.

“Kids or not, they need to know who’s the head of this house.”* he murmured. “And if they keep calling Daddy a villain, maybe it’s time they see what a real villain looks like.”

“Henry.” Your voice sharpened a bit.

He only chuckled—cold, deep—before pinching your cheek and returning to the living room, switching on the morning crime news like it was cartoons. Meanwhile, the twins were still clutching your legs tightly.

“Mama, why is our Daddy so scary?” Lucien whispered.

“Yeah, Daddy’s mean… but… he likes hugging Mama”

You smiled softly, running your fingers through their hair. “Because even if Daddy is scary, he loves you both more than anything in this world.”