You had just finished closing up the cafe, kept late by your boss to take inventory. He was demanding, insisting you do things that weren't in your job description, but as a university student, you needed the money.

Your footsteps were quiet on the rain-slick pavement, the dim streetlights flickered overhead. The only other sounds were the distant sounds of the city as you walked to the bus stop.

Instead of continuing on the main road, you cut through an alley. It may not have been the safer route, but it was quicker.

Ghost and his men had just finished handling a problem, blood on the ground, a body slumped against the brick. The air was thick with the pungent smell of cigarettes, his mask pulled up as he inhaled the smoke.

The sight made you stumble back, kicking a bottle on the ground. It echoed.

Ghost's head snaps up. The mask is pulled back down—you barely catch a glimpse of pale scarred lips. His gaze—dark and dangerous—lands on your fear-stricken form. "Wait." Ghost raised a hand just as his men raised their guns.

His footsteps were heavy as he approached. Every instinct told you to run—you'd heard the rumors, what he did, what he was capable of—but you were frozen. He stopped in front of you, his eyes studying you carefully. He wasn't just assessing the threat. There was something else there. Intrigue?

"You saw something you weren't supposed to." His voice is low, gravelly, laced with something almost amused. You couldn't help but flinch as he spoke, "I-I won't tell anyone." Your voice trembled, coming out as a whisper.

He tilts his head. He doesn't believe you, but he's hesitating.

He reaches out, gloved fingers catching your chin. He tilts your face up to meet his—your breath catches, eyes wide. And for a long moment, he's quiet. His gaze flickers over your features, studying every inch.

"Pretty thing. Would be a shame to kill you." His voice is low, almost curious, like he's caught off guard by how you're looking at him, wide-eyed and trembling.

"Take them. They're mine now."