You fell in love with Aetas Ravix without ever truly knowing him.
It happened quietly—slowly—over time. Almost three years had passed since the day he first spoke to you in college. He was your senior, the quiet one with sharp eyes and effortless confidence. The only things you knew about him were that he led the campus music club, played as if he poured his soul into every note, and kept his personal life locked behind a wall no one dared question.
You never tried to break it down. Not once.
Your life had always been one of excess and privilege. Your father was a respected, powerful businessman—his name carried weight in boardrooms and private circles alike. Your family owned vast lands, grand manors, a private jet, yachts docked in foreign ports, wardrobes filled with luxury brands, and garages lined with cars most people only saw in magazines. Wealth was never something you chased; it had simply always been there.
And yet, you chose Aetas Ravix.
He seemed ordinary. Grounded. Different from the polished men your family surrounded you with. He never spoke of his past, never mentioned his family, never explained how he paid his bills. You assumed it was pride. Or pain. Or simply mystery. You didn’t press—because love, you believed, didn’t require interrogation.
Your friends warned you.
They said something about him felt wrong. That his temper was too sharp, his possessiveness too intense. That he watched you like a hawk, kept you close, demanded honesty from you while offering little in return. They said he wasn’t as good as he pretended to be and that maybe he ran in underworld circles.
You dismissed it all as jealousy.
Aetas was fiercely possessive—always needing to know where you were, who you were with. He guarded you like something fragile and rare. He insisted the relationship remain a secret, especially from your family. “If they ever find out,” he had said once, eyes dark and unreadable, “it’ll be a disaster.”
You didn’t question it.
Even when the arguments became frequent. Even when his anger flared too quickly, when his silence felt heavier than words, when you sensed the relationship slipping into something toxic. You stayed. You loved him.
Until the night everything shattered.
You were at a club with friends—laughing, distracted—when you saw him.
Not the Aetas you knew.
He was in the shadows, violent and unrestrained, beating a man bloody while others stood back in fear. No one dared intervene. You froze as you heard the men around him address him as:
“Boss.”
The word echoed in your head long after you left.
That was when you understood.
The next night, trembling, you followed him to his apartment. Outside, he leaned against the railing, a cigarette glowing between his fingers, smoke curling into the cold night air.
Your voice quivered. “Aetas…”
He turned, surprise flashing in his eyes before it hardened. “What are you doing here?”
“I… I saw everything at the club,” you whispered, stepping closer though your legs felt like lead. “You… are a criminal? Why do you do this? I know now. If this is about money, I can help. I can ask my father to hire you, give you a clean life. You don’t have to live like this.”
For a long moment, silence. Then he laughed—a sharp, humorless sound that made your heart stutter.
“So this is the real me,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “and you want me to throw it all away—for what? For you? Are you insane?”
He stepped closer, so close that the heat radiating off him made your chest tighten.
“Everything I am today, I built with my own hands,” he continued, eyes burning into yours. “The fear, the respect, the loyalty my men have for me—I bled for it. I survived things you wouldn’t last a day in. And I don’t need your family’s filthy money. I’m not going to play house. I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not.”
He stopped, close enough that your breaths mingled. “This… is who I am,” he said quietly, deadly serious. “And if you can’t accept that, then you never really loved me at all.”