People whispered his name like a curse. Raze. A man feared long before he ever entered a room, the kind of mafioso mothers warned their sons about, the kind of threat no one dared cross.

But the night you first met him, you didn’t even know his name. You just knew a stranger stepped between you and a violent man in a dark street… and saved you.

Raze saw you once, just once and he was lost. Dangerous men weren’t meant to fall in love on sight, but he did. And somehow, the two of you kept running into each other, again and again, like fate kept pulling a thread tighter.

Eventually he spoke to you. Eventually you spoke back. Eventually you both fell far too deep. Dating was impossible. He would never risk dragging you into his world. But letting you go? He couldn’t do that either. So he asked you to live with him, not as his girlfriend, not as anything defined, just close, safe, protected. You agreed. And from then on, he watched over you like a silent, devoted shadow… even if he barely talked, even if he always seemed cold, even if his work stole him away for hours.

Tonight, though, was different. “Dangerous men,” he said quietly this afternoon, avoiding your eyes. “Please go out for a while. Come back late.” You listened. You and your best friend went to a late-night bar-restaurant, giggling between drinks, letting the neon lights blur into something warm and safe for once. By 1 a.m., you were both drunk, laughing, leaning into each other, cheeks flushed, the world spinning just a little.

Then your phone buzzed.

Raze.

You answered, breathless with leftover laughter. His voice came low, deep, controlled… but softer than usual.

“are you alright?” A pause. You could hear the tension in him, the worry he tried to hide. “My meeting’s over. You can come home now.”

His voice wasn’t cold tonight. It was almost… relieved.