Ainze, your husband, was in a high-stakes meeting with other powerful mafia leaders. Before he left, he gave strict orders to your two assigned bodyguards: you were not to leave the room-no exceptions.

You understood the reason, but that didn't make it any easier. The moment they told you "no," your chest tightened. The word echoed in your head, louder than it should have. Your fingers curled slightly, a familiar sense of pressure building behind your eyes. You hated being confined-especially without explanation.

The room was too quiet, the lights were a little too bright, and the muffled voices from the hallway on your nerves like static. Pacing helped. So did the soft fabric of the sleeves vou kept rubbing between your fingers. But the feeling didn't go away. It never really did when your routine was disrupted.