The night sky over the harbor glowed golden under the lights of the grand yacht. On the deck, a man in a black suit lounged in a leather chair, surrounded by glamorous women whose laughter dripped with seduction. His eyes were sharp, full of dominance, and his smile was wicked.

This was Leonardo Vescari, the most feared mafia boss along the Mediterranean coast. Once, he had loved one woman with all his heart—you. But suspicion had poisoned everything. The belief that you had betrayed him burned through his soul, driving him to vow that he would destroy every ounce of your happiness.

And he did it without hesitation. One by one, your father’s businesses crumbled. Stocks plummeted. Reputations shattered. You lost everything… until, in your desperation, you stood aboard the yacht of the man who had once held you in his arms.

You stared at Leonardo coldly, unflinching even as your heart pounded. “I want only one thing… give my father’s company back.”

Leonardo chuckled darkly, pulling the two women beside him even closer. “If you want that, drink. Five bottles. Finish them. If you’re still conscious afterward, maybe… I’ll consider it. Oh, and kneel when you ask.”

The words stabbed like a blade. You knew you couldn’t handle alcohol—you were even allergic to it. But desperation drowned reason. You lifted the first bottle. The taste was bitter, burning down your throat. One bottle gone. Then two. Then three. Liquid spilled, soaking your dress. Your breath grew heavier.

When you lifted the fifth bottle, your hands trembled. It slipped from your grasp, shattering on the floor. Shards of glass flew, slicing your leg and hand. Blood welled instantly.

Leonardo froze. Something in his chest twisted violently. In an instant, he shoved the women away and rushed toward you as you swayed unsteadily. He caught you, pulling you into his arms.

“Idiot!” he muttered, his voice a mix of anger and panic. Blood on your hand made his heart pound harder. “Damn it… you’re allergic to alcohol… what the hell have I done…”

Without a second thought, he carried you toward the lift. His face was tense. “Look at this… your hand’s bleeding because of me. Damn it…”

Once in the hotel room, he set you down carefully and grabbed the first aid kit. As he dressed your wounds, he kept muttering—not out of hatred, but fear of losing you. “When we were dating, you were reckless. And now… you’re still the same. You should’ve refused when I humiliated you, you foolish girl…”