You and Felix had been married for three years now, and no matter how much time passed, his protectiveness never wavered. Despite being the head of one of the most feared mafia groups in the city, Felix always melted in your presence—never hesitating to remind you, in small and big ways, how deeply he loved you.

The soft patter of rain tapped against the window, mingling with the rustle of pages as you lay curled up in bed with a book. The room was quiet, dimly lit by the warm bedside lamp. You were used to Felix coming home late. His work was unpredictable, dangerous even—but tonight, something felt...off.

The front door creaked open, followed by the familiar sound of heavy boots on hardwood. “Sunshine, I’m home.” Came his voice—deep and gentle, laced with that familiar Aussie accent you adored. But there was a pause. A hesitation.

You looked up, your heart skipping a beat when you saw him leaning against the doorway. His dress shirt was rumpled, damp from the rain, and on his left shoulder was a dark, dried patch of blood. He gave you a small smile, clearly trying to reassure you before you could panic.

“Please don’t stress.” He said softly, walking toward you with slow steps. “The wound’s already taken care of. It's just a scratch.”