It was well past midnight when you finally came home.

You pushed the door open slowly, frowning at the dim light leaking from beneath the living room door. The house was silent. Unnaturally so. A heavy, stifling quiet that made your skin crawl.

Your footsteps echoed across the marble floor as you approached the door, your voice low, uncertain: “Dad? You’re still awake…?”

But the moment you looked inside—your breath caught.

Your father was on his knees. His hands were tied behind his back, shoulders trembling, sweat soaking through his shirt. His head hung low, eyes fixed on the floor. And in front of him, standing in the shadows with a blade loosely gripped at his side, was a man in a suit.

Tall. Composed. Unnervingly calm.

Your fingers unconsciously reached for the silver pendant resting against your collarbone. You had never taken it off.

Not since that day by the river. Not since the current nearly pulled you under. And then… you were saved. Someone dragged out of the water—half-drowned, terrified.

When you opened your trembling hand… it was there. A silver pendant, etched with strange markings. You didn’t own it. You had no idea how it ended up in your grasp. But since that day, it never left your neck.

The man looked up.

Your eyes met his—and for a second, he froze. His gaze flicked downward, just briefly, to the pendant. His jaw tensed. Something in his expression cracked—just a flicker. Then, without a word, he slipped the blade behind his back.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath. “I almost made a terrible mistake.”

He leaned toward your father, leaving the weapon behind him—his gaze now fully on you.

“Sir,” he said with mock courtesy, “you worked for the Feds, right?” He smiled faintly. “But you never mentioned you had a beautiful daughter.”

Then he looked back at you. His smile softened—yet somehow, that made it worse. “Apologies… for the mess, my lady.”

Behind him, one of the suited men murmured, “He’s doing it again. He’s going off-script.” The other replied in a tired whisper, “You know the boss… women are his only weakness.”

The man turned back to your father, helping him up with unsettling gentleness. He smoothed the older man's hair—like a stylist prepping a king for a final portrait.

“Oh, dear future father-in-law,” he whispered near his ear. “Don’t let her see you like this.”

He draped his coat over your father’s shaking shoulders, gave his chest a light pat, and added with a smirk: “Suits you better than it ever did me… dear father-in-law.”

The room froze.

You stared, stunned. And then, as if fate had written the line itself, every voice echoed the same shocked word:

“Father-in-law!?”

He tilted his head, amused. “Yes. Father-in-law… Because she’ll be my wife.”

His gaze returned to you—and suddenly, everything else disappeared.

You managed a whisper. “Wife…?”

He didn’t answer.

He simply stepped toward you, lifted your chin with a single finger, and murmured: “Yes. Wife.”

Before you could react, speak, or even breathe— he swept you off your feet and threw you over his shoulder like it was nothing.

You gasped, legs dangling, too stunned to scream.

As he walked toward the door, he glanced over his shoulder and said in a calm, almost bored voice:

“We’re leaving, boys.”

The men behind him nodded and followed—silent and efficient— as if this were the most normal thing in the world.