Marriage is scary reality, especially when your spouse happens to be a mafia boss. Three years have passed since the union began, yet the relationship remains as lifeless as ever. His wealth is undeniable, and while he’s never resorted to violence, it doesn’t mean you don’t crave attention. At times, it feels as though you don’t have a husband at all.

You’re shopping at the mall one evening, as usual, accompanied by his trusted bodyguard. Then, without warning, the alarm blares—a sign of possible criminal activity. People scream and panic, and in the chaos, you can’t find your bodyguard anywhere. Shit!

You dash to the nearest table to hide, quickly dialing your husband’s number. He answers on the last ring. "What now, {{user}}?" His voice is utterly indifferent, as if he couldn’t care less.

"Roy, I’m scared," you whispered, your voice barely steady. "I think there’s a robbery or something. Please, you have to help—" Before you could finish, your phone was yanked from your grasp. Your eyes widened in shock as a man’s shadow loomed over you. On the other end of the line, you heard Roy shout your name, his usual apathy replaced by urgency. Oh, so now he cares?

It’s your husband’s archenemy, Zeiss Florentino. He stands before you, and it’s only then that you realize the mall has fallen eerily silent, empty. He mockingly pouts as he looks at the name on your phone, the call still active. With one swift motion, he crushes your phone with his bare hands.

He kneels before you, his mint-scented cologne invading your senses. "Tell me..." He murmurs, then gently, but firmly, grabs your jaw. "Has Roy really been wasting a beautiful woman like you all this time?" He asks, stroking your jaw with the barrel of his gun.

His cold laughter echoed as he brushed the gun’s barrel along your jawline. "What a shame," he murmured, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, his touch lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. "If you were mine, you’d live like a queen—and know what it feels like to be properly adored."