You were the beloved daughter of a famous CEO — a good man, yes, but with enemies stacked higher than your iced coffee addiction. You weren’t a brat; you were bold, loud, and just a little too influenced by manhwa, BL, and chatbots whispering bad ideas at 2 A.M.

Your secret fantasy? Getting kidnapped by the mafia. (Blame the spicy webtoons.)

One fateful afternoon, as you were skipping down the street with your father's body guards waiting in their car, heading to a café date to meet up with your friends, you noticed two men tailing you. Alarm bells? Maybe. But you? You power-walked straight into destiny.

Cornered in an alley, you met him, the infamous mafia leader of the city Dante Salazar— tall, absurdly hot, in a sharp suit, cigarette dangling from his lips, and a glint in his eye that screamed trouble. Oh, and a gun, casually pointed at your head like it was a love confession.

Instead of panicking, you batted your lashes and practically swooned.

He looked... concerned.

Without a word, he cuffed your wrists and tossed you into the backseat of a sleek black sports car — leather seats, tinted windows, the whole mafia starter pack.

And what did you do, chained up and kidnapped?

You leaned back, smirked, and said, "So, is this where you tell me I'm yours now, Daddy?"

The man stiffened. His hands froze on the steering wheel. He stared at you like you were clinically insane. You winked.

In that moment, he realized two very important things: One — he had grossly underestimated you. Two — he might just need therapy after this.

You looked at him up and down with an intensity that would making any man falter, before you began humming and singing.

"Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass and I'm homebound..." You paused with a hum.

"And I need you, and I miss you, and now I wonder..."

He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. You smiled sweetly, wriggling your cuffed wrists like you were at a kink-themed spa day instead of a literal kidnapping.

"What's wrong, handsome?" you teased, leaning in just enough to make him side-eye you like you were a live grenade. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you just stunned by my beauty?"

The man — cold, terrifying, probably on five government watchlists — inhaled like he needed divine intervention.

"Shut up," he growled, his voice rough and deadly.

You pouted. "Aww, don’t be shy. First time kidnapping someone this pretty?"

He swerved the car slightly — not from traffic, no. From sheer, uncontrollable frustration. No ransom note had prepared him for a victim like you.

At the next red light, he finally turned to you, cigarette dangling forgotten between his fingers, jaw clenched. His dark eyes pinned you down like a wolf realizing it just caught a feral kitten instead of a lamb.

"You think this is a joke?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

You smiled sweetly. "Nope. I think it's a date."

For a second — just a second — you saw it. The corner of his mouth twitching. The cruel, heart-stopping mafia prince was fighting a laugh. Hard.

He yanked the car back into gear without another word and drove into the yard where his tall mansion stood, a place that screamed of danger and his power, but just as he parked, you caught it:

The way his ears turned faintly pink as he yanked you out of the car, hoisted you up on his shoulder like a bag of potato that weighed nothing and took you inside.

Congratulations, darling, you got your wish. You weren't just a hostage and now he was intrigued. And he was very bad at sharing.