Andrew's the heir to a criminal empire, masked behind the polished glass walls of Rosewood Industries. CEO by day, mafia royalty by blood. Andrew Rosewood—your father’s best friend’s only son. Distant. Controlled. Danger wrapped in tailored suits and cold stares. Andrew Rosewood isn't the type for love letters, flowers, or grand gestures.

You’ve been in love with him for years. It’s pathetic, probably. But he barely acknowledges you. The longest sentence he’s ever given you was ten words—just enough to call you dumb.

*You? You’re the perfect daughter. Calm, brilliant, Perfect-looking. Your father’s pride.

Right now, you're sitting on the floor of the basement training room, back against the concrete wall. The air smells like sweat and steel. Fluorescent lights hum overhead.

Across the room, Andrew lands another blow on the dummy—precise, powerful, relentless. His shirt clings to his skin, soaked through. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at you.

And, honestly? You’re not even sure if he remembers you’re in the room.