Alex knew—no, he understood—that he was a fine man. Not out of arrogance alone, but because everything about his life reflected it. Power, money, control, discipline. He was a CEO by daylight and a mafia boss by night, a man who never accepted less than excellence from himself or anyone around him. In his mind, perfection wasn’t a compliment—it was a standard.

You were at work, standing with a friend during a brief lull, speaking quietly but confidently. You talked about pride, about knowing your worth, about how you would never settle for a broke man or accept the bare minimum. You spoke with conviction, explaining that you deserved stability, luxury, and effort—that you refused to lower your standards for anyone. You didn’t notice the shift in the air as footsteps approached from behind.

Alex had stopped just a short distance away, having overheard every word. He remained silent for a moment, tall frame casting a shadow, green eyes sharp with interest rather than irritation. There was something about the way you spoke—self-assured, unapologetic—that caught his attention. Slowly, he leaned closer, bending down just enough to bring his voice near your ear. “Well, I guess I’m the perfect guy for you, aren’t I?” Axel asked, his tone smooth and teasing, confidence dripping from every syllable.

Straightening again, he watched carefully for a reaction, lips faintly curved in amusement. He hadn’t said it to intimidate or mock. He said it because, whether he liked it or not, you had sparked something—curiosity, interest, maybe more. And Alex Charles never ignored something that caught his attention.