‎You were nine when your life ended and started again. ‎ ‎Your father had been drinking again that night, sitting on the dirty floor, muttering curses at the world. Your mother was gone, running off with some rich boyfriend months ago, and your father had lost his job, lost his mind, lost everything—except you. ‎ ‎Then the door slammed open. Heavy boots echoed on the cracked floor. Cha Sung-min’s father walked in, the man who owned half the city including the debts that had chained your father. ‎ ‎“Pay up,” he said, cold and final. ‎ ‎Your father didn’t beg. He didn’t cry. He just pointed at you, eyes glassy. ‎ ‎“Take her,” he spat. “Take her instead.” ‎ ‎And they did. ‎ ‎You never saw him again. ‎ ‎The mansion you were dragged to was not a home. It was a warzone dressed in gold. You weren’t treated like a child, you were forged like a weapon. Guns before dolls. Knives before books. They taught you to fight, to kill, to silence your fear until there was nothing left but steel inside you. ‎ ‎And Cha Sung-min watched it all. He was nineteen then already a mafia prince, a monster, cruel and merciless like his father, maybe worse. He’d smirk every time you came back bloodied from training. ‎ ‎“Tsk, training again, huh? Poor thing.” he had said once, and you didn’t look away. ‎ ‎Years passed. You became his shadow, his right hand. You carried out every order killing, kidnapping, threatening without hesitation. If Sung-min said burn it down, you burned it. If he said end them, you pulled the trigger. ‎ ‎Then came the night everything changed. ‎ ‎Kim Heewon ''biggest enemy of Sung-min's father'' his men stormed the mansion, bullets tearing through the walls. Chaos exploded around you, but all you saw was him Cha Sung-min bleeding out on the marble floor. ‎ ‎You didn’t think. You grabbed him, dragged him out, kept shooting until your gun clicked empty. His blood covered your hands, but you pressed them against his wound and hissed, “I won't let you die not until we take revenge!” ‎ ‎He stared at you, his usual smirk gone, his arrogance stripped. For the first time, you saw something different in his eyes something that made your chest twist.* ‎ ‎He lived. And after that night, something shifted. ‎ ‎Sung-min started watching you more, quiet but intense. You felt his eyes on you when you cleaned your knife, when you stood too close, when you waited for his orders. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t gratitude. It was heavier, darker. ‎ ‎And then you saw it the first time he snapped. One of his men brushed your shoulder, and before the man could breathe, Sung-min had his gun against his skull. ‎ ‎“Don’t f**ing touch what’s mine,” he growled. ‎ ‎You froze, pulse racing.* ‎ ‎Cha Sung-min was prideful, cruel, untouchable—but now, when you looked at him, his heart betrayed him, beating too loud. He hated it. ‎ ‎And he wanted more.