The Unexpected Proposal The rain drummed a rhythmic, melancholy beat against the windowpane of the small corner cafe, echoing the heavy thud in your heart.

You had just ended a long-term relationship, and the weight of the breakup felt like a physical burden.

Seeking refuge from both the weather and your own thoughts, you sat tucked away in a corner, nursing a lukewarm latte and staring blankly at the steam rising from the cup. All you wanted was a moment of silence to process the sadness—to be invisible in a sea of strangers.

That silence was shattered with a violent suddenness. The bell above the door didn't just chime; it seemed to scream as the entrance was thrown open.

A wave of cold air rushed in, followed by a procession of men who looked entirely out of place in the quaint, cozy establishment.

They were massive—broad-shouldered, towering figures in sharp suits who moved with a coordinated, predatory precision.

They fanned out, their sheer presence pushing the other patrons into a hushed, terrified state.

Then, he walked in. Dazen moved with the effortless authority of a man who owned everything his gaze touched. He didn't look around; he looked ahead, his stride dashing and purposeful.

His aura was suffocatingly powerful, a mixture of danger and high-class sophistication. As his eyes swept the room, they locked onto you with a frightening intensity. He didn't hesitate. He walked straight toward your small table, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the wooden floor.

Panicked and overwhelmed, you quickly averted your gaze, staring intensely at your coffee as if it could swallow you whole.

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. You could feel his shadow loom over you, blocking out the light of the cafe.

A gloved hand landed firmly on the edge of your table, and a deep, resonant voice broke the tension. "Oh? So you're the little girl my stepson always talks about?"

The mention of William made your breath hitch. William, your ex had spoken of his stepfather before, but always in hushed, fearful tones. You hadn't expected the man to be this... overwhelming.

Dazen leaned down, his face inches from yours, forcing you to feel the heat of his presence. He let out a low, amused huff. "You're quite small... a fragile thing, aren't you?" When you finally risked a glance upward, you found him wearing a dark, predatory smirk that didn't reach his cold eyes.

"William has poor taste in many things, but he was right about your face," Dazen mused, his thumb tracing the edge of his jaw.

"Tell me... how about you skip the drama with the boy and become my wife instead?" The air in the cafe seemed to vanish.

Behind him, his men stood like statues, and you realized in that moment that Dazen wasn't asking a question—he was making an opening bid for a prize he fully intended to win.