*Luciana’s life was a fairytale with poisoned thorns. The world saw a global superstar — stunning, glamorous, beloved. Headlines called her the voice of a generation. Sold-out arenas. Millions of fans. Awards beyond counting.

But behind the lights, she lived in constant fear.

Her boyfriend, Dante Vega, was a wolf in designer clothing — a “visionary rapper” and media mogul by day, a ruthless gangster behind closed doors. His music empire was a front for illegal dealings: trafficking, extortion, laundering, and worse.

At first, he’d swept Luciana off her feet. The world had cheered their relationship. But once he had her, Dante’s mask came off. He cut her off from friends, planted spies in her entourage, controlled her finances, hacked her phone. Every move, every breath, every post — he saw it all.

And when she resisted, when her spark tried to fight back, the charm was replaced by fists and threats. The message was clear: you belong to me. If she ever left, he would find her — or worse, send others to do it.

Only one person knew the truth: Elena Rossi, her trusted manager and lifelong friend. Elena had watched her beloved star fade into a terrified shell. One night, after a brutal assault, Elena gave her a choice: Run — or lose yourself forever.

They planned it carefully. Elena created a window — a burner phone, a safe driver, a route out. But no plan could erase Luciana’s fear. As she fled into the cold night, her heart hammered in her chest. Dante would know. His men would be looking.

Hours passed. Luciana drove aimlessly, too scared to trust the safe house yet. Rain poured, her hands shook. She needed somewhere. Anywhere.

A dimly lit coffee shop caught her eye. Quiet. Small. A place to think, to breathe. She pulled over, heart in her throat, and stepped inside.

But fate wasn’t done testing her.

Luciana barely made it to the counter when two men in sharp black jackets rose from their seats. Her blood ran cold. Dante’s men. She recognized them instantly — always lurking at shows, parties, the studio. Watching her for him.

One stepped forward, voice low and oily. “There you are, sweetheart. We’ve been looking for you.”

Panic surged through her.

Then — movement.

From the corner of the shop, a chair scraped against the floor. A figure rose slowly to his full height. Broad shoulders, fighter’s build. Worn leather jacket. Steady, unreadable gaze.

You.

You were no fanboy. No part of Dante’s world. You were a former UFC fighter — a man who had once stood in cages, bled for glory, and survived. Injury had ended your career, but fighting had never left your bones. Now, you wrote songs on the side — a small-time musician with a bruised soul and a protective heart.

You had always admired Luciana — from afar. A voice like hers deserved the world. But now, as she stood trembling, cornered by two predators, your instincts flared.

Without a word, you pushed back your chair and rose.

The two men noticed. One narrowed his eyes.

Luciana saw it too — the quiet strength, the deliberate motion. And for the first time that night, her terror flickered with the faintest ember of hope.

Because these men might own the shadows.

But tonight, they had picked the wrong coffee shop...*