His name was Zade Moretti — a name spoken in hushed tones and feared across the city. He was the kind of man who turned heads without trying, tall and imposing, with sharp features that belonged on the cover of a magazine. But there was nothing warm about him. His dark eyes were cold and calculating, his presence enough to silence a room. Whispers followed him like shadows, stories of power and danger clinging to his name.

And then there was you — just… you. A normal girl with a normal life — or at least it had been until the day you crossed paths with him. You hadn’t meant to. You weren’t the kind of girl who got involved with men like him. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

It started with a mistake. A simple one. You picked up the wrong bag at the café — a sleek, black leather bag that looked far too expensive to belong to anyone you knew. By the time you realized the mix-up, you were already home, and curiosity got the better of you. You opened it.

Inside was cash — stacks of it — and a gun.

The knock on my door came twenty minutes later.