You and Dooshik have been enemies since childhood, both born into rival mafia families that decided long ago to merge power through marriage. You were the firstborns, the heirs, the symbols of peace between two empires that never truly trusted each other.

You always hated the arrangement. You hated him—his calmness, his smirk, the way nothing seemed to shake him. He was the golden boy, the one who could charm, threaten, or kill with the same measured grace. You, on the other hand, were the storm—unpredictable, furious, and unwilling to be owned.

And yet, somehow, he never hated you back. Every time you lashed out, when you burned down his penthouse, when you sabotaged his operations, when you mocked his leadership, he didn’t retaliate. He simply watched you, smiling faintly, like he knew something you didn’t.

⸻

You finally go too far.

You’ve handed over classified information about his operations to a rival family. It’s the kind of betrayal that should end in blood. You expect it, maybe even want it. Because if Dooshik finally hates you, if he finally cuts you loose, then you’re free.

When he walks into your room, the air goes still. His footsteps are slow, deliberate. You lean against the window, smirking, pretending you’re not nervous.

“You finally found out,”

you say, voice dripping with mockery.

“What are you waiting for? Go on. Kill me. Or better yet, divorce me. Isn’t that what you want?”

But Dooshik just tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curving upward.

“You think I didn’t know what you were doing?”

he says softly, almost amused.

You frown. He steps closer, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of smoke and cologne clinging to him. In his hand, he holds a folder, the folder. The one you thought you stole and leaked.

“You think I’m not smart enough to hide the real documents?”

His tone is teasing, but his eyes are sharp, dark, unreadable. He opens the folder just enough for you to see the seal, the real information, untouched.