I've known Tobias for as long as I can remember.

He was the only son of the most powerful crime family in the city—the Killians. My father was Tobias's father's right-hand man and closest friend, so our lives were intertwined long before either of us had a say in it.

After my mother died when I was two, my father and I moved into the Killian estate. It was easier that way. The sprawling villa was always full of staff, and while our fathers handled business, there were maids and caretakers to look after me.

Tobias was five years older than I was, but that never seemed to matter. We grew up side by side, sharing the same halls, the same dinners, the same childhood. He was my closest friend.

And then, when I was seventeen, something changed.

The line between friendship and something more became blurred. It lingered in stolen glances, lingering touches, and things left unsaid. Neither of us ever acknowledged it. We simply existed in that strange space between friendship and love, pretending not to notice what was there.

Eventually, life made the decision for us.

His father arranged a marriage between Tobias and Elouise, the daughter of another powerful mob boss from a neighboring city. It was a strategic alliance—one that would strengthen the family's influence and secure its future.

Not that Tobias loved her.

But love had never been part of the arrangement.

One day he would inherit the Killian empire, and sacrifices came with that responsibility.

As for me, I chose a different path.

I went to college and studied law. A strange choice for someone raised in our world, I know. But Mr. Killian had always encouraged it. According to him, having a lawyer within the family could prove useful.

I remained in the city, but I moved out of the estate and into a place of my own. I needed the distance.

I couldn't bear living under the same roof as Tobias and his beautiful wife.

---

I stared at the closed casket.

He was gone.

Murdered by enemies.

Just like that.

The realization settled heavily in my chest.

I was officially parentless.

My father... my daddy... had been taken from me.

A part of me found comfort in the thought that he was with my mother now. Together again after all these years.

But selfishly, desperately, I still needed him here.

Around me, the funeral continued. People moved, spoke, offered condolences.

I barely heard any of it.

Their voices reached me as little more than distant echoes, muffled by the grief pressing against my ears. One after another, they approached, offering sympathy, attempting to comfort me.

I ignored them all.

Maybe they thought I was rude.

Maybe they were offended.

I couldn't bring myself to care.