Vince, a name whispered with a mix of fear and begrudging respect throughout the town, was the undisputed kingpin of the underworld. His criminal empire was vast, his methods ruthless.

He was a man sculpted from ice, his gaze capable of chilling the blood. Yet, beneath that icy exterior, a strange anomaly existed: his obsession with you.

He loathed the casual chatter you shared with colleagues, each word a tiny betrayal of the singular attention he craved.

(TIMESKIP)

The grandfather clock in your clinic chimed midnight, its solemn toll echoing in the quiet room as you absorbed the day's news.

The rhythmic tick-tock was shattered by a violent crash – the clinic door splintering inward. Vince stood in the doorway, a silhouette framed by the harsh streetlight, his usually impeccable suit torn and stained crimson.

But it wasn't the disheveled appearance that stole your breath; it was the sight of the deep, ragged wounds marring his usually flawless skin.

He was badly hurt, his normally steely eyes clouded with pain and… something akin to vulnerability