🔞No under age should be reading this okay🔞
Read x black and plus size 😘😘
Content warning • Emotional & Verbal Abuse: Depictions of a toxic relationship with a narcissistic fiancé, gaslighting, and disrespect.
• Infidelity: Themes of cheating and betrayal.
• Violence & Weaponry: Descriptions of gun violence, knife threats, physical altercations, and "Mafia" lifestyle themes.
• Blood & Medical Situations: Graphic descriptions of a gunshot wound and "kitchen table" surgery.
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The sun usually loved my skin, making my deep complexion glow like polished mahogany, but today, the sun felt heavy. You are a woman who works twenty-four-seven, holding my world together with grit and grace, yet I was coming home to a house that felt more like a cage.
At the office, it had been a nightmare. You spent ten hours being the scapegoat for men who couldn't handle their own mistakes. Because you was the only woman in the room, every corporate fire was somehow my fault. you was exhausted.
"Hi, I’m home, baby," you called out as you dropped my keys.
My fiancé didn't even look up from his phone. He was lounging on the sofa, a smirk on his face as he typed away—he looked happier talking to that screen than he ever did talking to me. He didn't ask how my day was. He didn't offer to help with my bags.
"Oh. Hi," he muttered eventually, his voice flat and distracted.
You didn't even bother arguing. You just walked straight to the bedroom, the seeds of doubt planting themselves deeper in my mind. Is he cheating? I wondered, but the exhaustion was too heavy to carry an interrogation. Then you sank into a steaming hot bath, letting the water soak away the aches of a world that took everything from me and gave nothing back.
Across the city, Seonghwa sat in a high-rise office that felt more like a fortress. He was a man built from shadows and hard work, the sole survivor of a family lost to a brutal mafia war. His life was a constant cycle of balance sheets and blood—tracking missing money, locating stolen shipments, and maintaining an empire.
He returned to a mansion that was massive, cold, and echoing. He had maids, but no company. He had power, but no peace. When his assistant informed him of an upcoming business trip, he prepared to leave, unaware that his path was about to veer into someone else's.
The trip was supposed to be a celebration. You had brought my fiancé and my best friend, Samantha, to a luxury resort. We were seated by a stunning pool, the table set perfectly, but the atmosphere was sour. Your fiancé was already drunk, his voice loud and obnoxious as he forced the entire deck to sing "Happy Birthday" to me. It wasn't sweet; it was performative and embarrassing.
Feeling the sting of tears and the need for air, then you excused yourself to find the restroom. You turned the corner too fast, my mind spinning, and slammed straight into a wall of solid muscle.
I stumbled back, looking up. He was tall, tan, with long hair that caught the evening breeze. He looked like he belonged to a different world—dangerous, refined, and piercingly handsome.
"Are you lost, bunny?" he asked, his voice a low, dark velvet. (I’m so sorry this made me laugh writing this)🎀
Before you could find my breath to apologize or even respond, he turned and vanished into the crowd, leaving me shivering in the heat.
The sun was high and golden, the perfect light to make your beautiful skin look like radiant silk as you laid out with Samantha. But the peace didn't last. When your fiancé walked up, already dressed to leave, the disrespect felt like a physical weight.
"I’ll be back. Don’t worry about it," he said, checking his watch as if he had somewhere more important to be than his own fiancé's birthday celebration.
"Where are you going on my birthday trip?" You asked, sitting up. The hurt was starting to sharpen into anger. "We’re supposed to spend time together. What is up with you? Why have you been acting like this?"
He rolled his eyes, a cruel smirk on his face. "Oh my god, you act like everything is about you. Calm down."
That was it. The months of working twenty-four-seven, the cold nights, the suspicion of him cheating, and the exhaustion of being the "strong woman" snapped. You stood up, my eyes blazing, and before he could utter another word, You shoved him with every bit of strength I had left.
The splash was loud and satisfying. You didn't stay to watch him sputter. You grabbed my cover-up and walked away, hot tears finally blurring my vision as my heart ached with the realization that I was lonely even when I wasn't alone.
You wandered toward a secluded garden path near the edge of the resort, trying to wipe my face and catch my breath. The anger was fading, leaving only a hollow sadness behind. You weren't looking where I was going until I saw a pair of polished black shoes in my path.
You stopped short, looking up. It was him again—the man from the night before. Today, he wore a crisp linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, looking every bit like the powerful man he was.
Seonghwa looked at my tear-stained face, his dark eyes narrowing. He didn't look annoyed this time; he looked observant. He reached into his pocket and held out a silk handkerchief.
"Still lost, bunny?"(lol)🎀 he asked, his voice calmer, steadier than the chaos I’d just left behind. "Or is the man who belongs in the pool the reason for those tears?"
Your heart skipped a beat. He had seen the whole thing.
"He's... he's a lot of things," you whispered, taking the handkerchief. The scent of expensive cologne and something like cedarwood drifted off it.
"He is a fool," Seonghwa corrected firmly. He stepped closer, his presence towering but strangely protective. "A woman who works as hard as you do should never have to cry on her birthday. Especially not over a man who doesn't know the value of the gold he holds."
You hadn't made it ten feet when you heard the heavy, squelching sound of wet sneakers hitting the pavement.
"You bitch!" Your fiancé yelled, his voice cracking with rage. He was dripping wet, his expensive clothes clinging to him, smelling of chlorine and humiliation. "You think you can just embarrass me like that? Do you have any idea how much those shoes cost?"
You spun around, ready to scream back, but a shadow moved faster than I could.
Before your fiancé could reach you , Seonghwa stepped into his path. He didn't yell. He didn't even raise his hands. He just stood there like a mountain of cold granite, his height casting a long, dark shadow over my soaking-wet fiancé.
"You're making a scene," Seonghwa said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low frequency that made the air feel heavy.
"Who the hell are you?" Your fiancé spat, trying to look tough despite the puddle forming at his feet. "Get out of my way. This is between me and my girl."
"She isn't a 'thing' for you to scream at," Seonghwa replied, stepping an inch closer. The look in his eyes was the same one he used when men went missing from his shipments—deadly and final. "And judging by the water on your face, you’ve already had enough of a dip. If you take one more step toward her, I’ll make sure the next time you go under, you stay there."
Your fiancé froze. He looked at Seonghwa’s watch, then at the sheer power in the man's posture. He realized instantly that this wasn't just a tourist. This was someone who could erase him. He backed up, stuttering, before turning and fleeing toward the hotel rooms.
You turned to see Samantha standing a few feet away. She had followed us from the pool, her mouth hanging open. She wasn't looking at your fleeing fiancé; her eyes were glued to Seonghwa.
"Girl..." she whispered, walking over and grabbing my arm, her eyes wide. "Do you have any idea who that is? That’s Park Seonghwa. He’s not just a 'tall man.' He owns half the shipping ports on the coast. He’s a billionaire, maybe more. And he just... he just defended you like you were his queen."
You looked back at Seonghwa. He was watching me, his expression softening just a fraction. He still held the handkerchief out.
"The fool is gone," Seonghwa said quietly, ignoring Samantha entirely. "Now, take this. You have a glow that shouldn't be ruined by salt and tears."
You stood there, trembling, clutching the silk handkerchief Seonghwa had finally pressed into my hand. Samantha was still buzzing with excitement, but my heart was a heavy stone in my chest.
"I need to go find him," you whispered, more to myself than to them. "I need to see if he’s okay, or if he’s actually leaving."
"You shouldn't go alone," Seonghwa said, his voice a low rumble. He didn't ask; he simply fell into step beside me, his presence a silent, protective shield. Samantha followed closely, sensing that the drama was far from over.
Y’all reached the hotel lobby just in time to see your fiancé. He wasn't in the room drying off. He was at the valet stand, his clothes changed, looking hurried and nervous. He didn't see us. He was too busy leaning against a sleek red sports car, clutching a bouquet of lilies—my favorite flowers, the ones he hadn't bought me in three years.
Then, a woman stepped out of the car. She was young, dressed in a tight sundress, and she giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"You're late," she pouted.
"I had a little... accident at the pool," he muttered, kissing her deeply. "But forget that. I told her I had a 'business meeting.' We have the whole afternoon at the private beach club."
The world seemed to tilt. Every "late night at the office," every time he told me I was "crazy" for questioning him, every time he made yoh feel like I wasn't enough—it was all right there, in front of the lilies he bought for her on my birthday.
You felt the heat of a fresh sob rising, but before I could break, a large, warm hand settled firmly on the small of my back. It was Seonghwa.
"Do you want me to handle this?" Seonghwa asked. The tone of his voice suggested that 'handling it' could mean anything from a verbal lashing to making the man disappear entirely.
Samantha gasped, her phone already out. "I caught it all on video, babe. The kiss, the flowers, the 'business trip' line. He’s done."
You took a deep breath, the scent of Seonghwa’s handkerchief—cedar and strength—filling my lungs. I didn't want to cry anymore. You wanted to be free.
"No," you said, my voice finally steady. "I’ll handle it."
You walked toward the car. Your ex fiancé saw me and his face turned a ghostly shade of white. The girl pulled away, looking confused.
"I hope the 'business trip' is worth it," You said, my voice echoing in the quiet valet circle. "Because when you get back to the room, your bags will be in the hallway. And when we get home, the locks will be changed. We're done."
"Wait, baby, it’s not what it looks like—" he started, stepping toward me.
But he didn't get far. Seonghwa stepped forward, his shadow looming over the red sports car. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes made my fiancé stumble backward into the driver's seat.
"Drive," Seonghwa commanded.
And he did. He sped away, leaving nothing but a cloud of exhaust and the shattered remains of my old life.
I stood there, looking at the empty road. I felt lighter than I had in years.
"You're better than a man who hides in the shadows," Seonghwa said, turning to face me. He looked at me not with pity, but with genuine admiration. "Now, it is still your birthday. And I believe you were promised a celebration that is actually about you."
He turned to Samantha. "I assume you would like to join us for a dinner that doesn't involve fools?"
Samantha looked like she’d won the lottery. "Absolutely."
The act of throwing his things into the hallway felt like ripping out a thorn that had been buried in my heart for years. Every shirt, every pair of shoes you had bought him with the money I earned working those twenty-four-seven shifts—out they went. When the door finally clicked shut, the silence of the room was deafening.
You caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Your beautiful chocolate skin, which usually glowed like a sunset, looked dull under the harsh hotel lights. My eyes were puffy. You felt used. You felt like a fool for giving my best years to a man who didn't even see me.
You couldn't stay in that room. It smelled like him. It smelled like a lie.
You walked out, my feet moving without direction. I wandered through the resort’s winding paths, feeling completely untethered. The world around me was a blur of noise. You passed the outdoor lounge where the air was thick with sweet cigar smoke and the laughter of people who didn't have a care in the world. Further down, You heard the sharp, ugly sound of a couple shouting at each other near the bar—another bridge burning in the night.
It was all too much. The music, the lights, the smell of the ocean—it all felt like it was mocking me. I felt invisible. I felt lost.
"You're doing it again," a deep, familiar voice rumbled through the dark.
You froze. You were standing near a stone balcony overlooking the black expanse of the sea. Standing there, leaning against the railing with a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand, was Seonghwa. He looked like a king surveying a kingdom he didn't care for.
"I... I was just walking," I whispered, your voice cracking.
"You were wandering," he corrected gently, setting his glass down. He walked toward me, his movements fluid and powerful. He stopped just inches away, blocking out the noise of the party behind us. "There is a difference. One has a destination. The other is looking for a reason to exist."
He reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear before it could fall. His skin was warm against mine.
"I packed his things," I told him, needing to say it out loud to make it real. "He's gone."
"Good," Seonghwa said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "A diamond shouldn't be kept in a cardboard box. You’ve spent so long taking the blame for everyone else's failures—at work, in your home. Don't you think it's time someone took care of you?"
You looked up at him, feeling a different kind of spark—not the frantic anxiety of my old life, but a steady, burning heat.
The kindness was too much. The attention was too much. After being ignored for years, having this powerful stranger appear every time I turned a corner felt less like fate and more like a trap. My nerves were frayed to the breaking point.
"Are you following me?" You snapped, pulling back from his touch. My eyes flashed with a mix of hurt and suspicion. "I don't know you. I don't know why you're here, and I don't need another man trying to manage my life or tell me who I am. Just leave me alone!"
You didn't wait for his answer. I turned on my heel and marched away, my heels clicking sharply against the stone. You headed toward the far end of the balcony, needing the salt air to clear the fog in my head.
But the night wasn't done with me.
A hand grabbed my arm, rough and trembling. You spun around to see your ex fiancé. He smelled like a distillery, his eyes bloodshot and his tie hanging loose around his neck. He looked pathetic, but his face was twisted with a desperate, ugly anger.
"You think you can just kick me out?" he hissed, his grip tightening on my wrist. "After everything I put up with? Your long hours, your attitude? You’re nothing without me! You’re going back inside, and you’re going to tell that guy to back off before I—"
The voice didn't come from me. It came from the shadows behind ex fiancé.
Seonghwa stepped into the light. The "gentleman" I had seen earlier was gone. His posture was rigid, his eyes turned to cold black ice, and his hand moved slightly to the inside of his blazer—a silent, terrifying gesture. The air around him turned freezing. This was the man who ran empires; this was the man who survived a mafia war.
"Let go of her," Seonghwa said. It wasn't a request. It was an ultimatum. "Now. Or I will ensure that the hand you’re using to hurt her never functions again."
Ex fiancé looked at Seonghwa’s face and finally saw the monster beneath the suit. He yelped, releasing my arm as if I’d turned into red-hot coal, and stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet before scrambling away into the darkness, terrified for his life.
You stood there, shaking, rubbing my wrist. The silence was heavy. You looked at the resort, the lights, and the memory of my failed relationship. I couldn't stay here.
"I’m leaving," You whispered. "I’m going to the airport. I’m going home. I’m done with all of this."
"Home?" Seonghwa stepped closer, the lethal edge in his voice softening, but his intensity remaining. "To the house you paid for while he cheated? To the job where they blame you for their mistakes? That isn't a home. That's a prison."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold keycard with a crest on it.
"My jet is fueled and waiting at the private terminal," he said. "It can take you to Paris, to Tokyo, or to a private island where no one knows your name. You can have the life you actually earned."
You looked at the card, then at him. "And what's the catch? Nothing is free."
Seonghwa leaned in, his scent of cedar and expensive tobacco wrapping around me.
"The catch is time," he murmured. "I will give you everything. Safety, respect, and a world where you never have to work twenty-four-seven unless you want to. In exchange, I want one year. 365 days. If, at the end of that year, you haven't fallen in love with me... I will personally fly you back to your front door and never speak to you again. But for those 365 days, you are mine to protect."
You looked at the gold card, then back at the dark ocean. Your old life was dead. Your new life was standing in front of me with a dangerous smile.
You looked at the gold card shimmering under the moonlight, then back at the man who looked like he could either be my savior or my most beautiful mistake. The life I had built was a series of thankless shifts and a fiancé who treated me like furniture.
You reached out and took the card, your fingers brushing his. The heat was instantaneous.
"I'll go," you said, your voice gaining a strength I didn't know I still possessed. "But let’s get one thing straight, Seonghwa. I’ve spent my whole life being told what to do by men who weren’t half as smart as me. If I’m doing this, I’m setting the rules. I am not a trophy, and I am not a prisoner. You want 365 days? You get them. But you don't 'own' me. You earn me."
A slow, genuine smirk spread across Seonghwa’s face. It wasn't the arrogant look of my fiancé; it was the look of a man who finally found a challenge worth his time.
"I would expect nothing less from you, bunny," he murmured. "Name your rules. I am a man of my word."
A few hours later, the world looked different from thirty thousand feet. The interior of Seonghwa’s private jet was draped in cream leather and dark wood, a far cry from the cramped office cubicles I was used to. By the time we touched down in Italy, the sun was rising over the mountains, painting the sky in hues of violet and orange that matched the glow of your skin.
Y’all arrived at a villa that looked like it had been carved out of a dream. It sat right on the edge of Lake Como, surrounded by lush gardens and ancient stone walls.
"This is your wing of the house," Seonghwa said, leading me to a suite that overlooked the sparkling water. "There is a staff at your disposal, a wardrobe filled with whatever you desire, and most importantly..." He stepped aside to show a massive, marble-carved bathtub already steaming with scented oils. "No one here will blame you for anything. Your only job is to rest."
You walked to the balcony, feeling the cool Italian breeze. For the first time in years, my shoulders dropped. The ache in my body began to melt.
"364 days left," Seonghwa said from the doorway, his eyes lingering on the way the morning light hit my face. "I suggest you start by sleeping. My mission to win your heart doesn't officially begin until you’ve had a proper night’s rest."
As he turned to leave, You called out to him. "Seonghwa?"
He stopped, glancing back.
"Rule number one," You said, leaning against the doorframe. "Don't think that buying me beautiful things is going to make me forget what I saw on that balcony. You're a dangerous man. If you want me to love you, I need to see the man, not the mafia boss."
Seonghwa bowed his head slightly, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable crossing his features. "As you wish. Tomorrow, we start with the man."
The next morning, You woke up in sheets that felt like clouds. For the first time in years, you didn't wake up to the sound of an alarm or a man complaining that his coffee wasn't made. I woke up to the sound of Lake Como lapping against the shore.
You spent the morning lounging, but by the afternoon, Seonghwa knocked on my door. He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that made him look breathtakingly powerful.
"I have a business gala this evening," he said, his eyes scanning me with an appreciation that felt like a warm blanket. "It is a room full of people who need to know exactly who I am protecting. I want you by my side. But first, we go to Milan. You need armor that matches your spirit."
Y’all were driven to a private boutique in the heart of the fashion capital. I felt a twinge of the old anxiety—being a curved, thick woman in high-end fashion usually meant being told "we don't have your size" or being ushered to a dusty corner of the store.
But as soon as we walked in, the designer himself bowed to Seonghwa.
"Everything for the lady," Seonghwa said, taking a seat in a velvet chair. "And I mean everything. Silks, velvets, gold—nothing is too much. I want her to feel like the sun she is."
For three hours, it was a whirlwind. You tried on gowns that hugged your curves in all the right places, celebrating your body instead of trying to hide it. You found a deep emerald silk dress that made your skin glow like burnished bronze. Seonghwa didn't look at his phone once. He watched every transition, his eyes dark with a hunger that wasn't just about my body—it was about my confidence.
"You look," he paused, his voice dropping to a rasp as I stepped out in the final gown, "dangerous. In the best way possible."
After the bags were loaded into the car, you expected to go straight to the party, but Seonghwa signaled the driver to stop at a small, sun-drenched local market on the way back to the villa.
"The gala doesn't start for hours," he said, loosening his tie. "And rule number one was to show you the man, not the boss. The boss buys the dress. The man... the man makes sure you are fed."
Yall walked through the stalls of fresh basil, heirloom tomatoes, and handmade pasta. He let me pick out the ingredients, but he was the one haggling with the locals in fluent, melodic Italian.
Back at the villa, he didn't call the chefs. He took off his blazer, rolled up his sleeves, and started dicing garlic with a precision that was almost hypnotic. Watching his strong, tattooed forearms work as he prepared a simple, perfect pasta was more intimate than any fancy dinner.
"My mother taught me this," he said quietly, not looking up. "Before the war. Before I became what I am today. In this kitchen, I am just Seonghwa."
You sat on the counter, sipping a glass of red wine, watching the "monster" boil water and taste sauce. The ache in my heart from my fiancé’s betrayal was still there, but it was being drowned out by the steady, quiet rhythm of a man who actually wanted to serve me.
The gala was a sea of glittering diamonds and sharp suits. You stepped into the ballroom wearing that emerald silk gown, my hair swept up, and my skin glowing like a goddess. I felt powerful. For the first time, I wasn't the woman working in the background; I was the masterpiece in the center of the room.
Seonghwa kept me close at first, his hand a warm weight on my lower back. But as the night went on, I saw his "Mafia boss" side emerge—the cold, calculating eyes as he spoke to men in hushed tones.
A tall, thin blonde in a dress that was barely there sashayed over to him. She draped herself over his arm, whispering something in his ear while laughing loudly. Seonghwa didn't push her away. In fact, he looked over at me, a playful, challenging glint in his eyes. He was trying to see if I’d crack. He wanted to see if I cared enough to be jealous.
I didn't. (Now clock 🤭) you just raised my glass of champagne to him, gave him a bored smile, and turned my back. If he thought he could use another woman to shake me after what I’d been through, he didn't know me at all.
You wandered over to the bar, where a handsome Italian architect began to tell me about the villa's history. You leaned in close, laughing at his jokes and letting him touch my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, You saw Seonghwa’s entire demeanor shift. The blonde was forgotten. His jaw tightened so hard you thought it might snap.
You stepped away from the architect to get some air on the balcony, and that's when a shadow detached itself from the pillars. A man with a scarred face and a heavy gold ring stepped into my path. He wasn't like the others; he felt cold, like a winter storm.
"You have a very brave heart, Signora," he said, his voice a low rasp. "Or perhaps you are just very uninformed."
You crossed my arms. "And who are you?"
"A rival. A survivor. Someone who knows that Seonghwa doesn't 'save' people. He collects them," the man sneered. "He tells you about the 365 days? He’s a hunter. He’s using your heartbreak to bind you to him. Do you know how many bodies are buried under the shipping docks he owns? Do you know why his family is really gone? He’s not a man you fall in love with. He’s a man you survive."
You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. The man stepped closer, his eyes dark. "Run while you can, bunny. Before the year is up and you belong to the underworld forever."
"I believe you're in the wrong territory, Marco."
The voice was like a gunshot. Seonghwa was standing at the balcony entrance. He didn't look like the man who had diced garlic this afternoon. He looked like the devil himself. He walked over, placing himself firmly between me and the scarred man.
"She is under my protection," Seonghwa whispered, his hand going to the hilt of a knife hidden at his waist. "If you breathe near her again, I will burn your legacy to the ground."
The man, Marco, gave me one last pitying look before disappearing into the crowd.
Seonghwa turned to me, his chest heaving with a mix of rage and jealousy. "Are you alright? What did he say to you?"
You looked at him, then at the ballroom full of monsters in expensive suits. "He told me you were a hunter. And he told me I should run." You stepped closer, looking him right in the eye. "And rule number two, Seonghwa? Don't ever use another woman to try and play with my head. I’m not the girl you can manipulate. If you want my attention, ask for it." (Damnnn I know that right)🎀
Seonghwa’s eyes softened, the jealousy turning into a deep, raw respect. "I apologize. I am... unaccustomed to a woman who doesn't bend."
You looked at the glittering ballroom, the fake smiles, and the hidden knives behind silk waistcoats. The warning from Marco was still ringing in my ears, and the smell of expensive perfume and betrayal was starting to make me feel suffocated.
"I’m done with this, Seonghwa," You said, pulling my emerald train closer to me. "I didn't leave a man who lied to me just to stand in a room full of men who kill for a living. I don't want the champagne, and I definitely don't want the drama."
Seonghwa’s expression shifted, his protective stance relaxing just a fraction. "Where do you want to go?"
"Away from here. I want the real Italy. I want to see something that isn't bought and paid for by the underworld."
He didn't argue. He didn't even say goodbye to his business associates. He simply grabbed his jacket, took my hand, and led me through a side exit where a modest, vintage Alfa Romeo was waiting—not the armored SUV we arrived in.
Within twenty minutes, the city lights were behind us. We drove along the winding coastal roads, the wind whipping through my hair and cooling my skin. Seonghwa drove with one hand on the wheel, his sleeves rolled up, looking less like a boss and more like a man who just wanted to breathe.
Y’all ended up in a tiny, cobblestone village tucked into the hillside. The only light came from a small gelateria that was just closing and a single streetlamp.
"No bodyguards?" You asked, looking around the empty square.
"They are close enough to be useful, but far enough to let us be human," he replied.
He bought two scoops of lemon gelato, and we sat on a weathered stone bench overlooking a valley of olive trees. There were no diamonds here. No rivals. Just the sound of crickets and the distant chime of a church bell.
"Marco wasn't entirely lying," Seonghwa said suddenly, staring out into the dark. "I am a hunter. I have done things that would make you want to burn that emerald dress just because I touched it. But when I saw you at that resort... I wasn't hunting a 'collection.' I was looking at the only thing in this world that seemed real."
He turned to me, his dark eyes searching mine. "You asked for the man, not the boss. The man is tired, bunny. The man has been alone since he was fifteen years old. And the man thinks that 365 days isn't going to be nearly enough time to deserve you."
You looked at him—really looked at him—away from the shadows of his world. He was still dangerous, yes. But sitting there with gelato on his thumb and the weight of the world on his shoulders, he looked like someone who finally wanted to come home.
You reached over and wiped a smudge of sweetness from the corner of his mouth. "363 days left, Seonghwa. Don't get ahead of yourself."
He chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated in the quiet night air. For the first time since you arrived in Italy, I didn't feel like a guest or a project. I felt like myself.
The peace of the Italian night was shattered the moment we stepped back into the villa. My phone, which I had kept on silent, was vibrating violently in my clutch.
You pulled it out to find thirty missed calls and a string of frantic texts from Samantha.
>🌺 SAMANTHA: Girl, where are you?! Your ex is spiraling. He’s calling me every five minutes crying, saying some "scary guy" took you. He thinks you’ve been kidnapped! He says he’s going to the police! Answer me!!
You showed the screen to Seonghwa. A cold, dark amusement flickered across his face. "Kidnapped? Is that what he calls being saved from a life of mediocrity?"
"He's desperate," you whispered, feeling a chill. "He knows he lost his meal ticket and his ego all in one night. If he goes to the authorities, this beautiful dream ends in a mess."
Seonghwa took my phone gently from my hand. "Let him bark. My people handle the police before they even reach the front gate. But if it makes you feel better..." He dialed a number on his own phone. "Make sure the fool stays in his hotel room. If he breathes the word 'police' again, remind him of the debt he owes to the casino in Monaco. He’ll vanish on his own."
He handed my phone back. "Sleep, bunny. Tomorrow, I will show you why I do what I do."
The next morning, the sun hit my skin like a warm kiss. You found a small velvet box on my pillow. Inside was a delicate gold anklet with a tiny charm of a sunflower—the flower I had mentioned in passing during a dream I’d shared about owning my own flower shop one day. He had been listening, even when I thought he was just being the "boss."
You put it on, feeling a strange flutter in my chest, and went downstairs.
Seonghwa was waiting in a simple white linen shirt, looking relaxed. He drove us far away from the luxury of Lake Como, deep into the heart of a small, dusty town. We stopped at a beautiful old villa that had been converted into a school and home.
As soon as we stepped out, a dozen children came running, shouting his name. "Seonghwa! Seonghwa!"
The man who had threatened to burn a rival's legacy to the ground yesterday knelt in the dirt, catching a little girl in his arms and laughing.
"This is the Casa della Speranza," he told me, his eyes shining with a softness I hadn't seen yet. "I lost my family to the war. I couldn't save them, so I spend my money ensuring these children never have to know what it feels like to be alone or unprotected."
He looked at me, the little girl still perched on his hip. "Everything I have—the ships, the docks, the power—it all exists to keep places like this safe. I’m not just a hunter of men. I’m a hunter of a future I never got to have."
At that moment, seeing him surrounded by children, the "Mafia" label felt smaller, and the "man" felt much bigger.
The afternoon at the orphanage had softened something inside me. Seeing Seonghwa’s calloused hands gently braiding a little girl's hair made the "Mafia" rumors feel like a lifetime ago. But as we sat in the garden of the villa later that evening, my phone began to chime. It was a video call request from my ex fiancé.
You looked at Seonghwa. He didn't tell me not to answer. He simply leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on me, giving me the space to handle my past.'
The screen flickered to life, and my heart sank. He looked terrible—disheveled, sweaty, and clearly sitting in a dark hotel room. But as soon as he saw my face, the "sadness" turned into a mask of pathetic desperation.
"Baby... oh thank God, you’re alive," he sobbed, though his eyes were dry. "That man... he took you, didn't he? I’ve been so worried. I haven't slept. I was wrong about the trip, I was just stressed about work... please, tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. We can go home and forget all of this."
You looked at his face—the face of the man who had let me work twenty-four-seven while he did nothing. The man who bought lilies for another woman on my birthday.
"I'm not kidnapped," I said, my voice steady and cold. "I’m exactly where I want to be. And we don't have a 'home' anymore. I told you, the locks are being changed."
His face shifted instantly. The fake tears vanished, replaced by a sneer. "You think you’re so special because some guy in a suit picked you up? You’re a plus-size girl from the city, honey. Who’s going to want you when he’s done with his little 'vacation' plaything? You’ll be back on your knees begging for me when he drops you in the dirt."
You felt a sting of the old pain, but before you could reply, a hand reached into the frame.
Seonghwa didn't take the phone. He just leaned into the camera’s view, his face inches from mine. He didn't look angry; he looked bored, which was somehow more terrifying.
"Is this the best you can do?" Seonghwa asked the screen. "Insults? You had a queen, and you treated her like a servant. You had gold, and you looked for gravel."
Seonghwa reached out and stroked my cheek, his eyes never leaving the camera. "She isn't a plaything. She is the woman who is going to watch me dismantle every connection you have. By tomorrow morning, your bank accounts will be frozen for 'suspicious activity.' Your car? Repossessed. That job you hate? You don't have it anymore."
"You can't do that!" The ex fiancé screamed, his voice cracking.
"I already did," Seonghwa said simply. Then, he looked at me. "Do you want to say goodbye, bunny? Or should I just end the transmission?"
I took the phone, looking at the man who had drained my spirit for years. "Goodbye. Don't ever call this number again. I’m busy living the life you said I didn't deserve."
You hit 'End' and felt a weight lift off my soul that I had been carrying for a decade.
The garden was quiet. The sun was setting over the Italian hills, and for the first time, the silence was beautiful.
Seonghwa looked at me, his hand still resting on my shoulder. "Are you alright? His words... they were meant to hurt."
"They didn't," you said, and you realized you meant it. I looked down at your beautiful skin, glowing in the amber light, and the gold anklet he gave me. "He was right about one thing, though. I am a girl from the city. But he was wrong about the rest. I’m not his, and I’m not a plaything."
Seonghwa leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "362 days left. And I promise you, by the end of them, you won't even remember his name.
The silence following the call was the most peaceful thing I had ever heard. It was the sound of a door closing on a life that didn't fit me, and for the first time, I didn't feel the need to apologize for breathing.
"He's gone," I whispered, the cool Italian evening air hitting my skin. "Really gone."
Seonghwa didn't say a word. He just took my hand and led me down the stone steps of the villa toward the private dock. Waiting there was a sleek, vintage mahogany speedboat, its polished wood gleaming under the moonlight.
As we pushed off into the glassy waters of Lake Como, the world felt like it belonged only to us. Seonghwa steered the boat to the center of the lake, then cut the engine. The only sound was the soft lap of the water against the hull and the distant chime of a bell tower.
He popped a bottle of vintage champagne, the bubbles hissing in the quiet. He handed me a glass, his eyes tracing the line of my shoulder.
"To freedom," he said softly. "And to the woman who finally realizes she is the prize."
I took a sip, the cold liquid sharp and sweet. I felt alive. I felt seen. I sat back against the leather cushions, my emerald dress shimmering like the water itself. "It feels strange. To not have to worry about what he's thinking, or what he's doing, or who he's with."
"That is because you were his anchor," Seonghwa said, sitting beside me. "And he was nothing but a weight. Now, you are free to float."
My phone buzzed one last time. It was a FaceTime from Samantha. I answered, and her face popped up, lit by the neon signs of the resort strip. She was laughing so hard she could barely speak.
"Girl! You have to see this!" she wheezed, turning the camera.
In the grainy footage, I could see my ex-fiancé standing on the sidewalk outside the resort. He was clutching a single trash bag of his belongings—the ones I had thrown out—and he was arguing with a security guard who was clearly refusing to let him back in. He looked small. He looked pathetic. He looked like the man he had always been when I wasn't there to prop him up.
"He tried to use his credit card for a taxi and it declined!" Samantha shouted over the music. "He’s literally wandering the streets trying to find a bus station! The 'business trip' is officially a disaster!"
You looked at the screen, then at the man sitting next to me—a man who had moved mountains just to see me smile. I didn't feel pity. I didn't feel anger. I felt nothing.
"Hang up, Sam," I said with a smile. "I have better things to look at."
You ended the call and tossed the phone into my bag. I didn't need to look at the past anymore.
Seonghwa leaned in, his scent of cedarwood and salt air wrapping around me. He reached out, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb grazing my lip. "361 days left, bunny. How shall we spend tomorrow?"
You looked into his dark, intense eyes and realized the hunt he mentioned wasn't about catching me—it was about showing me that I was worth being chased
The peace of the lake felt like a distant memory the next morning. I woke up feeling beautiful, the gold sunflower anklet catching the morning light, but the atmosphere in the villa had shifted from warm silk to cold steel.
You walked downstairs to find Samantha in the breakfast nook, looking uncomfortable. Standing near the grand fireplace was a woman who looked like she had stepped off a high-fashion runway in Milan—sharp, icy, and draped in pearls.
"So, you’re the new project," she said, her eyes raking over me with a calculated coldness. "I’m Isabella. I’ve known Seonghwa since we were children... before the blood started spilling."
She didn't wait for an answer. She turned to Samantha. "And you must be the best friend. Come. We’re going to the terrace. I have things to tell you about the man you’re letting your friend stay with."
Samantha looked at me, torn, but Isabella’s presence was commanding. "I'll be right back, girl," Sam whispered, following her out. I felt a pit in my stomach. Isabella wasn't here for a social visit; she was here to plant seeds of doubt.
You went to find Seonghwa. I needed to know who this woman was and why she was speaking to my best friend as if she owned the place. I found him in his study, but he wasn't sitting behind his desk. He was checking a sidearm, his face a mask of stone.
"Seonghwa? Who is that woman?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
He stopped, but he didn't look at me. His jaw was set so tight it looked like marble. "She is a ghost from a life I tried to bury. She shouldn't be here."
"Then tell her to leave! And tell me what’s going on."
"I can't," he said, finally meeting my eyes. There was no warmth there, only the cold focus of the Mafia boss. "Something has happened at the docks. A betrayal. I have to go."
He didn't answer. He didn't promise me a time, and he didn't offer a kiss goodbye. He simply grabbed his blazer and walked past me, the scent of cedarwood replaced by the smell of gunpowder and rain. He climbed into a black SUV with four armed men, and within seconds, the gravel was flying as they sped away.
He left me with a house full of strangers and a woman who was currently whispering secrets into my best friend's ear.
You walked out to the terrace. Isabella was sipping an espresso, looking perfectly calm, while Samantha looked pale.
"He left, didn't he?" Isabella smirked, not even looking up. "That’s what he does. When things get 'business-related,' the women in his life become invisible. He told you 365 days? Honey, he’s been using that line for years. He’ll keep you here, dress you up, and then one day, he’ll leave for a 'meeting' and never come back. Or worse... he’ll come back with blood on his hands and expect you to wash it off."
Samantha grabbed my hand. "Babe... she’s telling me some heavy stuff. About his family. About why he’s really in Italy. Maybe we should just go to a hotel?"
You looked at the empty driveway where Seonghwa had disappeared. The 365-day rule was being tested far sooner than I expected. He hadn't said a word. He hadn't explained Isabella. He had just... gone.
You looked at Isabella, my mahogany skin glowing even in the shadow of the terrace. I wasn't the woman who got pushed around anymore.
"If you think a few scary stories and a silent exit are going to make me run, you don't know who you’re talking to," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "I’ve dealt with dumb men my whole life. I can handle a silent one."
But inside, my heart was racing. Where did he go? And was he coming back for me, or was Marco right—was I just another part of the collection?
Isabella’s smirk was the final straw. She wanted me to feel like a helpless spectator in my own life, waiting for a man to decide my fate. But I wasn't that woman anymore. I didn't work twenty-four-seven to be sidelined by a "ghost" and a secret.
"Sam, get your shoes," I said, my voice like flint.
"Wait, what? Where are we going?" Samantha asked, eyes wide.
"We aren't sitting here listening to Isabella's bedtime stories. If Seonghwa won't tell me what's happening, I’m going to go see it for myself."
We snuck out through the service entrance, bypassing the main guards who were distracted by Isabella’s arrival. I grabbed the keys to a nondescript black SUV left in the garage—perks of Seonghwa telling me I had the run of the place.
The drive to the industrial port of Como was tense. The GPS in the car led us to a private sector shielded by high fences and heavy security. I doused the lights and rolled to a stop behind a stack of shipping containers.
Through the rain and the gloom, You saw them. Seonghwa was standing in the center of a circle of men, his white linen shirt now stained with grease and rain. He looked terrifying—calm, cold, and utterly lethal. Opposite him was Marco, the scarred man from the gala.
"You thought you could buy her safety with a gold anklet?" Marco shouted over the wind. "She’s a liability, Seonghwa. And liabilities get erased."
Suddenly, a flash of movement—a betrayal. One of Seonghwa’s own men stepped behind him, a glint of steel in his hand.
"Seonghwa, look out!" I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat before I could stop it.
The distraction worked. Seonghwa spun, dodging the blade, but a gunshot rang out from Marco’s side. I saw Seonghwa stumble, his hand clutching his side as his men engaged in a chaotic firefight.
"Go! Drive!" Samantha yelled, but I was already moving. I didn't drive away. I drove in. I slammed the SUV into gear and roared toward the center of the dock, tires screeching, creating a shield of metal between Seonghwa and the gunmen.
We managed to get him into the back seat, blood soaking through his shirt. Samantha was in the back applying pressure to his side while I sped back toward the villa, my heart hammering against my ribs.
When we reached the house, the sun was long gone. The villa was dark, save for a single light in the foyer. We hauled him inside, his weight heavy against me.
"Go... leave," Seonghwa rasped, his breath hitching in pain. He looked up at me, his eyes clouded but still intensely focused on my face. "Isabella was right... this is no place for you. There is a jet... the pilot has orders. Take Samantha and go. Now, while they think I’m dead."
You looked at the blood on my hands—the mahogany skin you had worked so hard to keep glowing was now stained with the reality of his world. I looked at the door, where safety and my old life waited. Then I looked at the man who had seen my value when no one else did.
"I told you, Seonghwa," you said, grabbing the medical kit from the shelf. "I don't take orders from men. And I’m not done with my 365 days yet."
You turned to Samantha. "Sam, go to the kitchen. Get me hot water and clean towels. Isabella is upstairs—if she tries to interfere, lock her in the wine cellar."
You knelt beside him, my emerald dress ruined, my spirit on fire. I had spent my life fixing things for people who didn't care. This time, I was fixing something for myself.
The air in the villa was thick with the scent of iron and expensive cologne. I had moved Seonghwa to the large velvet sofa in his study, the very room where he usually played the role of the untouchable king. Now, he was human—pale, sweating, and broken.
You didn't flinch. I had spent years being the "fixer" for everyone else's mess; tonight, I was the only one who could fix him. I cut away his blood-soaked linen shirt, my hands steady even as my heart hammered against my ribs.
"Stay with me, Seonghwa," you commanded, pressing a clean towel against the jagged wound in his side.
He groaned, his head lolling back as he drifted in and out of consciousness. His hand reached out, weakly gripping my wrist—the one he had adorned with the gold sunflower.
"I didn't... I didn't just find you by accident," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp that barely broke the silence.
You paused, a needle and thread in my hand. "What are you talking about?"
"The 365 days..." He let out a ragged breath, his eyes fluttering open, dark and glazed with pain. "It wasn't a whim. I’ve been watching you for months. At your office... I saw how you handled those fools who took credit for your light. I saw you stand tall when the world tried to make you small."
You froze. He had been watching me before the resort?
"I didn't want a project, bunny," he murmured, a faint, pained smirk touching his lips. "I wanted a partner. Someone who knew how to survive the dark. I knew your fiancé would fail you... I just waited for the moment you realized it, too. I needed to know if you'd choose the cage... or the hunter."
His grip on my wrist tightened for a second before his eyes closed again. "The 365 days... they weren't for you to love me. They were for me... to prove I was worthy of the woman I saw in that office. The woman who... didn't need me at all."
He slumped back, unconscious again.
You stood there for a moment, the weight of his confession sinking in. He hadn't just saved me; he had selected me. He saw the fire in me when I was still drowning in a "shit ass" job and a dying relationship.
"You're a manipulative devil, Seonghwa," I whispered, but I didn't stop working. I leaned over him, carefully cleaning the wound, my mahogany skin stark against his pale, scarred torso.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the study creaked open.
I didn't even look up. "I told you to stay in the kitchen, Sam."
I looked up. Isabella was standing in the doorway, her icy eyes fixed on Seonghwa’s bleeding body. She wasn't holding a coffee cup anymore. She was holding a small, silver pistol.
"He’s a fool for you," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of jealousy and rage. "He’s going to get us all killed because he’s obsessed with a 'city girl' who doesn't even know how to hold a gun. If he dies tonight, the war ends. I won't let you save him just so he can throw his empire away for a fantasy."
You stood up slowly, stepping in front of Seonghwa, shielding his body with mine. I looked at the gun, then back at her. I had dealt with corporate sharks and a cheating fiancé; a woman with a grudge wasn't going to stop me now.
"The 365 days aren't up, Isabella," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, low pitch. "And you're standing in my way."
You didn't blink. I’d spent years in high-stakes boardrooms staring down men twice my size who tried to take what was mine. A silver pistol in the hand of a jealous socialite didn't scare me—it just annoyed me.
"You're shaking, Isabella," I said, my voice as cold as the marble floor. I took a slow, deliberate step toward her. "You’ve spent your whole life being a 'ghost' in his shadow. You don't have the heart to pull that trigger, because if you did, you’d have nothing left to obsess over."
"Stay back!" she hissed, her knuckles whitening on the grip.
"Or what? You’ll ruin the rug?" I didn't stop. I walked right into the line of fire, my eyes locked on hers. I saw the moment her confidence crumbled. She was a hunter of words and secrets; I was a survivor of the real world.
Just as she gasped, moving to adjust her aim, a shadow loomed behind her.
A heavy, ornate ceramic vase shattered across the back of Isabella’s head. She slumped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Samantha stood there, breathing hard, holding the jagged neck of the vase like a weapon.
"Sorry, girl," Sam panted, looking down at the unconscious woman. "I couldn't find a wine cellar key, but the hallway decor seemed heavy enough."
"Perfect timing, Sam," I breathed, turning back to the man on the sofa. "Now, help me move her. I have a bullet to finish removing."
The rest of the night was a blur of adrenaline and steady hands. I stitched the wound the way I used to fix the broken systems at my old job—with precision, patience, and a refusal to fail. By the time the sun began to peek over the Italian Alps, Seonghwa’s fever had broken. His breathing was deep and regular.
You was exhausted. My emerald dress was stained, my hair was a mess, and my skin was pale from the stress. I fell asleep in the armchair pulled up right against his side, my hand resting on his chest to make sure his heart kept beating.
You woke up to the feeling of fingers softly tracing the line of my jaw.
You opened my eyes to see Seonghwa watching me. He was still weak, but the lethal clarity had returned to his gaze. He looked at me, then at the bandages I’d expertly applied, then at the corner of the room where Isabella was tied to a chair, still out cold.
"You stayed," he whispered, his voice a gravelly ghost of itself.
"I have 361 days left," I reminded him, sitting up and brushing stray hair from my face. "And I’m not letting a little lead and a jealous ex-friend cut my trip short."
Seonghwa reached out, taking my hand and pulling it to his lips. He kissed my palm, his eyes never leaving mine. "I told you I was watching you because I wanted a partner. I was wrong."
My heart skipped a beat. "Oh?"
"I didn't want a partner," he murmured, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. "I wanted a Queen. And it seems I finally found one who knows how to rule."
You sat back, my mahogany skin glowing in the soft morning light, but my eyes were sharp. I wasn't going to be charmed into silence just because he was breathing again.
"Save the compliments for later, Seonghwa," I said, crossing my arms. "I just spent my birthday night digging a bullet out of you and having your 'old friend' point a gun at my head. The 365-day clock is ticking, and I’m not spending another second of it in the dark. I want the truth. Who is Isabella, and why did your own men turn on you at the docks?"
Seonghwa sighed, a wince of pain crossing his face as he tried to sit up. He looked at Isabella, still slumped in the chair, then back at me with a heavy honesty.
"Isabella’s family and mine were joined by blood decades ago," he began quietly. "She thinks she’s entitled to my empire because of a pact our fathers made. The 'betrayal' at the docks... she funded it. She promised my men a life without the constant threat of war if they helped Marco take me out. She didn't want me dead, she wanted me broken and dependent on her. She didn't count on you being my shield."
He reached for my hand, his grip surprisingly strong. "You saw the monster last night, bunny. That is my life. It never stops."
You looked at him, then at Samantha, who was leaning against the doorframe looking exhausted but ready for whatever came next.
"Well," I said, standing up. "I've heard enough. You’re stable, Isabella is tied up, and I am officially over the 'Mafia' portion of this trip for at least forty-eight hours."
Seonghwa blinked, confused. "What are you doing?"
"I'm taking Samantha, your credit card, and the keys to the convertible," I said, grabbing my sun hat. "We’re heading down the coast to a spa in Portofino where nobody knows the word 'betrayal' or 'bullet.' You’re going to stay here, heal, and have your loyal men—the actually loyal ones—clean up this mess."
Samantha’s face lit up. "Oh, thank God. I need a massage and a drink that isn't 90% adrenaline."
Seonghwa started to protest, but I held up a finger. "Rule number three: When I say I need space to breathe, you give it to me. You have 360 days left to win me over. Spend the next two figuring out how to make sure I never have to perform surgery on a sofa again." (I know that right)🎀
A look of pure admiration washed over his face. He leaned back against the cushions, a ghost of a smile appearing. "Portofino is beautiful this time of year. My house there is already staffed. Go. Get your glow back."
An hour later, Sam and you were cruising down the Italian coastline, the top down and the wind whipping through our hair. My skin was soaking up the Mediterranean sun, turning a deep, radiant gold. For the first time, I felt like I was in control—not of a job, not of a man, but of my own destiny.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.
> "You can run to the coast, but you can't run from the debt. Your ex-fiancé owes people more than just an apology. See you soon, bunny."
You looked at the screen, then at the sparkling blue water. I didn't delete it. I just tucked the phone away and stepped on the gas.
The drive to Portofino was exactly what I needed. The salt air seemed to wash away the scent of gunpowder, and by the time Samantha and I reached the luxury spa overlooking the turquoise bay, my skin had regained its defiant, sun-kissed glow.
"Finally," Samantha sighed, sinking into a plush lounge chair. "No guns, no stitches, just steam and silence."
You was in the private sauna, wrapped in a thick white towel, letting the heat pull the tension from my muscles. The room was dim, filled with the scent of eucalyptus, when a woman stepped in. She was striking—her features carried a haunting familiarity that made my heart stop. She had the same sharp jawline and deep, soulful eyes as Seonghwa.
"You have the sunflower anklet," she said softly, her voice echoing in the small room. "He only gives that to the women he intends to keep."
You sat up, my pulse quickening. "Who are you? How do you know about the anklet?"
"My name is Hana," she whispered, sitting across from me. "To the world, I died in the fire that took our parents. But Seonghwa... he hid me. He let the world believe I was a ghost so no one could use me against him. I’ve been watching you, 'Bunny.' You’re the first person who has ever made him bleed and look happy about it."
You stared at her, stunned. Seonghwa wasn't just a hunter; he was a vault of secrets, protecting the only family he had left by living a lie. "He never told me," I breathed.
"He wouldn't," Hana replied with a sad smile. "In his world, the truth is a weakness. But for you, it’s a gift. He’s tired of being a monster, but he doesn't know how to be anything else. Maybe you’re the one who teaches him."
That evening, the weight of Hana’s words stayed with me. Samantha and I dressed up—I wore a gold slip dress that made my mahogany skin look like it was dripping in honey. We went to a small, elite club tucked into the cliffs, dancing and drinking cocktails that tasted like summer.
As the music thrummed through the floor, I watched a group of men across the room. One of them reminded me of my ex-fiancé—the way he looked at his phone, the way he ignored the woman beside him. I felt a sudden, sharp wave of revulsion.
"You okay, babe?" Samantha yelled over the music.
"I was just thinking," I said, leaning closer to her. "About how I used to settle for 'normal' men who treated me like I was invisible. And now..."
"And now you have a man who would burn down a dock for you," Sam finished for me, smirking. "You’re falling for him, aren't you? The big, scary Mafia boss."
You looked out at the moon reflecting on the Mediterranean. I thought about the way he diced garlic, the way he looked at the children at the orphanage, and the way he held my hand while I stitched his side. He was dangerous, yes. But he was also the only man who had ever truly seen me—not as a scapegoat, not as a plus-size girl from the city, but as a Queen.
"I think," I whispered, a smile finally tugging at my lips, "that 360 days is going to be a very long time to pretend I don't love him."
Just as I said it, my phone buzzed. It was a picture from Seonghwa. It was a photo of the villa’s kitchen table—two plates of pasta, but one was empty.
🐰SEONGHWA: The man is healing. But the house is too quiet. Come back soon, bunny. I found a new recipe I think you’ll like.
My heart did a somersault. He wasn't demanding I return. He was waiting.
The moment of realization hit me like a physical wave. I wasn't just staying with Seonghwa for the luxury or the protection; I was staying because, for the first time, I felt like someone’s first choice. But the secrets were piling up, and if I was going to be his Queen, I wouldn't be kept in the dark.
As Samantha and I made our way to the valet to get the convertible, the air shifted. Three men in cheap suits—not the high-end silk Seonghwa’s men wore—stepped out from behind a pillar. They looked like the bottom-feeders my ex-fiancé would associate with.
"Well, well," the lead one sneered, his eyes traveling over my gold dress with a look that made me want to scrub my skin. "The 'city girl' hit the jackpot. Too bad your man owes us fifty grand from his 'business' losses in the city. Since he's broke, we figured we’d take his collateral."
You didn't scream. You didn't hide behind Samantha. You remembered the way Seonghwa’s hand felt on a blade and the way he moved with purpose. I stepped into the man's space, grabbed his thumb, and twisted it back until I heard a satisfying pop. As he howled, you used his momentum to shove him into his friend.
"He isn't my man anymore," I said, my voice steady and cold. "And if you want your money, go find him. But if you touch me again, the man I do belong to will make sure they never find your bodies in this bay."
They scrambled back, terrified by the fire in my eyes. I didn't wait for them to recover. I got into the car, Samantha cheering beside me. "Get it, girl! You’re officially a boss!"
Y'all drove back to Lake Como under the starlight, my mind racing. When we reached the villa, I didn't go to my room. I went straight to the study.
Seonghwa was sitting up, a glass of water on the table, looking at a map. He looked better, but the loneliness in his eyes was palpable until he saw me. "Bunny, you’re back early—"
"I met Hana," I said, cutting him off.
The glass in his hand nearly shattered. He went deathly still, the color draining from his face. "What did you say?"
"I met your sister at the spa in Portofino. The one you let the world believe was dead." I walked over to him, standing my ground. "I told you I wanted the man, not the boss. But the man is a liar, Seonghwa. You told me you were alone. You told me you had no one."
Seonghwa stood up slowly, clutching his side. "I did it to keep her safe. If the families knew she was alive, she would be a target. I’ve lived in hell for fifteen years to keep her in the light."
"I understand protecting her," I said, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating off him. "But if I’m going to be by your side for the next 359 days, you don't hide your heart from me. You don't hide your family. If you want me to love you, you have to trust me."
Seonghwa looked down at me, his eyes searching mine. The "Mafia King" crumbled, replaced by the man who had diced garlic and cried for his parents. He leaned his forehead against mine, a heavy sigh escaping him. "I've never trusted anyone with her. But you... you’re the only person who has ever made me want to put my armor down."
The next morning, to seal the peace, Samantha and I decided to take over the villa. We dismissed the chefs and the stony-faced guards for the afternoon.
We spent the day filling the terrace with sunflowers—dozens of them, matching my anklet. We set up a low table with floor cushions, making it feel like a home instead of a fortress. I cooked a massive meal of the soul food I grew up with—collard greens, cornbread, and smothered chicken—the smells filling the air and clashing beautifully with the Italian lemon trees.
When Seonghwa walked out, his eyes went wide. He wasn't looking at the food; he was looking at the way I had transformed his cold stone balcony into a sanctuary.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"This is the 'real' world, Seonghwa," I said, handing him a plate. "No business, no debts, and no ghosts. Just us."
We sat there for hours, Samantha cracking jokes and Seonghwa actually laughing—really laughing—until the sun dipped below the mountains. For the first time, the 365 days didn't feel like a countdown. They felt like a beginning.
