Chapter One
The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the sound of dripping rainwater in the dark alley. A single, dim streetlamp flickered above, casting long shadows across the walls. There, in the heart of the darkness, Vicious stood tall, his sharp suit untouched by the filth of the city streets. Three of his men flanked him, their eyes cold, waiting for their master's command.
On the ground, a man lay sprawled, bruised and bloodied, his breath shallow. His voice trembled as he pleaded, "Please… please, Vicious. I didn't mean to. I—I'll fix it. Just give me time."
Vicious' lips curled into a cruel smirk. He crouched down, his piercing gaze burning into the man's eyes.
"You think you can double-cross me?" he said, his voice low, dangerous. "You think you can outsmart me and walk away?"
The man whimpered, but no answer came. Vicious rose slowly, dusting his hands as if touching the ground had dirtied him.
"No one betrays me and escapes my wrath," he hissed.
Without hesitation, he kicked the man hard in the ribs. The groan that followed was drowned by his order:
"Finish him."
Vicious turned his back as the echo of gunshots tore through the alley. He didn't flinch. To him, death was only business.
By morning, Vicious was a different man—or at least, appeared to be. He stood before a gilded mirror in his penthouse, buttoning a crisp black shirt, his jaw set in its usual mask of control. On the bed behind him, a woman stirred beneath silk sheets, her painted lips curving into a lazy smile.
"Where are you off to so early?" she purred, reaching for him.
Vicious didn't bother turning. He tossed a few bills onto the nightstand, his tone colder than the steel of his gun.
"Get out. Don't be here when I return."
She tried to tempt him, sliding her hands over his arm, but he shoved her away without effort. His voice cut through the room like a blade.
"I don't keep women twice. Leave."
The woman's hands shook as she gathered the money, her face pale with fear. By the time the door clicked shut, Vicious was already gone.
Across the city, morning light spilled into a modest kitchen where Thalia hummed softly to herself. The smell of fresh coffee and frying eggs filled the air as she worked. From behind, warm arms slipped around her waist, and she smiled, leaning back into the embrace.
"You're awake," she said, turning to meet her husband's gentle kiss on her cheek.
"I slept well," he replied, his voice calm and full of love.
They sat at the small wooden table, their laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery. For Thalia, mornings like this were everything—a simple, perfect routine. After breakfast, she tied her hair back, grabbed her bag, and left for work with a smile.
By evening, she was home again, curled up on the sofa, lost in her favourite movie. Her life seemed peaceful, ordinary… unaware that fate had already begun weaving her path into the darkness ruled by the man called Vicious.
That evening, Thalia returned from work, weary but content. She slipped off her heels, humming faintly as she headed to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she began pulling out ingredients, her hands moving with practiced ease as she prepared their meal. The comforting sound of chopping vegetables filled the quiet home, the smell of simmering spices soon wrapping around her like a gentle embrace.
Halfway through her cooking, the front door opened. Alex stepped inside, his tie loosened, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her.
"Is dinner ready yet?" he asked, setting down his briefcase.
"Almost," Thalia replied, glancing at him with a soft smile.
But Alex shook his head, his grin mischievous. "Forget it. Let's go out tonight."
Thalia frowned lightly, turning back to the pan. "Out? But the food is almost ready."
"Doesn't matter," he insisted, walking over to kiss her cheek. "Go change into something nice. Tonight, I want to spoil you."
She sighed in mock defeat, though her heart warmed at his tenderness. "You spoil me too much already, Alex."
Minutes later, they found themselves seated in a cozy, candlelit restaurant. Thalia admired the soft glow of the lights, the gentle music playing in the background.
"You really didn't have to," she teased, lifting her glass.
"I did," he countered. "You deserve it."
They spoke of old memories, of silly mistakes and small victories, their laughter echoing softly through the restaurant. For a moment, the world felt perfect — as though nothing could disturb the happiness they shared.