"I'll do as you say. I'll come back to take over the company, but you can't interfere with any of my decisions."

"Fine. As long as you come back, the company is yours to run," replied the person on the other end of the call.

My hand trembled as I ended the call. At that moment, my eyes stopped at the black stockings which I found at the bedside of my bedroom.

It was a mocking reminder of the chemistry my boyfriend of eight years, Christopher Wilson, had with his secretary, Scarlett Anderson.

I took a deep breath and reluctantly turned my orbs towards the gauze wrapped around my arm. I could see blood, it was slightly seeping through it.

Meanwhile, the events of the afternoon played on a loop in my mind. I was walking through the alley near the market.

A black SUV halted in front of me. Before I could comprehend the situation, a few men carrying a gun came out.

Their cold eyes and matching tattoos told me they belonged to the Russo Mafia Group, one of Christopher’s fiercest rivals.

"You thought you could run from us?" one of them shouted at the top of their lungs. When I didn't say anything, he slapped me hard. The sudden action was enough to make me stagger into the wall.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about!" I mumbled, taking a deep breath. Then my hand subconsciously cradled my stomach.

But they didn’t care.

One of them grabbed my wrist and twisted it painfully. Meanwhile, another one pushed me to the ground.

Within seconds, my groceries scattered across the ground. As I tried to push myself up, the barrel of a gun pressed against my temple.

“This is what happens when Christopher Wilson doesn't keep his promises. If he won't stop, you’ll pay,” the man growled.

It was then I spotted the familiar black SUV car pulling into the street. Christopher was inside his secretary in the passenger seat. I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

"Help me!"

Although Christopher glanced at me for a brief moment through the window. His expression didn’t change.

Instead, he turned to his secretary and covered her ears, as if he was trying to shield her from danger.

"Don’t listen, don’t look, or you’ll have nightmares tonight," he said coolly.

Then the car window rolled up, and he sped away.

I was left there alone. Tears started flowing down my cheeks. The men didn’t hesitate.

One shoved me hard against the wall, and the sharp edge of a broken pipe tore into my arm. Blood was oozing out of it.

When they finally left, they left a message. "Tell Christopher this is just the beginning."

Then I dragged myself to the hospital, my body battered and my spirit broken. But the doctor’s words hit harder than any of the blows.

"You were about a month pregnant," he said softly, avoiding my eyes. "We couldn’t save the baby. The trauma… It was too much."

My eyes were fixed on the ceiling, numb.

Later that night, when I returned home, Christopher walked in with a bottle of expensive whiskey in one hand and a case in the other.

Most probably it contained cash or weapons from one of his deals.

Without delay, he tossed the case onto the table and loosened his tie. He barely glanced at me. The scent of smoke and blood clung to him. It was a constant reminder of the life he lived.

Meanwhile, I was sitting on the couch, my arm wrapped in bandages, my face pale. He didn’t even notice.

"Did you eat?" he asked sternly as he poured himself a drink.

I raised my bandaged hand and showed him the stitches. "The doctor said I need to avoid certain foods."

He knitted his eyebrows slightly. His gaze flickered to the bandage but didn't stop. "Then make something that suits you."

I nodded my head in agreement, taking out my phone to order something.

Seeing me act so detached, Christopher paused. At that moment, his glass was hovering mid-air. "Is your next check-up in three days? Do you need someone to go with you?"

No need," I replied flatly.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, taking the last sip from his glass.

Minutes later, his phone rang. The moment he saw the name on the screen. A small smile adorned the corner of his lips. The one for which I was craving for a long time.

Later, as I passed by the guest room, I heard his voice through the door.

"Don’t worry, Scarlett. This one’s on me. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow," he said, his tone warm and affectionate.

It was a tone I had never heard him use for me.

The only smiles Christopher had ever given me were mocking ones when he was angry. Other than that, he was always cold and distant.

But it didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t care. The next morning, I prepared breakfast for one.

The air in the penthouse was extremely quiet. There was a stark contrast to the usual tension that lingered in the home of Christopher Wilson, the mafia boss of the Wilson Mafia family.

Without delay, I plated a simple sandwich and poured a cup of coffee. It was just enough for me.

Within seconds, Christopher walked into the dining area, his movements deliberate, his presence commanding.

For a moment, he paused by the table. His eyes shifted to the empty spot where his breakfast used to be.

He was about to say something but before he could respond, one of his men entered. It was Gavin. His eyes lowered.

He was wearing a black suit. His gun was holstered at his side. He stopped a few feet away from Christopher.

“Boss, we’ve confirmed it was Lorenzo Russo’s men who attacked Ms. Levy yesterday.”

Christopher shifted his gaze towards me. The annoyance in his eyes was replaced by something far more dangerous. It was a controlled rage.

“Russo,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried a weight that sent a chill down my spine.

He straightened his composure. Moreover, his commanding presence filled the room. “I want a full investigation. Every man who was there, every detail. I want to know why he targeted her.”

Gavin nodded his head in agreement. His expression was grim. “Yes, boss.”

“And make sure to bring me Russo’s second-in-command by tonight,” Christopher added further, his tone colder than ice. “Alive.”

Gavin gave a curt nod and left without another word.

At that moment, he turned back to me. His piercing gaze locked onto mine. “You knew they were Russo’s men? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “You seemed preoccupied with more… important things.”

He took a step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. “Who knows they might follow you to reach somebody…somebody like Scarlett?”

I bit my lower lip as my hopes were shattered. Not for a moment he was worried about me. He was afraid that they might hurt Scarlett. I was so stupid.

When I didn't respond, he stared at the table again and asked, “Where’s mine?”

His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it that could cut the air.

I took a deep breath and turned to face. My facial expression was neutral. “I thought you don't like black coffee.”

When he heard those words, he didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened. Both of us knew the truth. He hated black coffee, yet I’d always forced him to drink it.

I knew that it would help him to endure the stress of our dangerous world. This morning, I chose not to care.

I ignored his darkening gaze and downed my cup in one swift gulp. Then I placed my plate in the sink and grabbed my bag.

“Let me take you to the office.”

I didn’t wait for his permission as I walked toward the door.

From behind, I heard him offering me to work, but I dismissed it as my imagination. To be honest, Christopher never bothered to share a car with me.

We’d been together for eight years and used to go side by side. Undoubtedly, our relationship had grown cold. It seemed like it was just another transaction in this bloody business.

The Office

By the time I arrived at the Wilson Headquarters, the whispers had already begun.

The sleek, glass-walled building was a front for one of the most dangerous criminal empires in the city.

Every cubicle was guarded by Christopher’s men in disguise. Their sharp eyes were constantly scanning for threats.

Minutes later, Christopher arrived. He stepped out of the black luxury car with his secretary, Scarlett. Her soft laughter echoed through the lobby. It grabbed the attention of every pair of eyes.

Scarlett. The thorn in my side.

The whispers grew louder as Christopher walked with her into the building. Everyone there knew we were a couple, but Scarlett’s presence had begun to blur the lines.

Christopher was involved with her in ways he never was with me. He used to give her rides, share meals, and even grant her access to his restricted areas.

Ignoring them, I made my way to the public area, where the communal printer was located.

I was just copying documents and pretended not to notice the glances my colleagues threw my way. They wanted a show, a spectacle—a sign that I was cracking under the weight of Scarlet's growing influence.

But I refused to give them the satisfaction.

The whispers grew bolder as I walked past two of the subordinates.

“Ms. Levy is too cold,” one of them muttered, loud enough for me to hear. “Men like women who are delicate, like Scarlett.”

By cold they meant that I never gave them gossip. Neither did I give them a show of my and Christopher's relationship.

The moment they noticed me, both of them fell silent, but the damage was done. I kept walking, my heels clicking against the polished floor. Eventually, I returned to my cabin.

On my desk, my resignation letter and a black velvet pouch were placed on the table. I put the pouch into my pocket, along with the letter, and made my way to Connor’s office.

When I reached outside Christopher’s cabin, I didn’t bother knocking. I pushed the door open and startled the two of them.

Scarlett was sitting on the edge of Christopher's desk. Her doe-eyed expression turned to fear as she saw me.

“Victoria, this isn’t—” Scarlett began, her voice trembling.

“Out,” I snapped, cutting her off.

Chirsptopher’s eyes narrowed. There was a warning flashing across his face. “Victoria, watch yourself.”

Ignoring him, I reached into my pocket and tossed the black pouch onto the desk. It landed with a soft thud, spilling its contents—a pair of black stockings.

“Next time you sneak into my house,” I said coldly, “don’t leave your things behind.”

Scarlett’s face turned crimson as she picked up those stockings.“Th-thank you, Ms. Levy. I’ll be more careful.”

Before I could say anything, she ran from the cabin. Her heels clicked frantically against the floor.

The door closed behind her, leaving Christopher and me alone. The tension in the room was suffocating. He stood there silently. His towering frame cast a shadow over me.

“What are you trying to prove?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.