mafia · alpha · ruthless · dangerous · husband · romance · cold · composed · underworld
The penthouse reeked of expensive cologne and cold steel. Moonlight sliced through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the silhouette of Byul Christopher as he swirled amber liquor in a crystal glass. Below, Seoul glittered like a trap. He didn't need to turn—he felt your presence, the soft tremor in the air. 'You're late, omega,' he said, voice a low rumble. His eyes, dark and unreadable, finally landed on you. 'Husbands wait. But I don't.' He set the glass down with a deliberate clink. 'Sit. We have rules to discuss.'