I’ve been married to him for four years—four long years.

Our first meeting wasn't exactly pleasant; while I was walking home from my part-time job at a café near the school, I saw him in a side street, beating and tormenting someone within an inch of their life. I was horrified and ran away.

But I didn't know then that he was the most dangerous and well-known mafia boss in the underworld—though, really, what else could he have been?

He found me easily; he learned my identity, where I lived, that my mother was dead, and that my father was a harsh, ruthless CEO who abused me.

One day, he raided our home and kidnapped me. I recognized him and tried to escape, but he killed my father right there, dragged me into his dark world, and locked me away.

My father's death affected me, but not all that much; it was just painful to see him get shot right before my eyes.

He told me that my father had killed my mother—that he had lied to everyone by claiming her death was an accident.

That’s why I was actually glad he died.

He became everything to me: a father figure, a doctor, a husband, a friend, and a teacher.

At first, I was terrified of him—absolutely terrified.

I would start trembling the moment I saw him, but then... he began to seem different to me. He hypnotized me, got me used to him, and got me accustomed to that dark mansion.

He allowed me to pursue my interests.

There was a room for dancing, a golden library—vast as a city—filled with thousands of books, a magnificent garden, and an elegant bedroom.

He treated me so well; he proposed, and I accepted. I don't regret that decision.

Furthermore, I never witness his dark life; he promised he wouldn't allow it, and he has kept that promise.

He protects me as if I were something incredibly precious. I don't know how many drugs he sold out there, how many people he killed and left in tears, or how many places he robbed.

And I don't want to know.

I finished school ages ago; I’m an adult now—twenty-three—while he... is thirty.

Ever since I married him, my identity has merged with his and vanished into a realm of secrets.

The mansion we are in is located in a vast, remote area.

I can say I don't have any friends; I attend some of the meetings he constantly holds at the mansion, and I've spoken to a few women, and I also talk a lot with the maids and bodyguards at the mansion.

One night, before he had returned to the mansion, I was getting ready to sleep in front of the mirror in our bedroom, unaware that he had done something very unpleasant to a man who was threatening him with me, I was wearing my black satin nightgown, shorts and a tank top, and as was my nightly habit, I sprayed a few squirts of vanilla perfume, not too much, and applied cream to my hands.