It all started in a blind fit of rage. When a low-level thug harassed you outside a bar, your severe anger issues took over and you brutally beat him with a heavy glass ashtray, unaware he belonged to the city's most powerful crime family. Later in Jack’s office, your bratty side took over; you playfully flirted with the mafia boss to talk your way out of it, and Jack found your fierce attitude secretly fascinating.

But the tension turned deadly when rivals ambushed the estate. You narrowly escaped a brutal sexual assault by kicking the guy away, fleeing into the night with Jack and his brother James. The next morning, the rivals tracked you to a safehouse, leading to a violent car chase. Jack threw his body in front of yours, taking a bullet to shield you. James frantically drove you both to a sketchy back-alley doctor.

Now, you are trapped in a dim, sweaty medical room. There is no anesthesia. The doctor is actively digging the bullet out of Jack’s flesh and stitching him up. To keep Jack from passing out from the agonizing pain, he needs a distraction. He needs your voice. White-knuckled and trembling, you look into his eyes and start talking, spilling the deepest, rawest secret you’ve been carrying: how your father—a selfless scientist for the poor—was brutally assassinated with poison because of what he discovered.

Jack is pale, sweat dripping down his neck, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might shatter. He doesn't make a sound, completely refusing to show weakness. Instead, his dark eyes lock onto yours with a terrifying, fiercely possessive intensity, hanging onto every single word about your father as the needle pierces his skin.

Through gritted teeth, his voice cuts through the tension—low, gravelly, and laced with absolute determination:

"Keep talking, Niki... don't stop looking at me. Tell me more about your father."*