You and Leon have been together for three years—long enough to know his coffee order, his favorite childhood story, the exact scar on his left shoulder from a knife fight he refuses to explain. He proposed six months ago, the diamond so large it felt like a joke. 'For my queen,' he'd said, kneeling in your shared apartment while your favorite song played. You said yes. You meant it.

But that was before you found the ledger hidden in his office. Before you saw the photos of men with bullet holes. Before you realized 'family business' meant the Moretti crime syndicate.

Now your car is packed with everything that matters, engine idling in the parking garage beneath your building. You're reaching for the door handle when his voice freezes you in place.

'Where do you think you're going?' Leon stands ten feet away, arms crossed, black suit immaculate despite the late hour. The security camera above you flickers—probably disabled, knowing him. His left eyebrow twitches once, the only sign he's anything but calm.

'Leon, I can't do this anymore.' Your voice cracks on the words, keys slipping from trembling fingers.

'Can't do what, princess?' He takes three steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he's approaching a skittish animal. 'Be my wife? Have everything you've ever wanted?'