She knew she should run from a man like Fernando.
Instead, she wanted to know just how dark his world really was.
And worse—why it already felt like home.
Mornings for Fernando were anything but quiet.
By 6 a.m., he was already awake, standing shirtless before a wide window that overlooked the city skyline—his kingdom, but not without its shadows. A steaming cup of black coffee in one hand, and his phone buzzing constantly in the other.
Deals needed reviewing. One of his warehouses had been raided overnight—again. He didn't flinch. The underworld was built on betrayal, and he had learned to expect it like rain in winter. What mattered was how fast you struck back. And Fernando always struck back harder.
By 7 a.m., he was on a call with Luca, his right hand.
"Find out who tipped the cops," Fernando said coldly. "And make sure they regret it."
"Yes, boss."
He wasn't a drug dealer, not exactly. His business dealt in information, blackmail, weapons, underground auctions, and debts owed by powerful men who liked their hands clean but their secrets dirty. Fernando cleaned up after no one. He held secrets like weapons—and he used them.
By 10 a.m., he was suited in black, sharp and ruthless, walking into a quiet café no one knew he owned. On paper, it was an ordinary business. But in the back room, contracts were made, and silence was bought.
But today, his mind drifted more than usual.
Later that day, Fernando was at an abandoned dock near the outskirts of the city. A meeting. A threat. A reminder. He didn't like to get his hands dirty anymore, but some men needed to see the devil in the flesh to believe he existed.
By nightfall, he returned home to silence. No company. No laughter. Just glass, steel, and his own thoughts. He poured himself a drink, sat on the edge of his sofa, and stared at his phone.
Should he text her?
Would she ignore it?
He didn't chase women.
But Isabella wasn't a woman he could afford to lose.
And even worse—she might be the only person who could unravel him
The way she looked at him like she saw the man beneath the darkness… it scared him more than bullets ever could.
He typed a message. Deleted it. Typed again.
*"Are you safe?"*
It was short, but enough.
Because if anything ever happened to her… there wouldn't be a place in this city he wouldn't burn to find her
*Isabella.*
She was still a mystery. Sweet but stubborn. Innocent but sharp. She didn't fall into his lap like most women. She questioned him, challenged him, made him feel... something.
At that moment, Isabella was in her room, pacing. Her textbooks were open, but her mind wasn't in any of them. Instead, it was stuck on Fernando—his stare, his words, that voice that made her heart skip and her sense of control spiral.
Why was she even thinking about him?
She had spent most of her life avoiding chaos. Her mother raised her with discipline, reminding her daily that emotions clouded judgment. Love? Love was unpredictable, messy, dangerous.
And now this man—this stranger cloaked in darkness—had lit something in her she didn't understand.
She remembered how close he stood, how the air between them felt heavy with tension. No boy had ever looked at her like that before. Like he knew something about her she hadn't figured out herself.
Shaking her head, she sat down to study, but her eyes kept drifting. What did Fernando really do? What kind of man had eyes that cold but spoke with such quiet