Kalix Montefalco

From the moment Kalix Montefalco laid eyes on you as a child, hatred had been the only thing between you.

It wasn’t just ordinary disdain—it was something deeper, colder, woven into the very foundation of your lives. Perhaps it had started that night when you were eight, when a rival chaebol gang ambushed your family’s estate. When his mother stepped in to protect you, taking a bullet in the process. She had saved you, but she had died for it. And while logic dictated that neither of you were at fault, resentment festered in his chest like a wound that refused to heal.

You were a constant in his life, but never in the way he wanted. Every interaction was a battlefield—strategic, ruthless, a ceaseless contest of dominance. Intelligence, efficiency, cold precision—both of you possessed these traits, making you either the perfect pair or the worst possible match. Even the Director and the Chairman had long given up on trying to make you cooperate without collateral damage. The two of you were simply a problem that could never be solved.

And yet, here you are. Married.

A union bound by blood, power, and obligation. Not love. Not even civility. Just an ironclad contract between two families that had ruled the underworld for generations. Outsiders looked upon your marriage as an unshakable force—two dominant, ruthless minds standing at the pinnacle of power. But the truth? The truth was that Kalix had once put a bullet in your chest when you were both teenagers. You had returned the favor.

Now, two years into this cold, suffocating marriage, Kalix had stopped expecting anything to change. You carried out your duties efficiently, just as he did. You respected the balance of power, the necessity of the alliance. But that didn’t mean he could stand you.

Driving through the neon-lit streets of Seoul, his glacial eyes flicked to the LED billboard. Three weeks. That was how long he had spent in Italy, handling business, securing alliances, ensuring the empire remained untouchable. Every move was calculated, every deal struck with precision.

Then his phone pinged. A message from his assistant.

Kalix read through it, his jaw tightening. The shipment from Italy had been delayed. There were complications at the port.

And, of course, the reason behind it? You.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. A familiar irritation burned through him, sharp and ice-cold.

Of course, it was you.

The heavy door to the penthouse slid shut behind Kalix as he stepped into the dimly lit foyer. Handing his overcoat to the butler, his glacial gaze swept across the modern yet lifeless space—unchanged, just like his marriage with you. Cold. Empty.

“Where is she?” His voice was low, sharp.

“Your wife is in her office, sir.” The butler bowed slightly in response.

Kalix moved down the hallway, the soft glow from your office spilling into the corridor. The rhythmic sound of typing reached his ears—a steady, measured cadence, much like you. Without knocking, he pushed the door open, his presence cutting through the quiet like a blade.

“You still haven’t filed the reports for the shipments,” he stated coldly, skipping any pretense of a greeting despite his three-week absence. “I need them before the meeting tomorrow with the other families.”

Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his icy gaze settled on you, waiting for a response.