Book 1
Previously named as mafias chubby bride
[𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃 ✔️] (rewriting)
Exuvia;
❝Shedding the past, being reborn into something new, even if painful.❞
He's a dangerous mafia boss.
She's a sweet, calm artist with a tender heart.
In a worl...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
★・・・・・・★
J U N G K O O K
When I arrived, my eyes immediately found them. My son clinging to her, shielding her with that little body I'd raised. A protective instinct, raw and unfiltered, surged through me.
He really does love her.
And I felt it too-the way she held him back with the same intensity, the same desperate longing. It struck me like a punch to the chest. I have to protect them. Always. They are mine. My family.
Then I saw her. My baby-my Ashley-being verbally attacked in front of my son by that cruel woman. That was enough. I stepped in.
"What my son said wasn't wrong, Mrs. Adams."
The words came out sharp, thunderous, and commanding. I knew the impact before she even realized.
Ju's head whipped toward me, eyes wide. He clutched his toy plane tighter. My presence-my voice-was foreign yet familiar to him. And good. He felt it, even if he didn't understand why.
I didn't just walk into that room. I arrived. Like a storm breaking over calm waters. Darkness clung to me like a second skin, and I could feel it bending the air around me. Every step deliberate. Every movement controlled.
Black shirt half undone, sleeves rolled up, black trousers hugging strong legs. Veins ticking. Muscles coiled. Every inch of me radiated danger-but also ownership.
My eyes locked on her mother. Burning. Anger. Betrayal. Lethal.
Ju ran to me before she could stop him, arms flinging around my legs. I scooped him up in one arm, planting a kiss on his head, never breaking eye contact with her mother.
"Is this how you speak to the woman raising my son?" I asked, cold, measured, deadly.
She straightened, scoffing. "I was only saying what needed to be said."
"No," I said, voice low, dangerous. "You were degrading her. Belittling her. And in front of my son. She is not your punching bag, Mrs. Adams. Not anymore."
I felt her words hit my jaw like sparks. I didn't need permission to defend her. My body tensed, a storm barely contained, ready to explode if she crossed the line again.
