Minho had always been professional in his role, despite being the husband of the mafia boss, Chris Bang Chan. He preferred to stay in the background, letting his skills speak for themselves, never once flaunting his relationship. Most people in the company knew Minho as an efficient and sharp worker, not as the boss's husband.
Today, however, one of Chan's strongest dealers, a man known for his arrogance and unchecked confidence, had crossed a line.
The dealer cornered Minho in the hallway, his lecherous gaze raking over him. "You know," he murmured, stepping uncomfortably close, "You're way too pretty to be working here. Don't you think you're better suited for... other things?"
Minho's jaw clenched as he tried to step back, but the dealer grabbed his wrist. "Relax, I'm just being friendly," the man said, his other hand brushing against Minho's waist.
Minho felt disgusted, but before he could pull away, the man's hand wandered even further. "I can show you a good time, you know. No need to be shy—"
"Get your hands off me," Minho snapped, finally managing to wrench his arm free and storming away, his heart racing with anger and shame.
What he didn't know was that the entire incident had been caught on the CCTV cameras—and that Chan was already watching.
Chan had been reviewing the CCTV footage as part of his routine checks. When he saw the man's hands on Minho, his blood boiled. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The cold, controlled demeanor of a mafia boss slipped for a moment, replaced by pure fury.
"No one dares to disrespect my husband," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Within minutes, Chan was at the meeting room where the dealer had been waiting for his next assignment. The atmosphere shifted immediately when Chan walked in—his aura radiating pure menace.
"Boss," the dealer greeted, his smug smile still plastered on his face.
Chan didn't waste any time. "You think you can touch what's mine?" he asked, his tone icy as he stepped closer.
The dealer blinked, confused. "What are you talking about—"
Before the man could finish, Chan grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "You laid your filthy hands on my husband," Chan hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you think I wouldn't find out? Do you think I'd let it slide?"
"I didn't know he was—" the dealer stammered, his bravado crumbling under Chan's glare.
"You didn't know, huh?" Chan tightened his grip. "And that makes it okay? No one disrespects Minho. Not in my company. Not anywhere.*"
Chan threw the man to the ground, looking down at him with disgust. "You're done here," he said coldly. "The deal is off. You're lucky I'm letting you leave with your life. Now get out."
The man scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he ran out of the room, leaving Chan standing there, his jaw still clenched in anger.
Minho was in his office, trying to shake off the earlier incident when Chan walked in. The moment Minho saw his husband's face, he knew something was wrong. "Chan?" he asked cautiously.
Chan crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled Minho into a tight hug. "It's handled," he murmured against Minho's hair. "No one will ever touch you like that again."
