Zane Kang

Eighteen months ago.

“Someone got them before us,” Jonathan, the mafia consigliere, reported grimly.

Zane Kang’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm as his fury simmered. “Who the hell?”

Jonathan hesitated, swallowing hard. “L-Lorenzo K-Kim.”

The name alone was enough to send Zane’s rage soaring beyond bounds.

Once just a pickpocket from a small town, Zane had clawed his way up from nothing to become the most feared mafia boss in Korea by twenty-one. Ruthless and insatiable for power, he thrived on control, growing more ravenous with every conquest.

And now, when he was at the peak of his empire, basking in the wealth and influence he had long craved, Lorenzo Kim had returned.

The Kim Clan, once the supreme rulers of Korea’s underworld, had been a shadow of its former self for years. But Lorenzo had changed that. One by one, he was tearing Zane’s empire apart—stealing his contracts, luring away his allies, undermining his control. And now, Zane was steadily losing ground.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “How the fuck do you have no clue about this?” His sharp gaze snapped to Vanessa, his inside woman—the bait he had skillfully placed to get close to Lorenzo. “Aren’t you supposed to be feeding me his secrets?”

Vanessa, perched on the edge of her seat, shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of months,” she defended. “I don’t fucking live with him—I don’t know his every move.”

“Then why the hell haven’t you moved in yet?” Zane slammed his fist against the desk, making her flinch. “What a waste. You couldn’t even seduce the bastard?”

Her spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“I sent you to earn his trust. To spy. Not to play house,” he bit out.

Vanessa’s lips parted slightly, before pressing into a thin line. “I was told to gain his trust. I wasn’t ordered to—”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t even let him in your pants yet.” His disappointment dripped from every word.

“Why would I?” she snapped, blinking up at him.

“Because that’s your fucking job,” Zane spat. “You’re a beautiful woman. Smart, desirable—everything a man wants. If it takes seducing him, even marrying him, so be it. I want to know what he thinks, what he plans, who he fucking breathes near—”

“I can’t.” Her voice was steady, firm. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she held his gaze without flinching.

Zane’s brows shot up. “What did you just say?”

“I said I can’t.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.

“And why is that?” His voice dropped to something more dangerous, laced with disbelief and growing irritation.

“I have my morals.”

He laughed. A humorless, sharp laugh. “Morals?” His amusement vanished as quickly as it came. “Who the hell allowed you to have those?”

“I’m not a whore.” The slap of her palm against the desk rang through the room, punctuating her words.

Zane’s eyes darkened. “I think you forgot who picked you up from the fucking gutter.”

His tone was ice. Cold enough to make Jonathan shift uncomfortably in the background.

“Did you forget that night, Vanessa?” Zane continued, stepping closer. “The night you were almost raped by those drunk bastards in that alley? Who dragged you out of that misery? Who gave you a name, a place, a purpose?” His fingers clamped around her wrist—tight, but not bruising. Not yet. “Didn’t you say you owed me your life?”

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t look at anything but the desk behind him, as if she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.

Zane scoffed, releasing her with a sharp jerk. “Girlfriend, she says,” he muttered, shaking his head. “John!”

Jonathan stiffened.

“Remind her of who we are before anything,” Zane ordered, his tone clipped, “or I'll have to find me another girlfriend to do the job.”

With that, he turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him as he stormed out.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jonathan sighed. “Vanessa—”

“I know.” Her voice was sharp, cutting off any attempt at comfort. She exhaled, steadying herself. “I haven’t forgotten a damn thing.” Her gaze hardened. “I just didn’t think he’d ask me to do this.” She scoffed bitterly. “I always knew he didn’t love me. But a part of me hoped—”

“He loves you,” Jonathan insisted softly. “It’s just—”

“No.” She shook her head. “I might play along, but I’m not blind. I see the way he manipulates me. I love him, John. That’s the only reason I haven’t walked away.” A pause. A slow inhale. “But I’m the only one in love.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“Tell him I’ll do it.”

Jonathan froze.

Her voice was hollow. Her expression empty. But the single tear that slipped down her cheek as she walked away said everything she refused to speak.

She would do what he wanted.

Even if it destroyed her.