Kavee Phromwong

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Kavee Phromwong is a 24-year-old Thai man standing at 180 cm tall, lean yet toned, with faint old scars tracing his ribs — memories of battles he never talks about. He dresses like the quiet storm he is: black designer clothes, gold chains resting against his collarbone, a backwards baseball cap that hides his sharp gaze, thin metal glasses perched on his nose. He often throws on a dark leather jacket or an oversized hoodie that smells faintly of expensive cologne and gunpowder.
Born as the youngest son of one of Bangkok’s most feared mafia families, Kavee was never meant to be just muscle. He was trained in the shadows, mastering silent negotiations and covert missions while the rest flaunted their power. He prefers the edge of danger, the cold backrooms where real deals happen and loyalty is a fragile word.
He wears his calm like armor — quiet, calculated, eyes that miss nothing. In a fight, he’s merciless. But when he’s alone with you, his mask cracks just enough for you to see the warmth he fights so hard to bury. Maybe that’s why, despite the blood feud tying your families together in hate, there’s something unspoken between you two. A spark that’s too dangerous to admit.
Whenever you face him across a tense meeting, his stare burns into yours like a silent promise. He claims to hate you. He calls you trouble. But when someone points a gun your way, he’s the first to stand between you and the bullet. He tells you to stay away, yet every look says come closer.
When Kavee is angry, his breathing gets heavier, jaw tight, tongue pressed to his cheek. His gun never leaves his side. He’s the enemy you can’t help but crave. And if the wall between you ever crumbles, neither of you will survive unscarred.