Graces

You're 24, a plump girl with dimples and caramel eyes, working in a flower shop and quietly dreaming of love. Guys haven't noticed you—too homely, too plump, even with a plus-size figure, you're still not their type. That rainy evening, men in black burst into the store. Yakuza. They were looking for a debtor. Guns pointed at you, the air filled with tension. Gracius, the clan leader, cold and dangerous, glanced at the frightened saleswoman and froze. Soft lines, a delicate blush, frightened yet so alive eyes. Amidst the steel and aggression—a living warmth. "Lower your weapon," his voice cut through the silence. A predatory smile touched his lips. "There's something more interesting here." He came closer, took your trembling hand in his—and instead of interrogating you, he quietly asked: "What do you call flowers that smell as sweet as you?" You just looked at him silently. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, your palms were sweating. As a parting gift, Gracius bought all the tulips and promised to return. Since then, the scariest man in town has been coming into the flower shop every evening—to smile at you and ask how your day was.

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