I put a bullet in my boyfriend, the city’s most feared crime boss. And I got a medal for it. The next second, I saw him again. Eighteen years old, cornered in an alley by a pack of thugs, his face a bloody mess. I grabbed the nearest brick and charged. To save him? No. To claim him all over again. This time, I decided on a different way to be a hero— I would mold him into a model citizen, a straight-arrow. And if the little wolf cub misbehaved? I'd hold him when he cried, kiss him until he surrendered, and lock him away to teach him slowly. Still not enough? Then I'd rip his clothes to shreds, throw him onto the bed, and show him who was in charge... 1. When Aiden fell, his eyes were locked on mine. There was no hatred in them, no fury. Just a dead, hollow void and a flicker of understanding. It was as if he’d always known this day would come. That look burned me, so hot my hand holding the gun began to tremble. The medal of honor pinned to my chest felt like a shard of ice against my skin. 2. When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't blinded by the flashbulbs of a press conference. I was assaulted by the greasy stench of garbage, the acrid sting of cheap cigarettes, and the sickening, wet thud of fists hitting flesh. "Fuck! This little bastard’s tougher than he looks!" "Shit, where's the money? Can't pay up? Then we'll beat it out of you!" A filthy back alley. In the dim, failing light, a group of thugs circled a crumpled figure on the ground. He was painfully thin, his tangled mess of straw-blond hair matted with grime and blood. He was curled up, protecting his head, his body convulsing silently with each brutal impact. The air froze in my lungs. That face… It was Aiden. A younger Aiden? 3. My mind was a blank slate. But my body moved faster than my thoughts. The instincts from my years undercover were etched into my very bones. I snatched half a brick from the filthy ground and lunged. The brick connected with the back of the lead thug’s neck with a sickening thud. He went down without a sound, his body folding like a puppet with its strings cut. "Who the hell is this kid?" the others snarled, spinning around in shock and rage. I didn't stop. Block, elbow strike, knee to the gut. My movements were a blur of instinct, fueled by a reckless, desperate ferocity. There was only one thought in my head: They hurt Aiden. They all deserve to die. Chaos. Fists and feet flying. A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm. I was hit, but the fire of it only fueled me. They were worse off. Stunned by my kamikaze attack and with one of their own down for the count, they scrambled, cursing as they dragged their unconscious friend away. "Dammit, what a waste of time! You got lucky, you little shit. Next time, you're dead." The alley fell silent, the only sound our ragged, desperate breaths. 4. I stood there, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath. The brick slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the pavement. Only then did the stinging pain in my arm and on my cheek register. But I couldn't care less. My eyes were fixed on the blond kid on the ground. He was still curled into a ball, like a wounded animal on the verge of death. Blood from a gash on his temple mixed with dirt, streaking down his face. His tattered t-shirt was torn open, revealing a cage of ribs covered in fresh, angry bruises. He looked nothing like the fearsome crime lord whose name made the city tremble—Aiden. So, did I… travel back in time? A huge, peeling poster on the alley wall caught my eye. A date was printed in bold numbers: September 1, 2015. I was ten years in the past. I glanced down at myself. I was wearing a standard-issue blue and white uniform from Northwood High, complete with a pin for Class 12-B. I was back in my senior year. I was eighteen again. Which meant Aiden was only eighteen, too. Eighteen. Perfect. So young. So weak he couldn't even win a back-alley brawl. So… manageable. I walked over and crouched down beside him, reaching out to touch him. He flinched. He tried to push himself up, the movement pulling at his wounds. A sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips. His eyes, like those of a cornered wolf cub, shot up to meet mine—fierce, wary, and full of raw distrust. "Who are you?" he rasped, his voice thick with hostility. "You looking to die, sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?" Such a ferocious little wolf. Too bad I wasn't afraid of him. He tried to scramble away, but I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. "What the f—" He never finished the word. Because my mouth was on his. 5. The little wolf in my arms instantly froze, turning to stone. He thrashed violently, but the more he fought, the harder I kissed him. I had to admit, even at eighteen, as ferocious as he was, Aiden's lips were incredibly soft. Kissable. I kissed him until he was breathless, until the coppery taste of his blood filled my mouth. Only then did I pull away. He stared at me, dumbfounded. "You… you… you…" "Me what?" I wiped the blood from my lips with the back of my hand. "Want another one?" I leaned in as if to kiss him again. He scrambled backward, his eyes wide with panic. "Are you insane? Who the hell are you?" "I'm your future husband." 6. "Hus… Husband? You're a psycho." Aiden spat the words, glaring at me with utter disgust. He shoved me aside and tried to bolt. But he’d been beaten too badly, and at eighteen, he was so poor he was lucky to eat once every three days. He was no match for me. I caught him easily, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He was warm. Alive. He was really, truly alive. A gut-wrenching sob tore from my throat. I started bawling. "Come with me, or I swear I'll cry myself to death right here in your arms." "Let go—" He struggled, jabbing an elbow back into my ribs. Pain shot through me. But I only held on tighter, burying my face in the sweat-and-blood-soaked fabric of his shirt, my wails growing louder. My high-pitched shrieks attracted attention. One by one, curious onlookers started wandering into the alley. Aiden hated being stared at; I could feel his body tense. I tightened my grip on his shirt, my voice rising to a new level of theatrical despair. "You wore me out so bad last night the bed nearly broke, and then you had the nerve to blame me for your three-second performance! And now you're running off to find some other girl? Oh, the injustice! The cruelty! Waaaah!" "I gave you my everything at eighteen, I followed you, and you promised you'd love me forever! It hasn't even been a day and you're already sick of me! I… I…" Tears streamed down my face like a broken faucet, soaking his thin, ragged t-shirt. The murmuring crowd went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. They looked like they’d just stumbled upon the scandal of the century, their eyes practically popping out of their heads. Aiden's lips were trembling. He was so furious he was literally speechless. It was clear the eighteen-year-old Aiden had never encountered someone as utterly shameless as me. "You told me love knows no gender, no age! You said you'd love me until the end of time! I skipped school for you, and this is how you repay me? By running off with someone else? You… you…" I punctuated my cries with little punches against his chest, playing the part of the heartbroken lover to perfection. But the truth was, I really did want to cry. In my last life, I was torn between the man I loved and the country I served. I had no choice. I had to… The truth is, in that life, Aiden knew I was an undercover agent. He knew, and he had started trying to change for me. He was shutting down his criminal enterprises one by one, moving into legitimate businesses. He even started collaborating with the police, acting as an informant. But once you’ve walked that dark path, how can you ever truly wash yourself clean? He wanted out, but his so-called "brothers" would have rather dragged him back into the mud with them. That last shot… he begged me to take it. I… "Wait, aren't those two boys?" someone in the crowd whispered loudly. "My eyes aren't deceiving me, are they?" "They are! Two boys… together? This is… this is shameless! What is the world coming to?" "Tsk, tsk. So young and already all over each other in public." "Exactly! And look, the one crying is wearing a Northwood High uniform. Does anyone have the number for the school? Someone should call a teacher." The chatter grew louder, the judgment harsher. I could feel Aiden's entire body go rigid with humiliation. Just as I was about to launch into another tirade, Aiden's voice, tight and seething, cut through the air. "Shut up. I'll go with you. Just stop talking." 7. Suddenly, blinding headlights flooded the alley entrance. A group of men in sharp black suits marched in, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. They quickly and efficiently dispersed the crowd of gawkers. "Master Ross? Is that really you? Oh my god, what happened? Are you hurt? Your clothes are torn! Which son of a bitch dared to lay a hand on you? I'll… I'll…" It was Arthur, my family's loyal and long-suffering driver. He must have gotten worried after I was gone for so long. At eighteen, I was still Ross Croft, the pampered young master of the Croft family. My clothes were always immaculate, every button fastened, every hair perfectly in place. I was the picture of clean-cut, privileged youth. But now, here I was, hair a mess, uniform dirty and torn, face streaked with tears and suspicious bloodstains… clinging for dear life to a blond-haired thug who screamed "trouble." The color drained from Arthur's face. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "What are you all standing there for?" he yelled at the suited men. "Get Master Ross away from him! My poor boy, did this hoodlum hurt you?" The bodyguards, assuming Aiden was the aggressor, surged forward to grab him. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand and stepped in front of Aiden. "Arthur. I'm fine. This… this is Aiden. He's my friend." 8. Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the plush leather backseat of a Rolls-Royce, filthy from head to toe. Next to me, pressed against the opposite door like a cornered animal, was Aiden. He radiated a "stay the hell away from me" aura, looking as out of place as a dirty dishrag on a silk pillow. His eyes darted around the car's luxurious interior before landing on me, his expression a mixture of suspicion and profound contempt. He was probably thinking, What asylum did this psycho rich kid escape from? Arthur, in the front seat, kept shooting nervous glances at Aiden in the rearview mirror, as if expecting him to pull a knife at any moment. When we arrived at the villa, Arthur pulled me aside. "Master Ross, you have too soft a heart. You can't just bring a street punk like that home with you. Your parents will be furious if they find out. Why don't we let him stay in my quarters? Please, don't bring him into the main house. I've heard about these types… they're violent, unpredictable. You're so fragile, what if he—" "Arthur," I cut in calmly. "I like him. I'm pursuing him. He's my future husband. He won't hurt me, I promise." Arthur stared at me for a solid thirty seconds, then grabbed my hand, his eyes bulging. "Master Ross, have you lost your mind? That… that hoodlum is a boy! You're a boy! Or have your eyes gone bad? Did you not notice he's a—" "I know he's a boy, Arthur. And you can relax. The whole world could turn against me, but he never would." I was anxious to get Aiden inside. He was probably hurt worse than he was letting on. I brushed past Arthur and hurried into the house. I pushed Aiden into a guest room on the ground floor, one with its own bathroom. "You're filthy. Go clean up. There are clothes for you inside." I pointed to a fresh set of pajamas and loungewear I’d laid out. He didn't move. He leaned against the doorframe, his wet blond hair dripping a mixture of water and blood down his neck. He smirked, a bitter, mocking twist of his lips. "Heh… If you rich kids have a screw loose, you should see a doctor. Don't play this 'saving the troubled youth' game with me. I don't need your charity." I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Troubled youth? What, did you get yourself into some real trouble? Did you—" "Get out!" He shoved me out of the room. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. Little wolf cub has quite the temper. Saving the troubled youth? Please. I don't have time for that. I'm just saving my future husband from taking a bullet. And saving him is just the first step. If he doesn't cooperate, I'll just lock him up and teach him. The process doesn't matter, as long as I get the result I want. 9. This villa was a gift from my mother. To be more precise, it was something she bought for me just before she died. She passed away in an accident when I was fifteen. Not two months later, my father remarried. My new stepmother came with a slow-witted son of her own. I couldn't stand living with them, so I moved here. Arthur had been my mother's driver, brought over from my grandfather's estate. He came with me when I moved. My stepmother was furious. She'd whine that her son, who was my age, didn't have a thousand dollars to his name while I had an entire villa. She demanded my father transfer the deed to her son. Luckily, my father wasn't completely senile yet and refused. But from that day on, my stepmother hated me. She was always trying to cause trouble, from trying to poison my food to leaving snakes in my room. It drove Arthur to tears more than once. I didn't care. I just threw the snakes back into her room and slipped the poison into her son's bowl. As my father got older, though, his mind started to slip. He began to believe my stepmother's lies—that I was mentally unstable and needed to be sent to a psychiatric hospital. Fed up, I joined the military. I came back a few years later with a police uniform on my back. Arthur was so proud he told everyone he met that I was a man of the state now, a public servant. Someone untouchable. After that, my stepmother didn't dare say a word to me. I thought that was how my life would be. But then I went undercover, and somehow, I ended up in Aiden's bed. It wasn't my fault. Some intel you can only get up close and personal. I got the intel. And Aiden got a bullet from my gun. 10. "Arthur! Get Dr. Evans over here with his medical kit, now!" I called out. "Master Ross, are you hurt? Oh, my goodness, what do we do? I'll call him right away!" Arthur panicked, slapping his thigh with one hand while fumbling for his phone with the other. I quickly posted a job listing online: top-tier one-on-one private tutors wanted, high salary. After that, I opened the app for the city’s most exclusive restaurant. Aiden had a heavy palate—he loved spicy food, but his stomach was sensitive. I ordered: • Nourishing Stomach-Soothing Soup x2 • Spicy Crab (his favorite) x2 • Sichuan Boiled Beef (extra spicy, extra numbing) x2 • Sautéed Seasonal Greens x1 • Braised Pork Belly x1 • Crab Roe Soup Dumplings x2 baskets. • Note: RUSH DELIVERY! Dr. Evans arrived quickly. But Aiden wasn't cooperating. He'd locked himself in the guest room. I retrieved a thin piece of wire from my secret stash. A few deft twists, and the lock clicked open. Arthur and Dr. Evans exchanged a wide-eyed look. They clearly had no idea their well-behaved young master was skilled in the art of lock-picking. Inside, Aiden had managed to quickly wash himself. He'd thrown on the gray cotton pants I’d left for him but was shirtless, his lean torso exposed. He was frowning at his reflection in the mirror, examining the bruises on his back and shoulders. When the door swung open, he whipped around. "Get out," he growled. "Dr. Evans, examine him. Treat his wounds," I commanded, ignoring his fury. "I don't need it!" Aiden grabbed his dirty, damp t-shirt, but the movement pulled at his injuries, making him wince. "Bodyguards, hold him down," I said, my voice flat. Two of my men stepped forward. Aiden reacted instantly, swinging a fist. But he was injured and exhausted, and my men were professionals. In seconds, they had his arms pinned behind his back, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Which mental hospital did you escape from? Are you sick in the head? Do I even know you? Why are you doing all this—" He couldn't finish his sentence. Because I was kissing him again. I bit his lip, kissing him so thoroughly his eyes went wide with shock. Dr. Evans leaned over to Arthur and whispered, "Is this some new game Master Ross is playing?" Arthur sighed. "I have no idea. I'm sure that blond hoodlum must have corrupted him. Our Master Ross is such a good boy." Dr. Evans nodded gravely. "Indeed." "You ungrateful little— my master saves your life, and you—" Arthur started. I broke the kiss. "That's enough, Arthur. You can go. Dr. Evans, you can stay." Aiden looked like he was about to start cursing again. I smiled. "Keep struggling, and I'll kiss you again. And this time, I'll have my men take pictures. We can send them to all your little friends." Aiden fell silent. He stopped fighting. But as he stilled, a deep blush crept up his neck, turning his ears a shade redder than a tomato. It was kind of cute.
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