During my time working undercover, to prove my absolute loyalty, I took a bullet for a ruthless mafia boss. I ended up losing my memory for three years. On the day I finally woke up, I casually reached my hand out. The terrifying boss dropped to his knees immediately, offering his cheek to my palm. He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and whined, "Can you hit me a little lighter today? I have a board meeting later." 1 I was completely, utterly dumbfounded. "B-b-b..." Before I could even get the word 'boss' out. Damien lowered his head, gently rubbing my hand. "There are a lot of outsiders here. Save it for when we get home, okay?" Wait. Was this the same cold-blooded, ruthless mafia boss who murdered people without blinking? My last memory of him was him pointing a gun directly at my forehead, looking at me with pure disgust, and snarling, "Stay away from me!" Back then, forget about touching him; if you even looked at him wrong, he would shoot you a glare that could kill. But now? Not only was he initiating contact, but he also looked like an obedient, well-trained puppy. The most absurd part was that all his terrifying henchmen standing around the room looked completely unfazed, as if this was perfectly normal. I was so horrified I tried to yank my hand back. The man gripped it tighter, his eyes suddenly turning dangerous. "Wife, why aren't you hitting me?" "You still have your eye on that pretty-boy doctor, don't you?" "Fine. I'll send him to the Sahara to get a tan." He was being completely unreasonable. But Damien was a man of his word. I gritted my teeth, raised my other hand, and slapped him across the face. Smack! It was a crisp, loud sound. The man didn't dodge at all. Half of his breathtakingly handsome face instantly turned bright red. My hand was shaking violently. I was terrified he was going to pull the gun from his waistband and blow my brains out the next second. Instead, the man gently touched his red cheek, his lips quivering slightly. "That hurts." What am I supposed to do?! You told me to do it! Do you want me to blow on it for you?! Just as the thought crossed my mind... Damien dropped to both knees, pressed his face against my palm, and nuzzled it. "Wife, blow on it." Oh my god! Just kill me now! 2 Three years ago, I was sent undercover to infiltrate his syndicate. But things went wrong right from the start. Damien's inner circle was entirely out of my reach. He never went anywhere without an army of bodyguards. My only option was to get a job at a high-end nightclub he owned. I waited forever for the day he finally showed up. Desperate to impress him and get noticed, I insisted on doing a party trick: opening a beer bottle with my bare hands. The bottle cap flew off and hit Damien squarely on the nose. The beer sprayed everywhere, soaking his custom-tailored designer suit. That night, I learned what a truly intimidating, murderous glare looked like. As punishment, I was banished to guard the restroom doors. I guarded those doors for an entire month. Finally, I caught Damien coming to the club again. This time, he was here for a business meeting. My superiors had tipped me off that he was involved in some highly illegal trafficking deals recently. They ordered me to keep a close eye on him. I begged the club madam for a chance to serve his VIP room. The madam looked at me with a deeply conflicted expression. "I mean, you're gorgeous, and your body is amazing, but..." She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "The boss doesn't swing that way!" Oh, right. I had always kept my hair short. When I applied for the job, I found out they only hired women with long hair for the hostess positions. Left with no choice, I lied and said I was a guy. I stomped my foot, urgently arguing my case. "But what if he does like guys?" "Think about it! He comes here all the time and never touches any of the beautiful women. He's always alone!" The madam had a sudden look of realization. My logic convinced her. She tried to give me a sheer, see-through shirt to wear. I frantically waved my hands. No way. I have a large chest; it would be completely obvious. I'd heard that these powerful, wealthy men often had weird fetishes. So, I asked for a classic school uniform. I didn't wear a drop of makeup, just some strawberry-flavored lip balm. When I pushed the door open and walked in, everyone inside simultaneously put down their drinks. A kind-looking older man warned me, "Kid, I think you're in the wrong room." I looked at Damien, whose face was completely unreadable, and called out timidly, "Brother." The man's brow furrowed deeply. "You have the wrong person." I ran toward him, but I didn't watch my step and stepped squarely on an empty bottle. I executed a flawless, sliding drop to my knees. My face nearly smashed directly into "Little Damien." It was mortifying. The man reached out a finger, pressing it against my forehead to stop my momentum. "Where exactly are you looking?" I looked up at him, gently massaging his leg. "Brother, please take me in." I made the tears flow on command. "My dad is a gambling addict; he lost all our money. My mom is terminally ill, and my little sister is starving. We can't even afford food." Damien toyed with his expensive lighter, his face entirely unmoved. "I've heard that exact story at least ten times." So what? This time, no matter what he said, I wasn't leaving. I had to get back everything I lost! One of his subordinates walked in. "Boss, Mr. Shaw is here." Alarm bells rang in my head. My superiors had specifically told me to watch out for this guy. Damien's expression turned cold. He stood up, stepping around me. "Get out." I won't. "Only if you promise to take me in." The man's eyes were dark and heavy, staring intently at me. "Are you of age?" I nodded. He looked away, letting out a dark scoff. "What a shame. I don't like legal adults." ??? He really is a massive pervert. Just as I was about to say something else, this 'Mr. Shaw' walked in. He looked back and forth between Damien and me with an amused, sleazy expression. "I didn't realize Boss Damien was into this type. You should have said something! I have plenty of these at my place." Damien pulled out his gun, pressed the cold barrel directly against my forehead, and said with eyes full of ice: "Stay away from me." I lingered sneakily outside the door. Constantly monitoring the situation inside. Suddenly, an argument broke out in the room. I rushed in right behind Damien's subordinates. I saw this 'Mr. Shaw', clutching his bleeding forehead, pointing a gun directly at Damien. "Go to hell!" Right as he was about to pull the trigger— In that split second, I didn't think. I just purely didn't want Damien to die that easily. I sprinted toward him faster than I ever had. The exact second I tackled him to the ground, the gunshot rang out. In my last moment of consciousness. I heard Damien's furious, roaring voice: "Are you a complete idiot?!" If I hadn't pushed him, that bullet would have gone straight through his brain. Miraculously, I survived. But I lost my memory. The amnesiac version of me had a completely different personality. According to bystanders' summaries: I became a massive pervert. I would constantly hug Damien and demand kisses for no reason. I would barge into the bathroom while he was showering and try to measure his "dimensions" with my hands. Even more absurdly, I demanded to sleep using his abs as a pillow every single night. I became incredibly extroverted and arrogant. The identity I gave myself to the outside world was Damien's "Ancestor." I loved throwing my arms around him and calling him "Hubby" in public, regardless of the setting. Relying on his absolute indulgence, I constantly picked fights and caused trouble everywhere we went. And finally... I became extremely violent. I would slap Damien at the drop of a hat. When I took it too far, I would even make him wear handcuffs. The basement of his mansion was filled entirely with "tools" I had prepared for him. 3 I slammed my hands on the table and stood up. "That's absolute bullshit!" Barnaby jumped, visibly terrified. "M-m-ma'am... y-you really did do all those things." He was the personal bodyguard Damien had assigned to protect me. He was a good guy, his only flaw being a severe stutter. Honestly, I already knew about everything I did during my amnesia years. But... I just couldn't accept it. I desperately tried to convince myself it was all a terrible nightmare. I asked Barnaby quietly: "When I hit Damien... did he never fight back at all?" Barnaby picked at his fingernails nervously. He recalled that every time I hit the boss, not only did the boss not get angry, but he also looked like a submissive little wife, holding my hand and asking if I wanted to hit him again. "F-f-f..." "F-f-f..." Fight back? That doesn't make sense. Then how do I still have all ten of my fingers? "F-f-fine... it didn't matter, you just hit him harder." Barnaby finally finished his sentence, looking at me with pure terror. "The boss said, 'Only a man with a wife gets to be hit. You guys don't have wives, so no one hits you. It's truly pathetic.'" I was speechless. Now that my memory was back, I was anxious about my mission progress. I contacted my handler. My handler started by sending a bunch of question marks. "Aren't you dead?" Me: "Are you cursing me? Watch it, or I'll file a formal complaint!" Handler: "Oh? Is my little baby throwing a tantrum? Keep it up, and I'll take away your pacifier!" Me: "...Did I offend you somehow? Why are you being so mean?" My handler continued with his sarcastic, passive-aggressive tone: "I wouldn't dare! You're Damien's precious little baby! I couldn't reach you anywhere and thought you'd been kidnapped. When I finally found you on the street and tried to bring you in, you—" I remembered. I treated my handler like a human trafficker. I remembered everything. Every single detail. He got more and more agitated as he spoke: "You called me a creepy old fossil! You said I was ugly and tacky! You said I couldn't even compare to a single finger on your precious Damien!" "I was so pissed off I didn't eat for three days!" "How am I ugly?! I was the hottest guy in the bureau!" I admitted my mistake and apologized profusely. Finally, we got down to business. My handler told me they had investigated everything. Mr. Shaw was arrested. As for Damien, because he cooperated with the police and played a key role in the arrest, he received a commendation as an "Outstanding Citizen." They investigated his entire organization inside and out and found absolutely zero illegal activity. But during my amnesia, Damien kept me under incredibly tight surveillance, so the bureau didn't dare make a move to extract me. Most importantly, my amnesiac self refused to leave Damien. I threw massive, hysterical tantrums whenever they tried to take me away. It gave the bureau a massive headache, so they just decided to leave me with him for the time being. As for now, it was up to me to find a plausible excuse to leave on my own. Before hanging up, my handler said with a gloating, schadenfreude tone: "It looks to me like he's genuinely in love with you, letting you beat and scold him like that. If you just pack up and leave, who knows, hehe..." What the hell are you 'hehe'-ing about, you old fossil?! 4 While I was having a massive headache over the situation, Damien's assistant called. "Ma'am, you haven't checked in today." Me: "Checked in for what?" He sighed. "No wonder." Then he pleaded with me: "Ma'am, please come down here and coax the boss! He's about to blow up the entire company." Leave it to me! I didn't know the way, so I made Barnaby drive. He looked like he was about to cry. "W-w-w-w..." I thought he was just too excited to serve me, so I patted his shoulder encouragingly. "From now on, you are my most trusted man! Keep up the good work!" "N-n-no, Ma'am. I wanted to say, I've failed my driving test... f-f-five times." Useless! I forced him to act as my human GPS. Half an hour later, I deeply regretted that decision. We came to an intersection. I asked Barnaby which way to go. He rolled down the window, sticking his head almost entirely out. "S-s-s..." "S-s-s..." Straight, right? Got it. I even sped up a little. Barnaby's face turned bright red from the effort. "S-s-s-suddenly turn right!" ...I really should just throw him out of the car. Damn you. Thanks to Barnaby, it was already nightfall by the time we arrived at Damien's corporate headquarters. Damien's assistant, Mr. Davis, was a true professional. The security guards told me he had been waiting for me by the curb since the afternoon. "Sorry about that. Traffic." He gave a mysterious, knowing smile. "It's completely fine. This little wait is absolutely nothing." Then he led the way. He was limping heavily. "Mr. Davis, what happened to your leg?" Barnaby jumped in: "It's p-p-probably p-p-p-paralyzed!" Mr. Davis sternly reprimanded him: "Don't curse in front of the Madam."
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