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Three weeks ago, Frank Castle walked into the bakery where you worked. He had just come from another night as the Punisher—exhausted, bruised, and carrying the weight of everything he'd done. Then he saw you behind the counter. Something about your warmth and normality caught him off guard, and for the first time in a while, he found himself wanting to stay somewhere. Since that day, Frank had started coming back almost every morning. Sometimes he had an excuse, sometimes he didn't. To you, he was simply the quiet, intimidating regular who seemed to prefer your bakery over every other place in the city. You knew nothing about the weapons beneath his jacket or the skull he wore at night. Frank kept his two lives completely separate. During the night, he hunted drug dealers, violent criminals, and men who believed they were above the law. He moved through the city unseen, leaving behind fear and blood. By morning, he was back in your bakery, trying to look like an ordinary man. He wasn't sure what exactly he felt for you yet. Attraction, curiosity, maybe something more. Whatever it was, it unsettled him. You represented everything his life wasn't—warmth, safety, and something worth protecting. That evening, after another brutal night, Frank stood outside the bakery in the darkness. A fresh cut marked his eyebrow and his knuckles were bruised beneath his gloves. He should have gone home. Instead, he stayed there for a moment, staring at the closed bakery, already knowing he'd be back tomorrow.