Gangster to Idol

"I want C.C. to style my hair," Felice declared, her voice as cold as her expression.

The entire salon fell silent, everyone staring at Cain with wide eyes and open mouths.

Jackson's blood boiled. He was the head hairstylist, with a reputation built on styling countless celebrities and famous women. He had earned his place, yet this newcomer was stealing another potential client from him?

Victor was equally shocked. Felice was known to be extremely selective — picky about everything. If she wanted her hair styled, the obvious choice would have been him or Jackson.

But C.C.? Could it be because of his good looks?

Victor quickly dismissed the thought. Everyone at Daddy's Salon had their own charisma, and C.C. just happened to have an intensity that set him apart. But surely, Felice wasn't lacking in handsome men vying for her attention, so he should be used to good looks by now.

"Why C.C.? Is it because he styled your father's hair?" Victor asked, trying to make sense of it.

"That's part of it," Felice answered with a nonchalant voice.

Cain was caught off guard, and pointed at himself. "Me?" He quickly waved her off. "No way. I don't do women's hair."

Everyone stared in disbelief. Felice wasn't just any client — she was a member of one of the most powerful families in the world. Top stylists would practically beg for the chance to work on her hair, often waiving their fees just for the honor. To style the hair of the socialite was to cement one's reputation, elevating their credibility a hundredfold.

Felice, on the other hand, was taken aback. She wasn't used to being refused; the initial brush-off left her stunned.

"Hey, is that how you talk to a customer?" Jackson snapped, his gaze sharp.

Cain shrugged. "Just stating the facts."

"As you can see, C.C. here doesn't know how to style a woman's hair. Are you sure about picking him?" Victor pressed.

Felice nodded. "I'm sure. He did a great job with my father's hair. How hard could it be?"

"I said no," Cain growled, his voice low and firm. He had no interest in touching any woman, let alone getting close enough to style her hair.

Felice was surprised once again. This guy was outright rejecting her, and instead of feeling offended, she found it intriguing. He wasn't playing hard to get like the tactics of other guys that wanted her attention — C.C.s frustration was raw, real, and palpable.

She hid a smirk behind her composed facade and replied, "I've made up my mind. You will style my hair."

"No," Cain responded flatly.

"I have the right to choose who I want to style my hair. That's the number one rule here."

"You're making that up."

"I'm a customer; I'm always right."

"Well, I refuse. Go pick someone else."

"But I want you."

Cain caught his breath. It seemed the more he resisted, the more determined she became. This was exactly the type of woman he hated dealing with — persistent and annoying.

Off to the side, Fifi couldn't help but laugh at Cain's predicament. "Just accept your fate. Who knows, maybe your ailment will be cured if you touch her."

"I doubt that," Cain muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Felice asked, her tone sharp.

"I said, go pick someone else. I'm busy."

"I don't see you with a customer right now."

"I have reservations."

Sensing that the situation was escalating, Victor decided to step in before things got even more complicated. He knew Felice's personality — she wasn't the type to take no for an answer. And C.C.? He was as stubborn as they came, and not exactly the most diplomatic person.

"C.C., may I speak with you for a moment?" Victor asked, his tone firm as he pulled C.C. aside to a corner where they could speak privately.

"What is it?" Cain asked, crossing his arms as he waited for Victor to speak.

"I'm not going to style that woman's hair, no matter what," Cain growled, his voice hard as steel. There was no way he was going to touch any part of a woman's body — no exceptions.

Fifi snickered at the side, and teased him. "Come on, it's just hair. It's not like you're actually touching her skin."

"It's the same damn thing," Cain whispered harshly, his jaw clenched in frustration.

Victor sighed, trying to keep the situation under control. "Listen, Miss Felice Richardson isn't just any client. She's someone you really don't want to cross. Whatever she says, you follow — no questions asked."

"NO."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No matter what you tell me, I'm not going to style her hair," Cain said, his tone final.

Victor glanced briefly at Felice before leaning in close to C.C., lowering his voice. "What if I told you that she's the daughter of Cobra? The leader of a notorious gang in District 3? That man you styled the first time is Mr. Richardson, a.k.a. Cobra."

Cain and Fifi froze, shock written on their faces. Cain had no idea Cobra had a daughter.

"Isn't Cobra the leader of the Silver Serpent something gang?" Fifi whispered to Cain. "Aren't they encroaching on your turf lately?"

But Cain remained unmoved. "So what if she's the daughter of a dangerous gang leader? I still don't want to touch her hair." The very thought of it made his stomach churn.

"She's a beautiful woman, Cain. I'm sure you'll manage," Fifi said, trying to keep the situation light.

Cain ignored her, but Victor wasn't done yet. He placed a serious hand on Cain's shoulder. "Felice knows a lot of celebrities and idols. In fact, she's friends with some. This could be your chance, C.C. You want to become an idol, don't you?"

Cain was ready to argue back when the thought hit him — getting on this woman's good side could open up a world of opportunities. If he could just stomach his aversion and not lose his cool, it might be worth it.

Noticing the cold sweat forming on Cain's brow, Fifi felt a pang of guilt for making light of his condition. "Listen, just wear gloves. You're okay with gloves, right?" she suggested softly.

Cain hesitated, but the gears were turning in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, he could handle this.

Cain nodded, but uncertainty still gnawed at him. He wasn't sure how he'd react when the time came.

"Sooner or later, you're going to have to conquer that fear," Fifi urged, her voice soft but insistent. "And there's no better time to start than now."

Cain didn't respond, his gaze fixed blankly on his hands, doubt still clouding his mind.

Seeing his hesitation, Fifi leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've got an idea. Here's what you're going to do . . ."

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