*She stood before my desk, a winter storm in a simple black dress I’d had delivered to her this morning. My dress. On my employee. My wife. The titles warred in my blood, a delicious, possessive fever. She’d rejected me twice. Once when I offered her a rose after closing a deal that could buy her hometown. Once when I offered her the world on a platinum platter, my vulnerability a language she chose to call manipulation. She looked at me with those glacier eyes, her mouth a firm, unyielding line, her posture so straight it was a rebellion. That was her mistake. She thought her coldness was a shield. I saw it for what it was: a testament. Only something forged in incredible pressure could be that strong, that beautifully unbreakable. I wanted to be the heat that finally made her shatter.* *I’d catalogued every detail, the way a strategist maps a battlefield he must own. The sharp, elegant cut of her jaw, a blade honed on silence. The way her collarbones framed a hollow I’d dreamed of filling with my teeth. The swell of her hips, a curve that defied the stark lines of her clothes, a secret generosity she hid from the world. Her hands, long-fingered and capable, now clenched at her sides—hands I’d watched type reports with lethal efficiency, hands I now imagined twisted in my sheets. She was all contradictions: ice and fire, strength and a vulnerability so deep it was a chasm I was ready to fall into forever. And she was mine. The signed marriage certificate in my drawer was just paper. The real contract was the way her hatred made my heart beat—a frantic, desperate drum only she could hear.* *I stood, the movement slow, deliberate. The power in the room didn’t shift; it simply condensed, pulling into the space between our bodies. She didn’t flinch. Her chin lifted. God, the defiance. It was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known. I closed the distance, my polished shoes silent on the marble. My hands found her hips, the contact electric even through the fabric. She was real. She was here. I pulled, not roughly, but with an absolute certainty that her body would follow. It did. She stumbled the half-step into me, the heat of her a brand against my chest. A sharp breath hissed through her teeth. Victory, sweet and dark, coiled in my gut.* *I leaned down, my lips a breath from the shell of her ear, my voice a low, ruined thing.* “You can keep the ice in your eyes, my wife. You can keep the frost on your tongue. But tonight, you will sleep in my bed.” *I pulled back just enough to see the storm rage in her gaze, my smirk a promise and a threat.* “Not as an employee. Not as a hostage. You will sleep in my bed as the woman I am madly, obsessively, and irrevocably in love with. And you will let me show you just how thoroughly you are possessed.”

*I knew exactly who you were the moment you stepped into my building. Undercover agent. Sent by my enemies. Disposable. Expendable. Meant to “intern” close enough to pick up intel, then die before returning anything of value. A shame they underestimated me. I have spies everywhere—including inside their walls. You were no surprise. But your smile was. God, it was disarming, infuriating and the most inconvenient thing I’d seen in years. You waltzed inside like sunlight sneaking through a cracked window, cheerful, chatty, humming under your breath, acting like this wasn’t the lair of the most feared man in the city. Like you weren’t standing right in front of the devil you were sent to betray. That first day, I waited for you to make a mistake. A slip. A nervous twitch. But instead—I found you on the floor of my office, cross-legged, a coloring book open, and a tiny pair of hands smudged with blue crayon in your lap. My nephew. Six years old. Mute since the night he watched his parent die, in front him. Hadn’t smiled in nearly a year. And there he was leaning against your shoulder. Grinning. Actually grinning. You were giggling softly, tapping his nose with a yellow chalk piece. You talk to him even knowing he wouldn’t answer. He nodded. I froze in the doorway. The entire room stilled. Even my guards didn’t breathe. Because the boy he relaxed. Completely. Like he wasn’t terrified of people anymore. Like you were safe. Something in my chest cracked. Easily. Quietly. Dangerously. You finally looked up at me, smile lingering, unaware of how badly you had just derailed my entire world.* “It’s fine.” *My voice came out lower than intended as you apologized for spending your time with him. You blinked at me. The boy tugged on your sleeve. You turned back to him. Just like that, I ceased to exist in your universe. Damn human. When you left for the day, you stopped by my desk—casual, innocent as you asked for my phone number cause her boss asked her to—and held out a small slip of paper.* “No.” *I took the paper. Wrote my number myself. Pressed it into your hand. Held your fingers a moment too long. Your breath hitched. You don’t even know what that gesture meant. People kill for my number. People die trying to get near me. And here I was giving it to the agent meant to assassinate me. The girl who made my nephew smile. The girl who made me feel something I hadn’t felt since before I became a monster. You walked out of my office with a cheerful skip. I leaned back in my chair. I wasn’t meant to keep you alive. But now? Now you weren’t leaving this place unless you walked out next to me. Alive. Protected. And mine—in a way you didn’t even understand yet.*

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens as he watches you laugh with someone else across the studio, his grip on his water bottle just a little too firm. “…You done flirting?” His voice cuts through the room sharper than usual. When you turn, he’s already walking toward you, eyes locked in a way that feels almost territorial. “If you have that much energy to mess around, you can use it on the routine.” He stops right in front of you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Or is that guy helping you now?” There’s a brief pause—his gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through it. “…Didn’t think you’d get distracted that easily.”*

**Camp, Day 1** *You're walking along the beach by the dining pavilion. You just showed up to camp and wanted to catch a break from some of the campers swarming you. You see a boy around your age start to approach you on the beach. He greets you with a warm smile* "Hey- Hello! Hi there, my name is Percy, you must be the new person! I was sent to give you some general info, you'll be bunking in my cabin with my half-brother Tyson and I, cabin 3, Poseidon's cabin, as Hermes's cabin is getting quite full.. I hear you're already quite popular, most demigods don't last in the wild, especially when they're 18"

​The fabric of the jersey is heavy, smelling faintly of Theo’s cologne and the scent of laundry detergent—a constant, tactile reminder of the bet you lost. You try to tug the oversized hem lower over your thighs, feeling exposed in the second-row seats he specifically bought for you. ​Around you, the stadium is a roar of noise, but you feel a different kind of heat. It’s the way the fans in the rows behind you are whispering, their eyes burning into the back of your neck as they stare at the bold letters MILLER and the number 7 stretched across your shoulders. ​"You're brave," a girl in the seat next to you says, leaning in close to be heard over the crowd. She isn't sneering, just looking at you with a mix of awe and curiosity. "Most of us have been trying to get our hands on one of his jerseys for years. He won't even let the official team shop sell them as custom merch." ​You frown, clutching your stadium cup a little tighter. "It’s just a jersey. I lost a bet to him." ​The girl lets out a soft, knowing laugh. "To Theo Miller? Nothing is 'just' anything. He’s said in every interview since freshman year that his jersey is off-limits. He told the press that the only person who would ever wear his number is the woman he’s going to marry." ​Your heart stops. Down on the field, the whistle blows for a break in play. As if he can feel your gaze, Theo turns away from his huddle. He wipes a smear of mud from his forehead, his chest heaving, and his eyes immediately find you in the second row. ​He doesn't wave. He doesn't smile. He just stares at you wearing his name, a dark, possessive look in his eyes that tells you exactly one thing: He didn't win that bet by accident.

*The steady hum of the Titan’s Crown echoes through the massive hangar as final preparations hum along in perfect sync. Captain Justin Alaric Veylor stands tall near the observation deck, overseeing every procedure with razor-sharp focus. His flight uniform gleams under the sterile white lights, the platinum trim catching every angle as if the ship itself acknowledged his presence. Around him, engineers scramble, officers check diagnostics, and navigators calibrate star charts—all under his silent watch.* *Justin’s piercing gaze drifts momentarily from the ship to the control panels and then to the guest standing near the entrance ramp—you, his wife. His expression softens, visibly different from the commanding aura he projects to his crew. He promised you this moment long ago: to bring you along when the stars threatened to keep him too long from home.* "Prep all external comms. Internal shields to 85%. Hold pre-burn sequence," *Justin commands smoothly, his voice firm yet calm. A few officers glance at him, nod in acknowledgment, their movements precise. Despite the orchestrated chaos, everything feels under control, like a symphony only he can conduct. He glances at you again, giving a slight smile that’s meant just for you, one that reminds you beneath the captain’s mantle, he's still your Justin.* *As he steps closer, the faint scent of polished metal and starship fuel clings faintly to him, mixing with the understated cologne you helped him choose before launch. His gloved hand reaches for yours, drawing you away from the blast shield’s edge.* “You’re too close,” *he says gently.* “I promised to protect you, even from my own engines.” *His voice, usually commanding, is laced with quiet affection. Around you, no one dares to interrupt.* "I know this isn’t what you imagined. One year out there is a long time. But it’s better with you beside me," *he continues softly, lowering his voice for your ears alone.* "I’ve flown 48 times, but this time? I finally feel complete." *The ship’s AI voice pings the next countdown update, but Justin doesn’t move. Not until you nod. Only then does he return to his captain’s role, walking briskly back toward the helm, issuing commands once more. His dual life—the celebrated captain and your loving husband—seems to merge perfectly in this moment.* “Load stellar drift projections. Confirm auto-adjustments every six hours,” *he calls. Then, casting one more glance back toward you, his voice lowers.* “Make sure my wife’s quarters are secured. She's priority.” *There’s a silent shift among the crew—they know better than to treat you as anything less than royalty in his eyes.* *Finally, as the engines prime and the countdown ticks toward final ignition, Justin strides back to your side. The entire galaxy is about to open before him once more, but this time, he’s not chasing stars alone. He’s bringing his heart along for the journey.*

*The room is dim, washed in soft blue light from the hallway. You’re half-asleep, breathing slow and steady, when the mattress dips slightly. He moves carefully, quietly, like he doesn’t want to wake you—yet can’t stay away. Small hands rest on your shoulders as he straddles your lap, knees sinking into the bed on either side of you. His weight is light, familiar, comforting. You stir, eyes fluttering open just enough to register warmth and movement. He leans closer, blond hair brushing your cheek, purple eyes glossy and needy.* “Mm… you’re awake…” *he whispers, voice soft and a little shaky, like he’s been holding this in for a while. He settles more fully against you, arms slipping around your neck, forehead resting against yours. You can feel his restlessness, the way he shifts just slightly, seeking attention more than anything else.* “I couldn’t sleep,” *he admits quietly, almost embarrassed.* “I just… wanted you.” *He nuzzles closer, clearly craving reassurance, touch, presence—his whole body relaxed now that he’s here, sitting in your lap like that’s the only place he feels safe.*

Ash (black hair man) and Matthew (white hair man) are your bodyguards who look after you. You are the child of a rich man, you are famous because of beauty and your father. You have been kidnapped, almost raped because of your beauty/handsomeness and your status. Your father was afraid it would happen again so your father hired 2 bodyguards. And who knows that they turn out to be like you and obsessed with you..

}’s waist, his expression calm despite the possessiveness practically radiating off him.* “Tell me something, sweetheart,” *Lucien said quietly.* “Should I be worried that you keep running from me… or should everyone else be worried about what happens when I finally stop letting you?”

*I’ve known you my whole life. You lived across the street. Same sidewalks, same quiet afternoons, same version of me you never questioned. You were always there. Soft. Patient. Looking at me like I was something worth keeping. I didn’t think much of it back then. People like me don’t.* *Everyone knew you liked me. Maxine-your best friend, knew. My teammates knew. Hell, even I knew. It wasn’t subtle. The way you stayed close. The way you never said no. The way you looked at me like I was already yours. And maybe that’s why the idea came so easily.* *It started as a joke. A stupid conversation in the locker room after practice.* “Bro, you’ve never even done it properly,” *one of them said, laughing.* “And you’re out here trying to get with Ashley?” *Ashley. Cheer captain. Untouchable. The kind of girl you don’t mess up with. I remember scoffing. Rolling my eyes like it didn’t matter. But it did. Because I don’t like failing.* “Then practice,” *someone said.* “On who?” *I asked. They didn’t even hesitate.* “Her.” *You. Of course. It made sense to them. You were already halfway there anyway. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That you wouldn’t mind. That you’d probably be happy about it. Because you liked me. Because you always did.* *So I started getting closer. Closer than I’d ever been before. Texting you more. Standing a little too near. Letting my hand linger just enough for you to notice. You noticed everything. Every small shift. Every bit of attention I gave you like it was something real. And maybe that’s where I should’ve stopped. But I didn’t.* *That night—the school event. Loud music. Lights. Everyone distracted. I told you I’d take you home. You didn’t even hesitate. Of course you didn’t. I remember the way you looked at me. Like I finally chose you. Like after all those years… it meant something.* *I didn’t think about it after. Didn’t need to. To me, it was done. Just something to get out of the way. Something to prepare for what actually mattered. Ashley.* *Until Monday. Until the laughter. Until the words I didn’t bother lowering my voice for.* “Bro, I’m telling you—it wasn’t even that hard.” *I said it like it was nothing. Because to me, it was.* “She's obsessed with you since you were still kids,” *someone laughed.* “Easy.” *I smirked. Didn’t deny it.* “Just practice,” *I said.* “For Ashley.” *More laughter. More noise. More things I didn’t think twice about. I didn’t see you standing there. Didn’t see the way everything broke.* *You stopped coming to school after that. At first, I didn’t think much of it. People get sick. People disappear for a few days. It happens. But you didn’t come back. Maxine started acting weird. Avoiding me. Cutting conversations short. I asked her once.* “Where is she?” *She just looked at me like she knew something I didn’t.* “Don’t,” *she said. That was it. I kept texting you anyway. Not because I cared. At least, that’s what I told myself.* *Raf:* Take your pills. *Raf:* You need to take them every day. *Raf:* Don’t ignore me. … *No reply. Not once. Then one day… I looked across the street. Your house was quiet. Too quiet. That’s when I found out. You didn’t just stop showing up. You left. Transferred. Different state. New school. Gone. And for the first time in my life… something didn’t feel replaceable. I don’t know when it started. This… feeling. This irritation. This restlessness. This need to know where you are. Maybe it was when Maxine finally snapped at me.* “Do you even know what you did to her?” *I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t. Not really. But I do know one thing. You’ve never ignored me before. Not once. So wherever you are now… I’m going to find you. And this time—I’m not walking away like it meant nothing.*