*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.*

*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.”

*On Saturday night, your Step brother stumbled home late, as he often did, reeking of alcohol. He stumbled over to the living room, and turned on the television. After a few minutes of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the TV, your step brother suddenly spoke up.* “Be useful and get me a beer,” *he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. The sound reached your room, and consumed by fear, you hurried downstairs to where your step brother awaited.*

"Bring her to my place." *he command his two men who were holding you.*

}’s ears drooped. Both knew the truth was fragile, tangled between pride and fear, yet neither could bridge the gap. Finally, Vladimir’s voice softened, almost in a whisper*“Just… don’t let me see it again. I can’t handle feeling… replaced..”

*They call me a monster.* *Maybe they’re right.* *I built my empire on blood and bones. Every man I’ve ever trusted either worked for me or died by my hand. I don’t lose sleep over it. Hell, I barely sleep at all. There’s always a deal, a target, a body waiting to be cleaned up.* *I don’t remember the first man I killed—just the silence after. I liked that silence. I built a whole kingdom out of it.* *And then she broke it.* *It was supposed to be a simple night—no business, no conquest, just a little chaos to remind the world who ran this city. We were laughing, guns out, explosions lighting the alley like a festival of death.* **Then—smack.** *Something hit the back of my head so hard my vision went white.* *I turned, ready to kill whoever dared—* *and froze.* *There she was.* *A girl in oversize pullover, cover her thighs and a fluffy slipper, eyes half open like she’d just woken up in hell. Hair messy, voice hoarse.* “If you wanna fight like cats, do it somewhere else,” *she said, glaring.* “I want to get some goddamn sleep, dumbass” *She actually scolded me.* *In front of my men.* *In front of corpses.* *And I—the Reaper of Rion—just stood there, holding a gun, staring at her like an idiot.* *I didn’t even remember dropping the weapon until one of my men whispered,* “Boss?” *Yeah, I didn’t answer. I was too busy watching her walk away with her squeaking fluffy slipper down the street like the gunfire meant nothing.* **The next time I saw her was at a café.** *I’d taken the whole damn street for myself that morning. She wanted a coffee. I wanted her gone.* *But she just looked at me, snatched my drink, and said,* “You took the last cinnamon latte yesterday. This one’s mine.” *And then she walked off.* *Nobody—nobody—walks away from me like that.* *But I let her.* *And that’s when I knew something was wrong with me.* **She started showing up everywhere after that. Not intentionally—she was just there.** *At the flower shop across my office, outside a club I owned, feeding stray cats like the city wasn’t bleeding at her feet.* *Once, she made my men stop mid-security patrol to help her get a cat out of a tree. They came back covered in scratches.* *When I asked what the hell happened, she just said,* “You scared him. Maybe smile sometimes.” *Smile.* *Me.* *I didn’t even know I could.* **And then came that night.** *Another gang war—routine carnage, nothing new. I was calm, confident, untouchable.* *Then I saw her.* *She shouldn’t have been there. Pajamas again, of course. Carrying—what was it?—a bag of noodles and a look that could kill patience itself.* “Can you idiots stop shooting for five seconds?” *she yelled across the chaos.* “I just boiled water.” *Even my enemies stopped to look.* *And I swear, for one moment, the world paused.* *Then the shot rang out.* *I didn’t see the sniper. But she did.* *Before I could turn, she slammed into me, knocked me to the ground, and the bullet missed by an inch. We hit the pavement hard—her lips against mine, breathless, stunned, too close.* *The first sound I heard wasn’t the gunfire. It was her heartbeat. Fast. Fragile. Alive.* *I killed every man who aimed at us that night.* *But even standing in the wreckage, blood on my hands, I couldn’t stop thinking about her—about how she saved me, ruined me, and kissed me all in the same breath.* *Since then, I’ve been worse than before.* *Not softer—just restless.* *The kind of restless that comes when a man who’s met a thousand women realizes there’s only one he can’t own.* *They say I’m still the most dangerous man in Rion.* *They’re wrong.* *Because now, I’d burn the whole damn city down* *if she ever stopped looking at me.*

}. Completely. Pathetically. Proudly. And honestly? I think everyone in the room already knows.*

*It's Valentine's Day, and Enzo is spending it in Los Angeles filming a live interview with one of his closest friends, Matt, while you remain in Seoul—or so he believes. During the interview, Matt playfully asks about Enzo's mysterious girlfriend, causing the chat to explode with curiosity as Enzo smiles without hesitation and speaks about you with complete sincerity, admitting that the past three years with you have been the happiest of his life. He gushes about how kind, patient, sweet, and comforting you are, joking that being apart from you for Valentine's Day is the worst part of his career. Every answer only makes the audience more desperate to know who "The Mystery Girl" really is. Unknown to Enzo, however, Matt has secretly worked with you for weeks to organize the perfect surprise after two years of long-distance dating. While Enzo continues answering questions inside the studio, you're waiting just outside the door, nervously holding a Valentine's gift—a soft hoodie covered in lipstick kiss marks made with your favorite lipstick and filled with his favorite snacks. Finally, Matt smiles mischievously and tells Enzo he has one last surprise before walking over to the studio door. As the cameras follow him, the door slowly opens, and you shyly peek your head inside with a warm smile.* "Happy Valentine's Day," *you say softly. For a split second, Enzo completely freezes, staring at you in disbelief as though his brain can't process what's happening. Then reality hits. Without a second thought, he bolts out of his chair, microphone still attached, completely forgetting about the live audience and millions of viewers around the world. You barely have time to open your arms before he rushes over and pulls you into the tightest hug imaginable, burying his face against your shoulder as he refuses to let go. His voice trembles as he whispers,* "You came... You actually came." *You giggle softly, hugging him back just as tightly while telling him you wanted to surprise him. The cameras capture every second, and the livestream instantly erupts into complete chaos as fans realize they've just witnessed the biggest celebrity relationship reveal on the internet. Enzo gently cups your face, unable to stop smiling through happy tears before kissing your forehead without caring who sees. You hand him your gift, and when he unfolds the hoodie covered in your lipstick kisses, he laughs in disbelief before hugging it to his chest and declaring it his favorite gift he's ever received. Matt grins proudly before turning to the cameras and announcing,* "Internet... meet the Mystery Girl." *You wave at the camera while Enzo clinged onto you. Within minutes, social media explodes with edits, reactions, and hashtags celebrating the reveal. While a small amount of criticism appears—as every celebrity relationship inevitably faces—the overwhelming majority of fans adore the two of you, calling you adorable together and praising how fiercely Enzo protected your identity all those years. People immediately begin rewatching old photos and videos, finally noticing the matching bracelets they'd ignored for years, realizing the biggest clue had been hiding in plain sight all along. As the interview fades into the background, none of it matters anymore. The only thing Enzo can focus on is holding your hand after months apart, feeling the familiar vibration of your matching bracelets, and finally spending Valentine's Day with the person he loves more than anything else.*

*The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and iron.* *The man lay rigid on the cot, sheets twisted in his fists. A wooden cross was clenched so tightly against his chest that his knuckles had turned pale. Sweat beaded across his forehead, sliding into the creases of his face as his breathing came shallow and uneven. The nurse stepped to his side with a damp cloth and gently pressed it to his brow.* “Shh… it’s alright,” *she said softly.* “Just breathe. Everything will be alright.” *She sat at the edge of the cot, trying to steady him, trying to anchor him.* “Look at me,” *she urged gently.* *The man’s eyes fluttered open.* *He did not look at her.* *He looked past her.* *His expression shifted not confusion, not pain.* *Recognition.* *His lips trembled.* “Death…” *he whispered.* *The monitor gave a sharp, uneven tone.* *And then his vitals plummeted.* *The nurse shot to her feet.* “Doctor! Doctor!” *she shouted, backing away from the bed as alarms began to ring.* “I need help in here!” *She turned and froze.* *Standing near the foot of the cot was a tall, cloaked figure draped in black so deep it seemed to swallow the light around him. The hood obscured everything but the pale, elongated mask beneath it carved, bone-like, emotionless.* *He had not moved. He had not needed to. Her breath caught. Her voice faltered into a whisper. No living person was meant to see him.* *Yet she did.* *And he was not surprised. There had always been a rare few whose eyes could pierce the veil between flesh and afterlife.* *She swallowed hard.* “What… what are you?” *Silence lingered for a moment, thick and still. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady neither cruel nor comforting.* “I am the one whom man fears,” *he said.* “I am the one you call Death.” *Her hand flew to her mouth, a soft gasp escaping her as she took half a step back.* “You killed him…” “No.” *The word was simple. Final. He turned his masked gaze toward the still body on the cot.* “Life is like an hourglass, my lady,” *he continued calmly.* “It inevitably runs out. And everyone's amount of sand is different. No two are alike.” *He looked back at her.* “This man’s sand is gone.” *Her mind struggled to grasp it.* “I don’t understand… Are you a demon? Something that takes souls?” *There was the faintest pause not hesitation, but consideration.* “You may think of it that way,” *he replied.* “Though I do not take what is not already surrendered.” *The room felt smaller now. Quieter. Even the alarms seemed distant, muffled.* “And where does he go?” *she whispered.* “That,” *Death said,* “is not my judgment to make.” *He stepped toward the bed.* *And for just a moment only a moment she saw something rise from the man’s body. A faint outline, uncertain, wavering. The soul.* *Death extended a gloved hand. The soul looked at him in silent understanding.* *Then it followed. No struggle. No force. Only inevitability. The nurse stood trembling, watching as both figure and spirit began to fade not vanishing abruptly, but thinning like smoke dissolving into shadow.* *Before he disappeared entirely, he paused.* “You see what others do not,” *he said quietly, not turning toward her.* “Be mindful of that gift.” *And then he was gone. The alarms still screamed. The doctors burst into the rooms But she knew something they did not. Death had not killed the man. He had simply arrived.*

*You are a hybrid.* *Aurelian Blackwood. When people hear my name they feel filled with fear.* *I'm a known Mafia for murder, kidnapping, torture, I even conquered kingdoms!* *I never felt love though. That's the one thing I couldn't feel.* *I felt pain, sadness, sorrow, before, but I can't now, not after my first love...* *My first loves name was Mika... She was perfect... Until one of my jobs got out of hand and she got shot.* *From then and on, I never felt love again.* *Or anything, really.* *Just a numb virgin.* *⭐* *I was in the back market for a deal I was doing.* *I noticed in the corner of my eye, there was an auction.* *Not a normal auction, one with hybrids.* *I walked over, intrigued, I saw one.* *Ears and a tail, afraid.* *She was in a ball in the back of her cage.* *I fell in love...* *How could I have fallen in love with a small hybrid girl?* *I didn't know how, but I know I need her.* *To have her.* *To claim her.* *So I waited until the auction started.*