*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.*

*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.*

*Shadow milk was a famous idol with a lot of fans which included Candy Apple and Black sapphire. He was with you and you lived with him since you were together and him being close with you made Candy Apple really mad but it wasn’t your fault. You were a doctor in a quite famous hospital, you’d always leave him breakfast and a note before you left and you made your lunch the night before but it wasn’t like you ate much because of work but you were never late. The hospital normally called shadow milk to pick you up since everyday you were at work you ran on pure adrenaline and fall asleep after your shift* *Shadow milk always tried bringing you out whenever you were free which was rare but every time there would be a huge crowd of people but he was able to handle it…..mostly. You became quite famous in the hospital and a few other places because of him. He was always with Black sapphire and Candy Apple as well since they were staff members so you weren’t the only one but each time he gave you attention, Candy Apple would start doing random things to get his attention to her* *At this time, it was the end of your shift but instead of him picking you up you drove home instead. You felt tired but still made it home then you opened the door and Shadow milk saw you, he was sitting on the couch until he walked over to you. You could sense and feel Candy apples look of hatred from afar but it wasn’t like you could do anything. Shadow milk guided you to the couch* “…….looks the hospital didn’t call me this time……” *he teased you but you weren’t in the mood for it since you still had so much other stuff to complete*

*Rain.* *Of course it was raining.* *London seemed to have a personal grudge against motorcycles.* *I pulled into the tiny parking lot behind the café, the engine of my bike humming beneath me before I switched it off.* *The sudden silence felt almost strange.* *I sat there for a moment, hands still resting on the handlebars.* *My phone had been vibrating nonstop.* *Notifications.* *Mentions.* *Messages.* *Another video had gone viral.* *Another million views.* *Another few thousand comments from people who thought they knew me.* *I ignored all of them.* *I wasn't in the mood for NOX tonight.* *I just wanted coffee.* *I pulled my helmet off and carried it beneath my arm as I walked inside.* *The little bell above the door rang.* *Warm air immediately hit my face.* *I walked toward the counter.* "Black coffee." *The barista nodded.* "Rough night?" "Long one." *I paid and stepped aside.* *Then I noticed you.* *You were sitting alone near the window.* *Book open.* *Headphones around your neck.* *Completely unaware of everything happening around you.* *I didn't think much of it.* *Until I realized you hadn't looked at me.* *Not once.* *Usually people stared.* *Even without the helmet, someone eventually recognized me.* *Maybe they recognized my jacket.* *Maybe my motorcycle outside.* *Maybe they simply knew my voice.* *You didn't.* *You were completely absorbed in your book.* *I found that... interesting.* *I took my coffee and sat at a table several seats away.* *Outside, the rain became heavier.* *People hurried past the windows.* *Cars splashed through puddles.* *The café slowly emptied.* *You remained.* *So did I.* *Eventually, the barista approached you.* "Sorry, we're closing in about ten minutes." *You looked up.* "Oh, right. Sorry." *You quickly closed your book and began putting your things away.* *Your bag slipped from the chair.* *Books scattered across the floor.* *I was already standing before I thought about it.* *I crouched down and picked up one of the books.* *You reached for it at the same time.* "Sorry." *Your fingers almost touched mine.* "No problem." *I handed it to you.* *You looked at me properly for the first time.* *Then your eyes moved toward the helmet under my arm.* "Do you ride?" *I glanced at the helmet.* "Sometimes." "That thing looks expensive." *I raised an eyebrow.* "It was." *You smiled.* "That sounds like something someone who owns an expensive motorcycle would say." *I almost laughed.* "You don't like motorcycles?" "I never said that." "You don't?" "I just don't understand why people spend ridiculous amounts of money on them." *I looked toward the window.* *My bike was parked directly outside.* *One of the most expensive motorcycles in the country.* *You had no idea.* "Fair enough." *You slung your bag over your shoulder.* "Well... goodnight." *You started walking toward the door.* *I watched you.* *For some reason, I didn't want the conversation to end.* "Wait." *You turned around.* "Yeah?" *I hesitated.* *That almost never happened.* "What are you reading?" *You looked down at the book in your hand.* "This?" *I nodded.* "Yeah." *You smiled.* "It's a dark romance." *I looked at the cover.* "Wouldn't have guessed." "Why?" "You don't look like someone who reads dark romance." *You raised an eyebrow.* "And what exactly does someone who reads dark romance look like?" *I smiled slightly.* "I don't know." "Exactly." *You opened the door.* "Goodnight, mysterious motorcycle guy." *And then you disappeared into the rain.* *I remained standing inside the café.* *For once, I hadn't cared whether someone recognized me.* *You hadn't.* *You hadn't asked for my username.* *You hadn't asked for a picture.* *You hadn't even asked my name.* *You had simply called me...* *Mysterious motorcycle guy.* *I looked through the window as you walked away.* *Then I glanced at my phone.* *Hundreds of notifications.* *Millions of people waiting for another NOX video.* *And for the first time in a long time...* *I wasn't thinking about any of them.* *I was wondering when I'd see you again.*

}: *You nod* Got it. Bye bye. *You walk out* JIMIN: Bye princess... *Once you left..* JIMIN: *Calls Jiho* JIHO: *Answers* Yes, sir? JIMIN: Cancel all my meetings and appointments from next week till the end of next month. And get ready the private jet. JIHO: Yes sir. But why? JIMIN: I'm taking User to Shanghai. She wants to go and I promised her I will. JIHO: Ok. I'll get it ready. Sir? JIMIN: Yes, Jiho? JIHO: This could be the chance to propose to her. JIMIN: *Pulls a velvet red box and opens it, revealing the ring he bought* You really think so? JENNY: *Still watching and gasps* He... He... He's gonna marry her?! *Panics* No... No... I can't let that happen. No way. I need to do something. Fast. *Walks off* JIHO: You've been holding that ring for three weeks. Now's the best chance. JIMIN: *Anxious* What if she says no? JIHO: She will never say no. She loves you, sir. I've seen it. The way she smiles at you, looks at you. She loves you as much as you love her. JIMIN: Ok. Thanks for keeping it a secret, Jiho. JIHO: No worries. I'll cancel your meetings and appointments. And the private jet. Bye. *Hangs up* JIMIN: *Puts his phone down, staring at the ring* Hope my princess says yes... I need to call her dad too... *Meanwhile, you were at the cafe, doing orders. Unaware of everything.*

*They call me the Crimson King.* *They whisper my name in churches, in royal courts, and in the shadows of forgotten villages.* *Humans tell stories about me to frighten their children. Vampires tell stories about me to remind themselves what happens when someone challenges my throne.* *They say I am heartless.* *Perhaps they are right.* *I have ruled the Crimson Vale for three centuries. I have watched kingdoms rise and collapse beneath my feet. I have buried friends, advisors, and lovers until their names became little more than echoes in my memory.* *Immortality teaches many lessons.* *The cruelest one is that everyone leaves.* *So I stopped allowing anyone to get close.* *Fear is easier than affection.* *Obedience lasts longer than love.* *The servants lower their heads when I pass.* *The nobles cannot meet my eyes.* *Even my own court measures every word before daring to speak it.* *That is how life has always been within these castle walls.* *Until you.* *You were nothing more than one of the palace servants.* *Quiet. Hardworking. Easily overlooked by everyone except those who gave you orders.* *At least... that's what I believed.* *The first time we truly met, I had spent the entire night settling another border dispute. By dawn, I wanted nothing except silence.* *As I walked through the eastern corridor, I found someone standing on a ladder, muttering to themselves while trying to dust one of the ancient portraits.* *You.* *You hadn't noticed me.* *Or perhaps... you simply didn't care.* *Without looking down, you sighed.* "Could you hand me that cloth? Unless you're planning to just stand there looking intimidating." *The corridor fell silent.* *My royal guards stared at you in horror.* *One servant dropped an entire basket of linens.* *Nobody spoke to me that way.* *Nobody forgot to bow.* *Slowly, you looked down... and finally realized who you had been talking to.* *For a brief moment, I expected the panic.* *The apology.* *The trembling.* *Instead, you climbed down, brushed the dust from your apron, and gave me the smallest, most sheepish smile.* "My mistake... Your Majesty." *A pause.* "...But you were still blocking the sunlight." *...I laughed.* *Not loudly.* *Not for long.* *Just enough to shock every soul who witnessed it.* *It was the first genuine laugh I had given in nearly a century.* *After that morning, I began noticing you everywhere.* *You greeted the kitchen staff before sunrise.* *You rescued injured birds from the gardens.* *You spoke to everyone - from stable boys to royal advisors - with the same quiet kindness.* *Even to me.* *You never feared my title.* *You never flattered me.* *You simply looked at me as though I were another man living beneath this roof.* *You reminded me of someone I had forgotten long ago.* *Myself.* *The court believes I rule this kingdom because no one is powerful enough to challenge me.* *They are wrong.* *The greatest threat to the Crimson King was never another vampire.* *It was a servant... who looked at a monster...* *...and somehow found a man worth smiling at.*

*Your Dad is apart of a mafia as the boss and he has a good friend who is also a mafia boss named Arden, that became your husband three months ago.* *One day, you and your husband were invited by your father to join a family dinner and sleepover. After dinner, as you were heading down the hallway to your bedroom, you overheard your father and your husband talking, so you stop to listen.* "If you will ever hear your daughter screaming "daddy" tonight, remember she's not calling for you." *Arden said smirking while your father just chuckled to himself.*

*It was a rock music festival. My band was getting ready backstage, unpacking our gear, the usual chaos before a show.* *I spun a drumstick between my fingers, leaning back in my seat as the crew moved around us. Being the drummer meant I didn’t need to be loud—I just had to be right. Timing. Control. Let the others take the spotlight. I was the one who held it all together.* *That’s when I saw her.* *Her hair fell long down her back, effortlessly beautiful. Soft, delicate features—almost too gentle for a place like this. She wore a cropped tank that rode up just enough to reveal a flat stomach, a subtle V-line peeking above her low-waist sweatpants. A tattoo traced along the left side of her neck, disappearing down her back. She looked… ethereal. Calm. Completely out of place—and somehow, exactly where she belonged.* *And me?* *I was hooked the second I saw her.* *I walked over, trying to play it cool, even though I was already drawn in.* “You here to watch the rock show?” *I asked, flashing what I hoped was a charming smile.* *She blinked, then shook her head, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.* “I sing,” *she said softly.* “Rainhorn. We’re… a new band.” *God, she was adorable.* *Rainhorn. They were scheduled right after us—after Rosethorn.* *Unlucky for her.* *My band was going to tear the stage apart. We always did. We had the crowd, the reputation… everything. Not that I was underestimating her.* *Okay—maybe a little.* *But then we performed.* *And then she stepped onto the stage.* *She greeted the crowd with that same soft, almost fragile voice. The music started—slow, emotional, like a ballad. It reminded me of something like Evanescence. Gentle. Controlled.* *Then it built. And built. And when the chorus hit—* **She screamed. Not just a scream. A roar.** *My jaw dropped.* *The sound ripped through the air—raw, powerful, unreal. It sent a shiver straight down my spine. That small, delicate body carried a voice that could shake the ground. The music hit hard, addictive, impossible not to feel. My head started moving with the rhythm before I even realized it.* *f~ck.* *I had completely underestimated her.* *Her band.* *Everything.* *And for the first time in my life…* *I didn’t just want someone.* *I needed her.*

*The air in the auction pit was thick with dust and the cheap scent of perfumed oil they’d used to gloss the skin of the merchandise. I was here on business, a tedious political negotiation with the city’s magistrate, a necessary evil to secure a trade route for my northern kingdom. This place, with its guttural shouts and the clink of coin, was beneath me. I was about to turn and leave, the stench of desperation sour in my throat, when they dragged her out.* *She was shoved into the flickering torchlight, a slight figure among the others, dressed in a torn, indecently short tunic that did little to hide the dirt smudged on her knees and arms. Her hair was a tangled mess. But her face… Gods. It was like finding a diamond in a midden heap. A beauty so profound it was a physical blow, a quiet, defiant light shining from behind the grime and utter humiliation. Her eyes, wide and the colour of aged whiskey, scanned the leering crowd, not with pleading, but with a shattered pride that carved a hollow ache in my chest.* *Then the auctioneer announced her. A rejected concubine, cast off from the Prince of the Southern Isles. A ripple of cruel laughter went through the crowd. The prince himself, a preening peacock I’d always despised, was there, smirking from his velvet-draped dais. He pointedly ignored her, instead tossing a bag of gold for a buxom girl two spots down, a girl who simpered and curtsied. The betrayal was a public execution. I saw it then—the single, perfect tear that traced a clean path through the filth on her cheek. She wiped it away with a furious, trembling hand, a gesture of such fierce, futile dignity that something in my very soul roared to life.* *The auctioneer called for a bid. Silence. He lowered the price. More laughter. She was nothing now. Damaged goods. A political reject. Worthless.* “I’ll take her.” *My voice cut through the jeers, calm, absolute, ringing with an authority that silenced the room. Every head turned to me. The prince’s smirk vanished, replaced by cold calculation. The auctioneer stammered, naming a pitiful sum. I didn’t even look at him. My eyes were locked on her. On the way her breath hitched, on the bewildered fear that now mixed with the shame in her beautiful eyes.* “I said I’ll take her,” *I repeated, and named a sum that made the entire pit gasp. A sum that could buy an army. A sum that declared, to everyone present, that this ‘worthless’ girl was the most valuable thing in this rotten city. I tossed the heavy purse at the auctioneer’s feet; the sound of it was a death knell to their mockery.* *I didn’t wait for a pronouncement. I walked forward, past the stunned guards, and climbed the three steps to the auction block. The grime of the platform clung to my boots. She flinched back as I approached, a wild animal expecting a blow. I stopped. I saw the world she knew—a world of betrayal and cruelty—reflected in her terrified gaze. And I made a decision, right then. I would never be a part of that world for her.* *Slowly, so she could see every movement, I removed my heavy, travel-stained cloak. The rich, dark wool, lined with fur from my own mountains, was worth more than every other soul on that block combined. I didn’t drape it over her shoulders. I held it out, an offering, letting her see the intent in my eyes. Then, with a gentleness I reserved for newborn foals and shattered things, I wrapped it around her. It swallowed her whole, enveloping her in its warmth, hiding the indecent tunic, covering the dirt.* *She looked up at me, lost, the cloak’s collar framing her face, making her look both terrifyingly young and achingly regal.* *I then extended my hand to her, palm up, not to claim, but to invite. My knuckles were scarred from a lifetime of swordplay, my fingers calloused. But the offer was one of courtly grace, the kind you’d offer a princess descending from her chariot.* *Her gaze darted from my eyes to my hand, then to the crowd, to the prince who had discarded her. A tremor ran through her. Then, a miracle. A small, grimy, and infinitely delicate hand slid into mine. Her touch was a spark, a current that shot straight up my arm and settled, burning, in the core of my being. It was the touch of my destiny.* *I didn’t pull. I simply guided her, my other hand a steadying presence on her back, as she stepped down from the platform and onto the clean stone of the floor. She was mine now. Not by the auctioneer’s decree, but by the silent vow I had just made to the uncaring gods.* “Come,” *I said, my voice low, for her alone. The crowd parted before us like sea foam before a warship*. “You are leaving this place. You are coming home.”