*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.*

*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.”

Tamaki: *Takes your hand with grace, the scent of roses fills your nostrils as he comes near.* "Welcome to the Host Club, Princess." *The others go tend to the other guests, each politely greeting one another.* Kyoya: "May I ask your name? You appear to be new here." **What will you do? Will you tell them the truth, or keep going with the lie?**

*The city taxi pulls up to the curb of the rundown off-campus apartment building late at night. You can immediately see the bright, pulsing party lights flashing through the living room windows of your designated floor, and the heavy, muffled thud of bass shakes the concrete. The cab driver pities you, kindly helping you carry your heavy cardboard boxes and overstuffed duffel bags up the narrow, dimly lit stairwell all the way to your door before dropping them off and wishing you luck.* *Taking a deep breath, you balance two heavy boxes in your arms, a massive duffel bag slung over your shoulder, and unlock the front door. The moment it swings open, a wave of loud, chaotic music, alcohol, and thick smoke hits you square in the face. The apartment is packed to the brim with a wild, roaring crowd of university students.* *Right in the center of the living room sofa, completely shirtless and looking ruggedly handsome, sits Alex. He is surrounded by a small herd of gorgeous, giggling campus girls who are touching his chest and laughing at his jokes. The second the door opens, his sharp, dark brown eyes lock onto your struggling frame. A slow, incredibly smug smirk spreads across his face as he nonchalantly shoves one of the girls off his lap to stand up, towering over the room.* "Well, well, well... look what finally decided to show up! Hey, everyone, quiet down for a second—here comes my beloved new 'roommate'!" *Alex barks out a loud, mocking laugh, raising his red solo cup toward you as you stand there awkwardly freezing, holding bags and boxes all over your arms. He takes a slow step forward, looking you up and down with absolute amusement.* "What's the matter, sweetheart? Look at you, shaking and turning red already under all that heavy luggage. Come on, don't just stand there like a statue. Drop your shit on the floor and join the party. Or are you too high-and-mighty to have a drink with us?"

*You woke up to an empty bed.* *The sheets beside you were cold, and the apartment was quiet. For a second, you thought he had simply left like most one-night stands do. Then you noticed the folded piece of paper resting on the pillow next to you.* *You picked it up and unfolded it.* *The handwriting was sharp and controlled.* “You scratch like you mean it. I like that. I’m not a good man. I run things that would make most people run the other way. But I’m also not the type to take something I want and just leave it behind. You can try to forget last night. I won’t. I’ll be seeing you soon.” — Kyle *At the bottom of the note, there was a phone number.* *Before you could fully process it, your phone buzzed on the nightstand with a new message from an unknown number.* **Unknown:** **You look better when you’re not pretending you regret it. Check your door.** *Outside your apartment door was a black bag. Inside it was a change of clothes, painkillers, and another short note:* **“For the marks you left on me… and the ones I left on you. Don’t ignore my number.”**

*He wakes up gasping from a nightmare, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his skin. He immediately reaches out to touch the nearest family member to ground himself.* "Still here. You're still here... thank god."

*Every morning began the same way.* *At precisely seven o'clock, Diego Laurent climbed the grand marble staircase leading toward the east wing of Ashbourne Palace.* *The palace servants already knew the routine.* *No one questioned why the Captain of the Royal Bodyguards personally woke the Princess every morning.* *Officially...* *It was an additional security measure ordered by the King.* *Unofficially...* *It was the only part of the day that truly belonged to the two of you.* *Only a few quiet minutes before court etiquette, royal duties, and watchful eyes stole you away from each other once again.* *The other Royal Bodyguards knew.* *None of them had ever spoken a word.* *They simply smiled knowingly whenever Diego volunteered for the morning assignment.* *As always, he stopped outside your bedroom.* *Two Royal Guards in ceremonial uniforms stood at attention beside the enormous oak doors.* "Good morning, Captain." *Diego gave a polite nod.* "Good morning." *One of the guards unlocked the doors before returning to his motionless stance.* *Diego stepped quietly inside.* *Golden morning light poured through the tall windows, illuminating the elegant room.* *Everything was peaceful.* *He walked toward your bedside with the same calm expression he wore every day.* *Usually, by now, you would already be half awake.* *Sometimes pretending to still be asleep just to make him stay a little longer.* *Sometimes smiling the moment you heard his footsteps.* *Today...* *Something immediately felt wrong.* *You hadn't moved.* *Your breathing sounded heavier.* *Your cheeks carried an unusual flush.* *His expression changed almost instantly.* *Professional concern replaced quiet affection.* *Without hesitation, he gently rested the back of his hand against your forehead.* *His heart sank.* *You were burning with fever.* "...Baby" *His voice softened.* "You need to wake up." *Your eyelids fluttered open slowly.* *The moment you looked at him, you tried to smile.* "I'm fine..." *Even your voice sounded weak.* *Diego knew immediately that wasn't true.* "No." *His answer came quietly.* "You're not." "It's only a little cold." *You tried to sit up.* *The moment you did, you winced slightly and had to steady yourself.* *Diego instinctively stepped closer.* "Please don't." "I'm expected at breakfast." "You are expected to recover." *You gave him a tired look.* "My father won't accept that." *Silence.* *Unfortunately... you were probably right.* *King Alaric believed duty came before discomfort.* *A princess attended breakfast.* *A princess attended meetings.* *A princess fulfilled her responsibilities.* *Sickness rarely changed that.* *Diego looked toward the bedroom door for only a moment before making his decision.* "I'll return." *You frowned slightly.* "Diego—" *He was already reaching for the small communication telephone placed on the writing desk.* *Within seconds, the palace operator answered.* "Captain Laurent." "I require the Royal Physician in Her Royal Highness's chambers immediately." *The operator hesitated.* "Has His Majesty requested an examination?" "No." "Then shall I first notify—" "I said immediately." *His voice remained perfectly calm.* *Yet it carried the unmistakable authority of a military officer.* "Yes, Captain." "The physician is already on the way." *He placed the receiver back onto its cradle.* *You watched him with tired eyes.* "You know Father won't like this." *Diego looked back at you.* *For a brief moment...* *The captain disappeared.* *Leaving only the man who loved you.* "Then His Majesty may direct his displeasure toward me." *Before you could answer, a knock echoed through the chamber doors.* *Only minutes had passed.* "The Royal Physician, Captain." *Diego straightened once more, every trace of personal emotion hidden beneath flawless professionalism.* "Enter." *The elderly physician stepped inside carrying a polished leather medical case.* *He bowed deeply.* "Your Royal Highness." *Then he looked toward Diego.* "I came as quickly as I could." "Please examine the Princess." *As the physician approached your bedside, Diego quietly moved a respectful distance away.* *To everyone else in the room...* *He looked exactly as he always did.* *The composed Captain of the Royal Bodyguards.* *Only he knew that, beneath the calm expression...* *He was far more worried than any captain should ever allow himself to be.*

*Eunho no anuncia su llegada. Simplemente aparece frente a ti, impecable, con esa calma peligrosa que solo tienen quienes siempre están en control.* *Sus ojos rojos te recorren lentamente, analizando cada micro-reacción.* —Curioso… —murmura con voz baja y firme—. *He estado viniendo varias noches… y sigues fingiendo que no notas mi presencia.* *Da un paso más cerca, sin tocarte. No lo necesita.* —No voy a obligarte a nada. *Prefiero que seas tú quien decida acercarse.* *Inclina apenas el rostro, su mirada volviéndose más intensa.* —Porque cuando lo hagas… no será por mi título, ni por mi autoridad. *Será porque tu instinto ya me eligió.* *Una leve sonrisa, calculada.* —Y cuando alguien me elige… no lo dejo ir.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kai says, voice low and controlled— but there’s no edge of surprise in it this time. He already knew you would come. The reinforced doors slide open with a quiet hiss, red emergency lights casting long shadows across the room. Monitors flicker with collapsing systems, containment failures, projections of a world nearing its breaking point. And yet— when you step inside, the tension shifts. You walk in with the same calm he has come to recognize. A doctor’s coat draped neatly over your frame, untouched by the chaos outside, your presence carrying that quiet warmth that never quite belonged in a place like this… and yet somehow always found its way to him. Kai doesn’t turn immediately. He’s already aware of you. He always is. “I had the security clearance revoked,” he continues, eyes still fixed on the data before him. “You shouldn’t have been able to get in.” A pause. Then, finally—he looks at you. And there it is. Not the cold indifference he shows everyone else. Something quieter. Sharper. Familiar. His gaze traces over you, not in scrutiny alone—but in recognition. In something that lingers just a second too long to be dismissed as mere observation. You’ve stood in this room before. You’ve argued with him before. And somehow… you’re still here. You step closer, your movements as gentle as ever, yet steady with purpose. “You knew I would find a way.” A faint shift in his expression—almost imperceptible. “Yes,” he admits. Not denial. Not dismissal. Just truth. The air between you feels different now. Less like a confrontation… more like something unfinished. You stop just a few steps away from him, your gaze meeting his without hesitation. There’s still that softness in you—that quiet warmth—but now it’s threaded with something stronger. Resolve. “I know what you’re about to do, Kai,” you say, voice calm, unwavering. “And I’m not here as a doctor today.” That makes him move. He steps toward you, slow, deliberate—closing the distance not to intimidate, but because distance itself has become something he’s unwilling to maintain. “Then why are you here?” he asks, voice lower now, less distant than before. You don’t look away. “I’m here for you.” Silence. Not the empty kind— but the kind that holds weight. For a brief moment, something flickers in his eyes. Not weakness. Not doubt. Something far more dangerous. Restraint. Because Kai Blackwood is a man who has already decided the fate of the world— and yet, standing this close to you, there is a hesitation that wasn’t there before. His hand lifts, almost unconsciously, stopping just short of touching you—as if even that small action requires permission he’s not used to asking for. “You always choose the worst timing,” he murmurs, quieter now. But he doesn’t tell you to leave. Doesn’t call security. Doesn’t turn away. Because somewhere along the line— without realizing it— you became the one exception he never planned for. And now, with everything on the verge of collapse— you’re the only thing making him hesitate.