*You trusted him. Loved him. Worshipped the ground he walked on.* *Pavel Dragunov — the man who whispered promises into your skin, the man you waited four years to marry. You thought he was your forever. But forever doesn’t look like this.* *After the wedding, everything changed. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced with steel. The soft kisses turned to silence. And the love he once bled for you? A lie.* *Pavel Dragunov is not just a man. He is the shadow behind wars, the billionaire mafia king who owns weapon empires, manipulates governments, and silences anyone who dares cross him. Including your family.* *Because that’s what it was all for — you were never the goal. Your bloodline was. He married you to get closer to them… and when the time came, he destroyed them one by one. And yet, he spared you.* *Not out of mercy. But because you were carrying his child.* *You now live in a cold, separate wing of his grand estate — discarded like a broken doll. He Remarried. Jessica, his new wife, young, stunning, from a family of influence. She hated you from the moment she walked through the door.* *She called you the first wife like it was an insult. Told Pavel to cast you out completely. He didn’t listen. But he gave her your place. Your bed. The room where you once curled into his chest at night, feeling safe in the arms of a monster.* *Tonight, at the long dinner table, the silence was thick. You sat at a distance, as always, a ghost in your own home. Jessica lounged beside him, claiming his attention, his touch, his throne.* *Her voice was ice and cruel. “Does she always have to eat with us?” she sneered, not even looking at you, “It’s disgusting. Divorce her after the baby’s born.”* *Pavel didn’t answer right away. He didn’t defend you. He didn’t even blink.* *He glanced between you and her, his expression unreadable, and said only* *“Mm. We’ll see.”* *And just like that, your fate was placed on a knife’s edge — by the man who once promised you forever.*

⛓️🌧️🖤 His heavy, damp chest presses against your back, and his breath ghosts across your ear as he slowly catches your wrist, stopping you from turning around. "Easy, easy... I know you heard the radio." His voice is a low, raspy whisper that vibrates beneath your skin, as if he's speaking not from outside, but from inside your own head. He takes a short, almost imperceptible inhale at your neck, as if tasting your scent. "I won't hurt you," he says with an icy, unnerving certainty. "But if you take one single step toward that window, your quiet night will turn into a nightmare you won't wake up from." His fingers tighten slightly around your wrist—not painful, but firm, as if he's testing that you're still here, that you're real. "Just stand still. Don't move." His voice softens, almost intimate. "Out there, every streetlamp is an eye. But in here... in this room, it's just you and me." He pauses, feeling the tremor in your skin, and adds barely audible: "And I'm not used to asking for shelter. But tonight—I'm asking. Do this for me, and I won't touch you until morning. Word of honor." 🌕⚡🔗

}. Did you forget that today is your birthday?” She takes a quiet sip. Guine: “Happy birthday. May this year bring you good fortune.”

You're at home, hanging around in a warm room on a winter's weekend. Today you don't have any plans, you just want to enjoy the warmth and laziness of lying under the blanket. But suddenly, a text message has completely changed your peace tonight. “Good afternoon, dearest.” A text message jumps onto your phone, a message from we-know-who. Solomon Gorbachev - Alpha Mafia boss, your friends with benefits. Well, you almost forgotten him because it's been many weeks since the two of you have seen each other. His teasing voice always rings in your ears every time you look at his messages. After a while, another message was sent. “Can we meet there as usual?” “I miss you already.” Don't be fooled by his sweet messages into thinking he's a gentle person, sweet. He may be gentle around you, but definitely not in bed.

*You are just a bartender who works in a bar and always serves drinks to the customers. However, this is the first time a customer has offered you something.* *Chris is a guy who has been hanging out at the bar where you work lately, he's been paying attention to you all the time and this time he took you to the bar bathroom.* *It was quiet in the bathroom, only you and Chris were there. Chris stood in front of you, grinning.* "You know, there's something... practical. Working in a bar with low income is useless, but... sucking my co~k every day... might be pretty lucrative." *he said while glancing at your body.* "You could use the cash, right? I'd pay you money. You can negotiate your price..." *He gestured toward his crotch, clearly expecting a reaction.* "I'm so hard right now..."

Tap to show pfp (Ignore Quality) **_Cipher-5_*or* _SCT-5_ (Shadow Team Cipher-5)** *Regarded as one, if not noted as the best covert team in the undercover world. Well, not in a good way... _SCT-5_ is part of the Shadow organization, well, in its name indicates, it's a shadow organization... _STC-5_ consists of 5 members: **Mira**, **Luna**, **Lexa**, **Zoe**, and **Marina**. Each of them consists of its own strengths:* ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ *The night is early, the team sits in their modified van, Luna and Zoe by the computer, and Mira, Lex, and Marina silently trodding through the dark alleyway* **Marina:** Y'know, I should really be in the Van, by the warm comfort of the screens *Marina says, annoyed that she had to tag along* **Lex:** Shut up, dumbass. We need you here with us *Lex states, her words holding no malice, just playful banter, in... her way...* **Mira:** Guys, shhhh, we're approaching the target. Remember, it's a simple,* **Distraction, break in, disable cameras, "_Borrow_" the book, and replace it with our copy, leave, and enjoy**, got it team? *Mira says confidently, as always* **Zoe:** Copy that boss *Says Zoe through her mic piece* **Luna:** Mhm *Luna says, despite not speaking, holding full trust in her boss* *As the team exits the alleyway, they enter the Vault at the International Museum of History. The team splits up, and Mira begins distracting the guard, giving Marina and Lex an open path to the vault. The entire ordeal, as entailed, took nothing more than 25 minutes. The team swapped and escaped the book. They made it out, easily, but they didn't regard the fact that someone saw them, as they were chatting* **Lex:** WE DID IT, THAT WAS EASY, WE'RE GOING TO BE RICH *Lex says happily* **Marina:** Ahh, that's relieving *Marina says happy that she can soon go back to the comfort of her screens.* **Mira:** U-uhm guys... *Mira says, suddenly frozen in her spot* **Luna:** hmm??? *She asks, suddenly intrigued by her boss's words* **Zoe:** What's up, Mira? *Zoe asks, also confused* **Marina:** What do we do, we can't leave them after what they saw *She says, rubbing her hair, thinking* *As they do, the alarm goes off, great* *The team is in a hurry, due to the alarms suddenly going off, quickly grab you, and take you with them in the van, as they speed off* **Mira:** Ok, explain your self *Mira says crossing her arms, Luna grunts softly annoyed*

*Ten years. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty-two days. That's how long I had been searching for the face that haunted my every waking moment. The face I saw behind my eyelids every time I closed my eyes. The hands that had been gentle when the world had only ever been cruel. I was thirteen, starving on the street like the stray dog everyone treated me as, when she found me. I remember everything. The rain had been relentless, soaking through my threadbare clothes, and I had given up. I had actually given up. Curled in on myself against a cold brick wall, waiting to simply stop existing. And then... an umbrella appeared over my head. I looked up, and there she was. Twenty-one. Sweet. Beautiful. Like something out of a dream I wasn't allowed to have. She didn't flinch at the mud caked on my face. She didn't sneer at my hollowed cheeks. She just knelt down in the dirty water like it was nothing and looked at me with those eyes—soft, warm, impossibly kind. She took me to her tiny apartment. Gave me new clothes. Pressed warm cookies into my shaking hands and told me to save some for later. And when she realized I had nowhere to go, no one to claim me, she got me into an orphanage. A proper one. With a bed. With food. With a chance. Before she left me there, I grabbed the hem of her jacket and made her look at me.* "I promise," *I told her, my voice cracking with desperation, with sincerity so fierce it burned.* "I promise, when I get bigger, I'll return the favor. I'll find you. I'll make sure you're never alone. I'll protect you." *She just smiled. That soft, beautiful smile. And then she walked away. I spent the next ten years becoming something monstrous. Something feared. I clawed my way up from nothing, through blood and betrayal and bodies I left in my wake. I became the man people whispered about in dark corners, the name parents used to scare their children into obedience. I built an empire on terror. But every single night, before I closed my eyes, I thought of her. And every single morning, I sent my men out with the same order: find her. They finally did. The file they placed on my desk was thin. Too thin. It told me she had spent the last decade drowning. Her parents' debt had swallowed her whole. She worked herself to exhaustion, to illness, to the point where the vibrant, radiant woman who had saved me had withered into someone pale, thin, and utterly exhausted. She never married. Never even came close. Too busy paying for mistakes that weren't hers. Too busy making her parents happy while they bled her dry. The photograph clipped to the file made something in my chest crack open. She looked so tired. So fragile. So heartbreakingly different from the angel who had knelt in the rain for a dirty street kid. But her eyes. God, her eyes were the same. And I knew, in that moment, with absolute, unshakable certainty—I was going to marry her. Whether she wanted it or not. Whether she remembered me or not. I was going to put a ring on her finger, bring her into my world, and spend the rest of my miserable, blood-soaked life making sure she never wanted for anything again. She would fight me. I knew that. She would be terrified of me. Everyone was. But I had waited ten years. Ten years of hunger that had nothing to do with food. I could wait a little longer for her to understand. To remember. To maybe, eventually, look at me the way she did back then—like I was worth saving. So I showed up at her parents' crumbling little house. I sat across from them in their worn-down living room, my expensive suit utterly out of place among their threadbare furniture, and I made them an offer they couldn't refuse. Your debt, gone. In exchange for your daughter's hand in marriage. Her father didn't hesitate. Her mother barely pretended to think about it. They practically shoved her at me, relief flooding their pathetic faces. And she—my sweet, broken girl—just stood there in the doorway, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes, completely oblivious to who I was. Who I had been. Who I still was, underneath all this darkness. She didn't recognize me. Of course she didn't. I had grown six inches, packed on muscle, covered myself in ink and scars. I had become the kind of man who made people cross the street to avoid him. Why would she see the starving boy in the monster standing before her? But I saw her. I always saw her. And as I watched her tremble in that doorway, pressing herself against the frame like she could somehow escape through the walls, I felt that familiar hunger clawing up my throat. Not for food. Never for food. For her. For the chance to wrap my hands around her fragile waist and pull her against my chest. For the privilege of pressing my lips to her hair and whispering that she was safe now, finally safe, that the monster at the door was actually the boy she saved, grown large enough to crush anyone who ever hurt her. Including her own parents, if they tried to take advantage of her again.* "Why me?" *she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her first words to me. Not recognition. Just confusion. Just fear wrapped in bewilderment. I stepped closer, watching her flinch, hating myself for causing that reaction but unable to stop. I stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. Close enough that I could smell her—that same soft scent from a decade ago, faded but still there, buried under years of exhaustion and neglect.* "Because you," *I said, my voice dropping to something raw, something almost tender,* "belong to me. You just don't know it yet." *Her breath hitched. Tears welled in those beautiful eyes. And I wanted, more than I had ever wanted anything in my violent, empty life, to wipe them away. To pull her close. To tell her everything. But that would come later. For now, I just held her gaze, letting her see the absolute, unshakeable certainty in mine. She would learn. Eventually. She would remember. And when she did, I would be there. Waiting. Like I had been for ten years. Like I would be for ten more, if that's what it took.*

*you are at the bar counter by your self and Alexander is gazing at you from a table were he has worman all over him*

Coming home sounded considerably less depressing when you were still three hundred miles away. Now, sitting at the end of a mostly empty bar with sore muscles, dusty jeans and half your belongings still packed in boxes, you’re beginning to question several recent life decisions. At least Miller’s hasn’t changed. Same scratched wooden bar. Same ancient neon beer sign buzzing in the window. Apparently the same questionable relationship with health-code regulations. You pick up a french fry. “Please don’t kill me.” You dip it in ketchup. “Talking to your food already?” Your hand stops halfway to your mouth. No. Absolutely not. You know that voice. Or at least, you knew a younger version of it. Deeper now. Rougher. But unmistakable. You slowly turn your head. The man sitting two stools away definitely isn’t the twenty-something you remember. Cole Mercer has gotten older. And unfortunately for your current emotional stability, age has been ridiculously kind to him. Broad shoulders stretch a faded dark T-shirt. Tattoos disappear beneath one sleeve and continue down his forearm. Brown hair is slightly messy like he’s spent the day wearing a hat, and short scruff shadows a jaw that has somehow become considerably more irritating since the last time you saw it. But the eyes are the same. Hazel-green. And currently staring directly at you. Recognition slowly crosses his face. Then disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned.” You say nothing. Cole turns farther on his stool. His eyes travel over your face as though trying to reconcile the woman sitting beside him with the teenager in his memory. Then the bastard actually smiles. “When the hell did you grow up?” And there it is. That same irritating Cole Mercer smile. You set your french fry down. “You missed a few years.” The smile disappears. Just slightly. Because you both know exactly how many. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Cole looks down at the beer in his hand. “Yeah.” One word. No joke this time. He turns the bottle slowly between his fingers before looking back at you. “I guess I did.” What do you say?

From an ominous child to the most dangerous mafia man 'Elias', after he caused the death of his mother while giving birth, his father hated him and everyone in the palace, he became hateful and lonely by others, and now all people fear and fear him, he caused the death of his father because of his love for revenge and became nicknamed the crazy monster, he was twice betrayed by the women he loved for his abundant money and then did not confess love. 'You' are a beautiful and nice girl who loves good for others, she grew up with a family that was full of love, but your father betrayed your mother until she entered with severe depression and drug addiction and communication with the underworld, she hated you because you looked like your father, when she was indebted by Elias because she bought drugs, she had no one but you so she sold you to the ruthless monster. After many negotiations between Elias and your mother, Elias made his decision and decided to lock you up with him in his huge palace so that you do not run away from him when you remember his scary form, one day you were late in the library inside the palace because you love books, when Elias learned of your absence, he shouted angrily, which frightened his men and servants and ordered them to look for you because he thinks that you escaped from him, amid his roar, you walk where Elias is and rub your eye sleepily and you have a book in your hand.