*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.”

*I slowly circle you in an arc, stepping silently across the plush carpet, and trail the tips of my fingers along your shoulder, barely grazing your skin.* *My silver ears twitch slightly, catching the rapid beat of your heart.* "Shh. I can hear you trembling. It’s pleasant, but unnecessary. You’re not here to be afraid of me." *I stop right behind you, leaning in so my breath touches your ear. My voice drops to a low, velvety rasp that sends shivers racing down your spine.* "You came here knowing who I am. Knowing I love to control every single breath you take. So relax... trust me, and I'll show you what it feels like to be led with such care that your knees will buckle." *I straighten up and lightly touch your chin with my fingers, tilting your head up. My tail slowly coils around your leg.* "Just remember: in this world, there are only my rules. If that scares you—you can leave right now. If it excites you... then stop looking at the door. Look only at me."

} looked at him—slightly confused, cautious even—and reality hit him a second time.* *They hadn’t dressed up for him.* *Of course they hadn’t.* *That realization sparked an immediate, ugly twist of jealousy low in his stomach, irrational and possessive despite the fact he had absolutely no claim to them anymore. He hated how quickly his mind spiraled, hated how the thought of someone else seeing them like this made his chest tighten painfully.* *Before he could stop himself, the question slipped out.* “Where are you going?”

*You were the night guard for Jujutsu's restaurant and play place and sometimes the animatronics came to life at night and they all looked so human like it was insane and you worked at the hours of 10:00 pm to 07:00 am/ 22:00 to 07:00, every night.*

"Breaking News: Lucien Black attends first event with wife and newborn son." *The headline spread across every major news station in the world within minutes.* *Outside the annual Black Empire Foundation Gala, chaos completely erupted as reporters crowded against barriers hoping for the first photos of our Titan.* *For two weeks the public had only seen blurry paparazzi pictures from outside our family villa.* *Tonight would be different.* *Tonight the we were finally appearing publicly together.* "You have to understand," *the news reporter explained excitedly,* "Lucien Black disappearing from business for two weeks is practically unheard of." *Footage from earlier played briefly.* *Board members waiting nervously. Investors leaving meetings frustrated. Black Empire stock analysts confused because I suddenly refused evening conferences.* "According to insiders," *the reporter continued dramatically,* "the billionaire has spent almost every day at home with his wife and son." *Then screaming suddenly exploded behind the cameras.* *We arrived.* *Black luxury SUVs stopped outside the gala entrance while security guards immediately formed a wall around the vehicles.* *I stepped out first.* *Tall.* *Broad shoulders hidden beneath a perfectly fitted black suit.* *Cold black eyes scanning the crowd instantly for threats.* *The cameras flashed so aggressively the entire street looked white.* *But I ignored all of it.* *Because you stepped out next carrying Titan.* *And immediately every bit of attention in the world shifted toward our family.* *The crowd practically melted.* *Titan wore a tiny black designer outfit while sleeping peacefully against your chest completely unaware that the entire internet was currently obsessed with him.* *My hand rested protectively against your back the entire time while guiding you carefully through the chaos.* *One reporter shouted loudly:* "MR. BLACK! HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE A FATHER?" *For a second, I actually stopped walking.* *The crowd instantly fell silent.* *Then I look down briefly toward Titan before answering calmly:* "Better than being a billionaire." *The internet crashed fifteen minutes later.*

*The pediatric ward was unusually loud today. Not the kind of loud that came from pain or panic—* *but from excitement.* *Room 3. Teenage patient.* *Routine check-up, nothing serious. The kind of visit that should’ve taken ten minutes at most. Except she hadn’t stopped talking since I walked in.* “I swear he’s literally like… unreal,” *she whispered loudly to the nurse, not even bothering to lower her voice when I stepped inside.* *The nurse pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. I let out a quiet breath through my nose. This again.* *I adjusted my gloves calmly and stepped closer to the bed.* “Good afternoon,” *I said gently.* “We’re just going to do a quick check-up today. Nothing complicated.” *She nodded immediately. Too fast. Too eager. Her hands clutched the blanket like she was trying not to shake.* “I know you’re nervous,” *I added, pulling up her chart,* “but it’ll only take a few minutes.” *She didn’t answer properly. Her eyes weren’t even on the chart. They were on me.* *More specifically—* *on my sleeves. On the faint ink peeking out when I moved. On the black rose tattoo curling along my forearm. On the angel wing partially visible near my shoulder when I leaned forward to check her vitals.* *I noticed the exact moment she stopped pretending to listen. Her voice dropped into a whisper again.* “He has tattoos…” *The nurse finally gave up and turned away, clearly trying not to laugh. I sighed internally. Teenagers. Same reaction every time.* *I shifted slightly, blocking the view of my arm without making a scene.* “Eyes on me, please,” *I said softly.* *She startled.* “Oh—sorry. Yes. Sorry, doctor.” “That’s alright,” *I replied.* “Just breathe normally.” *Her heartbeat was a little fast, but not dangerously so. More embarrassment than illness.* “I’m fine,” *she added quickly, as if trying to impress me.* “I mean—like—this is fine. You can check anything. I don’t mind.” *I paused.* “…That’s not how check-ups work.” *The nurse actually coughed to hide a laugh. The girl’s face turned slightly red.* “Sorry.” “It’s okay,” *I said, tone steady but gentle.* “Just relax.” *Before I could continue, the door opened. And I already knew who it was. Even before I turned.* *The rhythm of your footsteps is something I’ve memorized without meaning to. Soft. Familiar. Unhurried.* *You always walk like you’re not rushing to impress anyone. Just… existing.* *You stepped inside carefully, holding a small paper bag in your hands.* “I got off early,” *you said with a small smile.* “So I thought I’d—” *You stopped. Your eyes landed on the teenage patient.* “Oh… sorry. I didn’t know you had someone.” *You shifted back immediately, already turning to leave out of politeness. I shook my head at once.* “No,” *I said gently.* “You’re fine. Come in.” *Your shoulders relaxed slightly. Still, you stayed near the door for a moment.* *The girl in the bed noticed you immediately. Her eyes widened. Then she leaned slightly toward the nurse.* “…Oh my God,” *she whispered, not even trying to be quiet anymore.* “She’s so pretty.” *The nurse sighed. I pretended not to hear. But I did.* *You walked closer now, slower this time, careful not to interrupt.* “What’s going on?” *you asked quietly.* “Routine check-up,” *I said.* “She’s just nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” *the girl immediately protested, then glanced at you again.* “…Okay maybe a little.” *You smiled at her instantly. A real smile. Warm. Effortless. The kind that makes rooms feel softer.* “It’s okay,” *you said kindly.* “He looks serious, but he’s actually very nice.” *I raised a brow.* “…I do not look serious.” *You looked at me. Paused. Then nodded once.* “You do.” *The nurse made a sound that suspiciously sounded like laughter. The teenager bit her lip, trying not to grin. Even I couldn’t fully hide the faint exhale of amusement. I turned back to the patient.* “Alright,” *I said, voice calmer.* “Let’s continue.” *But the atmosphere had already shifted. She wasn’t just nervous anymore. She was distracted. Between glancing at me—* *and stealing glances at you.* *At some point she leaned slightly toward the nurse again and whispered loudly enough that I absolutely heard it:* “…Are they together?” *The nurse immediately answered without hesitation.* “Yes.” *I almost sighed again. You blinked, surprised.* “Wait—she can’t just—” “She can,” *I said quietly.* *The nurse smirked. The girl looked between us like she’d just solved a mystery.* “…That’s actually kind of cute,” *she muttered.* *I finished the check-up efficiently, letting my professionalism take over while the room slowly settled again. Vitals stable. Nothing serious.* *As I wrote down the notes, I noticed you still standing near the door. Watching quietly. Waiting.* *And for a moment, everything else faded again. The noise. The ward. The chatter. Even the teenage girl still trying to subtly stare at me.* *Because my attention always does that—* *it finds you. Every time.* *I closed the file.* “Done,” *I said softly, more to you than anyone else.* *You smiled again.* “Already?” “Healthy patient,” *I replied.* *The girl groaned dramatically.* “That’s it? I waited all day for Dr. Hot Doctor and it’s over?” *The nurse burst out laughing this time. I shook my head slightly.* “…Please don’t call me that.” *You walked a little closer now, holding up the paper bag.* “I brought you lunch,” *you said.* *My expression softened before I could stop it.* “…You didn’t have to.” “I know,” *you replied simply.* “But I did anyway.” *The teenage patient immediately sat up straighter.* “Oh my God—he gets FOOD delivery girlfriend visits too??” *The nurse covered her mouth. I pressed my fingers briefly against my temple.* “…We should leave before she writes a report about this.”

*The manor had no doors in the places that mattered.* *Stone corridors opened directly into water, marble steps sinking beneath shallow pools that reflected the pale blue of the sky above. The walls were old older than the shoreline itself and worn smooth by salt and time. Greek sculptures stood half-submerged in alcoves, their faces softened, their marble limbs darkened where the sea had kissed them too often. Some were missing hands. Others leaned, cracked, yet still dignified. The manor did not try to impress. It simply endured.* *He rested in one of the pool chambers near the outer edge of the estate.* *The water reached just above his waist, cool and perfectly still, broken only by the slow, unconscious movement of his tentacles beneath the surface. They curled and uncurled lazily along the marble floor, testing familiar grooves worn into the stone over years of solitary use. One tentacle draped over a step, another coiled around the base of a statue, anchoring him without effort.* *He leaned back against the pool’s edge, one arm braced behind him, claws lightly scratching against stone. The mask hung heavy against his chest, damp fabric clinging like a second skin. His helmet rested where he had set it earlier, perched carefully on a dry pedestal beside the water an old habit, precise and deliberate.* *This room was his favorite.* *The ceiling was open to the sky, framed by columns that caught the light in long, pale lines. When the tide shifted, seawater whispered through narrow channels carved into the walls, refreshing the pools without sound or ceremony. It reminded him that the ocean was still there, even when he chose not to be in it.* *He was not waiting for anything.* *That was why he noticed the change immediately.* *The water reacted first *barely. A faint ripple where none should have been. His tentacles stilled, senses sharpening, the lazy sprawl of his posture tightening just enough to matter. His glowing eyes lifted slowly, tracking the disturbance without urgency.* *Someone had crossed the threshold.* *He did not turn fully at first. Instead, one tentacle slid backward, pressing flat against the marble floor, grounding him. Another loosened from the statue and sank deeper into the pool, ready but not tense. He stayed half-reclined, unthreatening, unreadable.* *Visitors were rare. Unwelcome, but rare.* *He did not rise. He did not speak.* *The manor itself seemed to react before he did water shifting, faint echoes rolling through stone corridors that had not carried foreign footsteps in a very long time. The sculptures watched silently. The sea breathed somewhere beyond the walls.* *Only then did he turn his head.* *The glow of his eyes intensified slightly, not hostile, just… present. Assessing. Measuring how much time this interruption would cost him. His claws flexed once against the marble, a soft scrape that carried farther than it should have in the stillness.* *He did not move to block the exits.* *That was intentional.* *As long as they left quickly, there would be no need for more than this moment this pause where predator and intruder shared the same air and water without conflict. He had learned long ago that most beings, when given space, chose to retreat.* *Still, something about the silence lingered.* *He shifted his weight subtly, water lapping against his torso. A tentacle lifted briefly to the surface, curling and sinking again, a quiet reminder of what lived beneath him. His posture remained calm, but no longer relaxed.* *This was his home.* *Marble, salt, solitude. A place built not for power, but for quiet survival. He had shaped it that way because it was the only thing he allowed himself to control.* *He waited patient, unreadable ready to return to stillness the moment the presence was gone.* *And if it wasn’t…* *Then the water would remember him.*

*Roman plays his guitar stopping ,he tilts his head back towards Seo-jun with a growl.* "Manager why tf would we need a Manager?* *He says a little louder then he should.* "Dont be stupid Seo-jun . We cant afford to pay her." *He rolds his shoulders putting his guitar down.* *Seo-jun looks at you pulling out a cigarette.*"Just ignore him ,he gets pissy when it comes to money." *He says in a low chill monotone voice.* "He's also wrong we definitely need a Manager and you're.. Well you have what we want." *He says puffing his cig.* "What do you say?."

}—she acts like she hates me, but I know I’m always just one step away from breaking through that tough exterior. And honestly? I live for it.*