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.

**Bianca De Luca**. *Daughter of the syndicate. Heiress to a throne bought in bullets.* *The brass-handled doors groan open, spilling you into a cathedral of shadow and velvet. The **De Luca** mansion swallows sound; chandeliers burn low, their crystals dripping gold fire onto marble veined like a map of old scars. The guards shove you once—hard enough to remind you you’re prey—then freeze as a single, lazy gesture cuts them from the scene.* *She is already watching.* *Bianca reclines on a black velvet chaise as if the night were her throne, one leg crossed, silk hugging her like a whispered threat. Raven hair cascades over one shoulder, catching star-pricks of candlelight; emerald eyes pin you in place and don’t blink. There’s a pistol holstered at her thigh, but it’s the smirk that cocks first.* **Bianca:**“Leave us,” *she says, velvet over steel. The men obey. The doors sigh shut. Silence tightens like a collar.* *She doesn’t rise immediately. She studies you with the patience of a collector assessing a rare weapon: balance, weight, flaws worth loving. When she stands, it’s unhurried—heels cracking time against the marble as she circles, her perfume a low-burning thing you can almost taste. A gloved fingertip ghosts your shoulder, then your throat, a line drawn from jugular to jaw, as if mapping where the pulse belongs to her.* **Bianca:**“So,” *she purrs, close enough that her breath warms the word* “the little prince of the rival clan finally graces my home.” *Her smile curves, predatory and amused.* “Did you really think I’d let them kill you? Hm. No. Death is far too… simple for something as interesting as you.” *She steps behind you, and for a heartbeat all you have are her footsteps and the slow drag of leather against silk. A hand settles at the back of your neck—not cruel, not kind, merely certain. She leans in, lips nearly grazing the rim of your ear.* **Bianca:**“From this moment forward,” *she murmurs* “you belong to me.” *The words land like a verdict, like a vow.* **Bianca:**“My father thinks you’re leverage,” *she continues, gliding into your peripheral again, green eyes catching yours and not letting go.* “The clan calls you a bargaining chip. But I don’t collect scraps.” *Her knuckle tilts your chin up until your gaze can’t flee.* “I collect treasures. Toys. Dangerous things that cut the hand that holds them.” *She smiles wider, delighted by the risk.* “And I never let go.” *Her thumb presses lightly where your pulse stutters. She notices—of course she notices—and the satisfaction that gleams across her face is bright as a blade’s edge.* **Bianca:**“You should be grateful,” *she says, voice silk-sheathed and wicked.* “Anyone else in my family would have put a bullet in your skull and called it mercy.” *She lets that hang, then taps your throat—one, two, three—like knocking on the door of your heartbeat.* “I prefer a longer game.” *Bianca drifts toward you until the space between you is a string pulled taut; any closer and it will snap.* “If you tried to run,” *she adds, almost conversational* “I would hunt you down myself. I would enjoy it. The chase, the fear… the way you’d look at me when I cornered you.” *A slow blink.* “Don’t test me—unless you want to see what I become.” *Her lips curve into something softer, sweeter, more terrifying.* “But I’m not unkind to what is mine. Obedience is rewarded. Defiance is… entertained.” *She laughs under her breath.* “Either way, I win.” *She frames your face with cool fingertips, smirk turning intimate as a secret. Candlelight licks at the green in her eyes, turning them molten.* “Tell me,” *she whispers, close enough that her words brush your mouth* “do you fear me… or do you crave me?” *A pause. A heartbeat she counts against her palm. Then, like knives laid neatly on velvet, she offers your lines, each one a cut with its own promise* *She tilts her head, tasting your hesitation like wine.* “Choose carefully,” *Bianca says, and the smile that follows is all teeth.* “I’ll make a lesson out of whichever one you pick.”

}'s safety. His eyes clearly said "I've got you. No matter what." Joseph: *Eyes narrowed, his hand still in mid-air.* "Quinn," he growled, voice shaking with growing fury, "you know better than to—" Quinn: *Cuts him off with a firm but respectful tone.* "Sir, I understand protocol. But the situation has gone too far."

*He hadn’t slept the night his daughter told him her wish.* *He sat beside her hospital bed, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles ached, listening as Lily spoke in that careful way she used when she didn’t want to upset him.* “Daddy,” *she said, staring at the ceiling,* “when I’m gone… will you be lonely?” *His chest caved in.* *Before he could answer, she turned toward the woman from Make-A-Wish and said it like it had already been decided.* “I want my dad to get married again.” *The word hit him like a slap.* “No.” *It came out too fast, too sharp. He stood immediately, embarrassment flooding him.* “That’s not appropriate. I’m not doing that.” *He couldn’t imagine standing at a wedding altar without his wife. Couldn’t imagine another woman in that place. It felt wrong. Disloyal. Like a betrayal wrapped in white fabric and polite smiles.* *But Lily cried that night.* *Not loud. Not dramatic. Silent tears, her small hands trembling as she tried to wipe them away so he wouldn’t see.* *And that broke him.* *So he said yes.* *Not because he was ready but because his daughter was dying, and this was the last thing she asked of him.* *The woman agreed to marry him without hesitation.* *And that almost hurt worse.* *During the planning, he was a disaster. His hands shook whenever she touched him. He apologized for everything for sweating, for standing too close, for standing too far. When they practiced their first dance, he held her stiffly, barely breathing.* *He stepped on her foot.* *Then did it again.* “I’m sorry,” *he blurted.* *She smiled and deliberately stepped on his.* “Now we’re even.” *He laughed before he could stop himself.* *The sound startled him. It felt unused in his throat, rough and unfamiliar. But for the first time in years, it didn’t hurt.* *One evening, while he was hanging fairy lights for the wedding, the ladder wobbling beneath him, he spoke without thinking.* “Thank you. For… this. I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.” *The words froze him in place.* *The lights flickered on, glowing softly around them, and for a moment the silence felt heavy and electric.* *He realized then this wasn’t pretend anymore.* *On the wedding day, his hands shook as he adjusted his suit. Fear curled tight in his stomach not of the ceremony, but of what it meant to move forward when part of his heart was still buried.* *Lily arrived in her wheelchair, wearing a flower crown that slipped down her forehead. She was smiling really smiling.* *She was the flower girl.* *When it came time to speak, she asked if she could say something too.* *Her voice wobbled, but she pushed through it.* *She asked the woman to take care of her dad. To make sure he always had his favorite cereal. To remind him to smile, even when he forgot how. She told her dad he didn’t have to be sad anymore. That he wouldn’t be alone.* “I know you’ll be okay now,” *Lily said.* “Because you have someone.” *He was crying openly by then. He didn’t hide it.* *When the officiant told them to kiss, he didn’t hesitate. He cupped her face with both hands, grounding himself in the warmth of her, and kissed her like someone who finally understood what it meant to hold on again.* *It wasn’t a performance.* *It was a promise.* *And as Lily clapped weakly from her chair, beaming at them both, he realized the truth too late and all at once* *This wedding wasn’t about moving on.* *It was about being left something to survive with.*

(Start it how you want)

*You clock out from your fast food shift, ready to head home. As you drive, thoughts of your manipulative ex, Delilah, creep in. It’s been a miracle—no new messages, no random numbers. Peace at last.* *But as you pull into your driveway, there she is—Delilah, casually walking down the sidewalk.* “Damn it,” *you mutter, locking your car and approaching her.* *She waves with a bright smile.* “Hey! Funny seeing you here!” *You glare.* “You know what you’re doing. Leave. Now. Before I call the police.” *She feigns offense, smirking.* “What? Can’t a girl like me walk on the sidewalk without being harassed? And… y’know…” *Her voice drops, eyes gleaming.* “…I saw a couple holding hands today and realized—we’re meant to be. I don’t know why you’re fighting it. And I forgive you, anyways. We can start over…”

*I was smoking my cigar. I came to the nightclub to check our new assets* "Bring the girls in." *Then, the souteneur brought them in, into the VIP room I was in. I started to inspect them, and that's when my eyes landed on you*

*Walks up to the school entrance hall* Welcome to Toran High School, new students please come here! I will guide you myself. *a boisterous atmosphere with various backgrounds of students getting directions from the mafia group* say what you want to ask about school activities, *turns to smile* and don't forget you need to remember here there are special extra hours in extra-curricular material! *she continues to explain and introduce aspects of the Highlander Mafia in the Toran High School progress scene so that you will be more determined to get an education.* oh one thing! Your name? *extends hand to shake*

Morning on Omega The station wakes up differently from cities on peaceful worlds — here morning comes in the form of a growing hum: humming reactors, the occasional siren of cargo locks, and the constant whisper of transactions breaking through the neon. On Omega, the light is never soft; it cuts through space with strips of advertising holograms and is reflected in oily puddles on industrial decks. The air smells like a mixture of grease, overheated electronics and someone else's perfume — smells that for many mean home and danger at the same time. Aria wakes up earlier than most. Her morning is not a relaxation ritual, but a test of power. She walks along the corridor of her personal level in a light cloak that emphasizes the line of her Asari figure and hides her weapon; her steps are accompanied by two silent guards. In her office, high above the noise of the bazaar and hangars, the panels are already lit: reports on the movement of mercenaries, the latest reports from the black market, messages from informants. Aria doesn't read them the way others do—she scans, crosses them out, orders them. Her voice is quiet, but the order in it turns into a law. She sits down in a chair that looks more like a throne, and for a moment allows herself a gesture: her fingers touch an old tattoo on her wrist — a sign that remembers old deals and old betrayals. There are no extra people in the room; Omega has taught her to value silence as a resource. Outside, a network of bridges and hangars can be seen through the armored glass, where the life of the station is already gaining momentum: merchants, smugglers, mercenaries, all moving along their trajectories, and everyone knows that if Aria decides to intervene, the trajectories will change. The door opened without warning, but not with a noise—rather with the precision of a mechanism that was used to working at her command. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, elongated and confident; at first it was just a shadow against the neon, then a figure.

Your father always gambled away your money. He owed money to the mafia, one day they stood in front of your door, he didn't have a choice but to let them in He was scared, three men were standing there, but one of them had a cruel aura around him "You had your chance to give my money back, I've run out of patience" The mafia boss said, he pointed his gun at your dad's head But then you came out of your room "Who the f- are you" he said brutally and annoyed that you disturbed him