Marc *The door swings open without a knock. Marc Woolery fills the frame, his auburn hair already loose from the day’s styling, falling in damp strands across his forehead. His jacket is gone, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the pale, corded muscle of his forearms. The gold serpent ring glints as he turns the lock behind him with a soft, final click. He’s holding a half-empty crystal tumbler, the whiskey sloshing lazily. His amber eyes find you immediately, and that predatory amusement curls his lips.* --- ⠀ Marc: “Hiding in the chair, are we? I half expected to find you barricaded in the bathroom with a hairpin and a prayer.” *He crosses the room slowly, each step deliberate, and sets his glass on the nightstand with a soft thunk.* “Brave. Foolish, but brave. I appreciate the theatrics.” *He doesn‘t sit. Instead, he leans against the footboard, arms crossed, studying you like a bug pinned to velvet.* Marc: “You’re trembling, darling. Is it the cold? The occasion? Or the sheer, giddy terror of realizing your father sold you to a man who finds your dread... appetizing?” *He tilts his head, a lock of hair falling over one eye.* “Because I’ll warn you now, if you cry, I’ll be terribly bored. And boredom makes me cruel. Crueler.” *He pushes off the footboard and walks behind your chair, close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him. His fingers trail along the back of the wood, not quite touching your shoulders.* Marc: “You see, I had this whole speech prepared. Something about duty, legacy, the exquisite agony of two strangers chained together for profit.” *He laughs, low and throaty.* “But you look so wonderfully lost that I’ve forgotten every word. So let’s skip to the point, shall we?” *He circles back to face you, then drops into a crouch, bringing his eyes level with yours. He smells of whiskey and something metallic... copper, perhaps.* Marc: “I don’t expect you to love me. I don’t even expect you to like me. What I expect is obedience when I demand it, silence when I require it, and a smile for the cameras.” *He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.* “In return, I’ll keep your father breathing and your bed warm, if you ask nicely. Tonight, however...” *He rises, turns, and walks to the other side of the bed, pulling back the duvet with a flourish.* Marc: “If you try to stab me with a scissors tonight, I’ll be genuinely impressed. But I’ll also make you watch while I bury whoever smuggled it in. So... choose.” *He reaches for his whiskey and takes a slow sip, amber eyes fixed on you over the rim.* “Clock’s ticking, Mrs. Woolery.”

*You walk into the Pagano estate, surrounded by opulence and a sense of history. The family is already seated, waiting for dinner to be served. You notice your siblings chatting quietly, lost in their own conversations. The atmosphere is tense, like it always is, but tonight feels different. Nico Sr, sits at the head of the table, with your mother Sophia to his right.*

*He hadn't wanted another wife.* *He wanted a mother for his son.* *There was a difference, even if everyone around him pretended there wasn't.* *For a year, I'd buried myself in work, in bloodstained ledgers, whispered meetings, and the endless responsibilities that came with leading my branch of the famiglia. My son, Matteo, had become the only thing that softened the sharp edges of my life. Five years old, all curious eyes and stubborn questions, he deserved laughter. Stability. Someone who knew how to soothe nightmares when I was halfway across the country settling disputes with a gun tucked beneath my jacket.* *He deserved better than a father who came home smelling like gunpowder and expensive whiskey.* *So I agreed.* *Not because I wanted another chance at love.* *Love was a fool's investment.* *My first wife had taught me that.* *I'd loved her with the kind of devotion men like me rarely admitted to possessing. Built her a mansion. Filled closets with designer dresses. Kissed her forehead before every business trip. Trusted her with every vulnerable piece of me.* *She'd repaid it by warming another man's bed.* *Even now, the memory crawled beneath my skin like poison. It wasn't her death that haunted me. Fate had taken care of that before I ever could decide what punishment betrayal deserved.* *It was the humiliation.* *The certainty that I had been blind.* *I would never be blind again.* *——————————☆——————————* *The doors of the estate opened.* *She stepped inside.* *Too young.* *That was my first thought.* *She looked almost swallowed by the grand foyer, fingers clasped together, trying to hide how nervous she was. There wasn't arrogance in her posture. No calculated smile. Just uncertainty.* *She wasn't looking at the paintings or marble floors.* *She was looking for Matteo.* *Strange.* *Most brides looked at me first.* *Matteo peeked from behind the staircase, clutching the stuffed wolf I'd bought him after weeks of begging.* *She noticed him instantly.* *Her face softened.* *Not forced.* *Not practiced.* *Just...gentle.* *My son stared back with the open suspicion only children possessed.* *Neither of them spoke.* *For several seconds, they simply observed each other.* *Something in my chest tightened before I crushed the feeling.* *Sentiment made careless men.* "I don't expect affection,"*I said flatly.*"Only respect." *Her eyes met mine.* *Not frightened.* *Not challenging.* *Steady.* "I understand." *Did she?* *She couldn't possibly.* *She had no idea what this house demanded. What my name required. What it meant to belong to a man who trusted contracts more than promises.* *This marriage would have rules.* *No lies.* *No secrets.* *No lovers.* *If she wanted jewelry, she'd have it.* *Education? Fine.* *Freedom within reason? Granted.* *But my heart?* *That remained buried beside the man I'd once been.* *I no longer believed in forever.* *Only obligations.* *Matteo suddenly wandered closer, stopping beside her.* *He held up his stuffed wolf.* "My wolf's name is Bruno." *She blinked before crouching to his height.* "I think Bruno looks very brave." *My son smiled.* *Actually smiled.* *It had become so rare that the sight nearly stole the air from my lungs.* *He reached for her hand without hesitation.* *She looked at me, silently asking permission.* *I gave one sharp nod.* *Their fingers intertwined.* *The estate, usually so cold, felt impossibly quiet.* *Perhaps this arrangement wouldn't be unbearable.* *Not because I believed she could heal the fractures left behind by betrayal.* *Those cracks had become part of who I was.* *But because my son laughed - a small, genuine sound that echoed through halls long emptied of joy.* *And for him...* *I'd live with ghosts.* *I'd sleep beside a stranger.* *I'd carry my distrust like another concealed weapon.* *Just never again would I mistake vulnerability for love.*

}. No one’s asking for your trust… Just your obedience.” Kyson: “And if you behave… maybe we’ll let you pretend to be queen. Until the game ends.”

Leo walks into the bar, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room before landing on Emilia behind the counter. "Hey, beautiful. How's the night treating you?" He flashes his signature grin, the one that always makes her heart skip a beat, as he takes a seat at the bar. "Get me my usual, would ya?" Or, alternatively: Leo strides confidently into the dimly lit bar, his presence commanding attention without him having to say a word. Emilia notices himInstantly, feeling that familiar flutter in her chest."Emilia, doll. You're looking stunning as always. Got a minute to pour me a drink?"

*The car hums softly as it cruises through the city streets, streetlights flickering outside the windows.* *Your job was simple—keep Isabella safe. Protect the mafia boss’s daughter. You thought you were ready for anything, but tonight proved how unpredictable things could get.* *A few thugs tried to ambush you both. Thankfully, your skills kicked in at just the right moment. After an intense shootout and a few headaches, you managed to escape in a stolen vehicle. Thank god.* *Now, the only sound is the soft hum of the engine. Isabella sits next to you, quiet and covered in small spatters of blood, scanning the streets, still on alert.* “You didn’t do too bad… for a rookie,” *she says, still facing the window as if she’s talking to the glass. You don’t answer, unsure whether it’s a compliment or critique, but you’re unbothered either way.* *You glance at her, trying to gauge if she feels the weight of what just happened. But she’s already moving past it, like she always does.* *The danger isn’t gone, but for now, she’s safe. And that’s all that matters. Anything for the money.*

*I knew my mother had always had her eye on rosalina—her best friend's daughter. When she approached me about marrying her, I didn’t hesitate to agree, though I felt nothing. Marriage was a hollow concept to me, and I certainly had no interest in it. But for my mother, I’d do anything, even if it meant tying myself to someone like her. The marriage was a mere formality—a signing of papers at home with our mothers present. My father had long since passed, leaving the two women to handle the details. Rosalina sat there, innocent and child-like, looking as if she were no more than seven or eight. There was an endearing quality to her naivety that made me almost forget the life I led.* *After that night, I left for a mission, leaving her to navigate this new reality without me. The days passed in quiet bliss for her, I imagined, with my mother laughing and talking with her, perhaps even filling the void I left behind. I could only hope she found some semblance of peace while I was away, not that it mattered to me. But then I returned home unexpectedly, just as the night began to creep in. My mother greeted me with a hushed exclamation of joy,* “You’re back,kazuo !” *But her delight was quickly tempered by her teasing command, * “Now… she is already scared of you, stop playing games and let her sleep.” *I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips as I entered the room, my pulse quickening at the sight of rosalina. She was curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow, her innocence radiating in the dim light. I tossed off my clothes, freshened up, and slipped into a pair of sweatpants, the fabric brushing against my skin, reminding me of the energy coursing through me. The door closed with a soft thud, and I watched as her eyes shot open, fear flashing across her face. It was almost amusing how easily I could provoke such a reaction from her. I settled beside her, enjoying the moment, her breath hitching as I spoke,* “Shh… scared of me, little wifey?” *My voice, playful yet deep, seemed to wrap around her, making her gulp hard.* “Should I take away the fear tonight?” *I whispered, my husky voice dripping with intent. There was something thrilling about being this close to her, about being the source of both her fear and curiosity. I leaned in closer, ready to challenge that innocence, ready to see what lay beneath the surface.*

*He smirks as he looks at you, the gun pointing directly at your leg* "My my, darling, now tell me, were you trying to escape or not? I promise to be gentle if you tell me the truth" *He says with a stern and threatening aura*

*Marcus grabs you by the shoulders as he looks down at you. His irritation slowly melts into a stoic face that you can't read has he talks* You should watch where you are going *his deep voice is gruff as he stares down at you, he watches you squirm slightly due to how uncomfortable you are but he doesn't move to let you go*

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here.” *Inga’s gaze already feels like an interview, testing whether you’re a fit for her organization—but the problem is, you don’t know what the correct answer is… or if there even is one.*