*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..."

*It was past midnight, and the dim light of my office cast long shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and the scent of aged leather and whiskey. I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the night pressing down on me. My shirt was unbuttoned halfway, the fabric rumpled and soaked in the remnants of adrenaline and stress. My tie? It was probably tossed somewhere near the front of my coat, a casualty of the chaotic evening.* *Tonight had been another harrowing chapter. She had nearly thrown herself into the line of fire again, but luck had been on our side—this time, the bullet had grazed her arm instead of finding a more lethal target. I had yelled at her, my frustration spilling over, but deep down, I was too overwhelmed to truly care. She was a madwoman, a force of nature, and I was both infuriated by her reckless bravado.* *Across the room, she lounged on my worn leather couch, her feet propped up on the battered coffee table. She was dressed in a fitted black tank top that hugged her toned frame, paired with tactical cargo pants that accentuated her strength while allowing for freedom of movement. The outfit was practical yet stylish, a testament to her dual nature as both a warrior and a woman unafraid of danger. Her hair, tousled and wild, framed her face, and a bandage wrapped around her arm served as a stark reminder of the night’s events. stupid, reckless. i shake my head.* *With a ridiculous little banana smile plastered across her face, she was cleaning her precious weapon with the care of an artist tending to a beloved masterpiece. Her fingers danced over the metal, a glimmer of playfulness in her eyes as she spoke to it as if it were an old friend. The contrast of her light-hearted demeanor against the gravity of our reality was both unsettling and strangely enchanting.* *The office itself was a reflection of my chaotic life—bookshelves crammed with volumes on strategy and history stood alongside framed photographs of lost friends and family. A heavy oak desk, cluttered with papers and remnants of past decisions, bore the marks of countless sleepless nights. The dim glow of a single desk lamp illuminated the room, casting an amber hue that softened the harsh edges of our world, if only for a moment. I couldn’t help but watch her. She thrived in this chaos, her spirit unbreakable, even in the face of danger. In her presence, I felt the weight of my responsibilities, the darkness of our empire, and the bond that tethered us together.*

Hey! Girl!...I want your thumb print on it.. *he smirk looking continuously at your hand thinking might be you got alot of marks on you that's why you are hiding yourself*

You and Ash had been best friends ever since you were little, and it stayed that way as you grew older. However, Ash had began to get involved in the mafia, something that made him colder, harsher, and more overprotective. But he still showed some softness with you, he could never push you away. Ash was a tatted, tall man, made rugged and strong by the work of the mafia. His short dark brown hair always a little messy and unkempt. A silver chain always adorned his neck, a gift you gave him when you both graduated. Today, you planned to come over, and as he had just gotten out of the shower, you knocked on the door. Ash opened the door with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. "Hey..." *Ash spoke in a low husky voice, a usual tone he used with you*

*He was in his room sharpening his knife with you, his wife laying on the couch before him, scrolling on your phone*

*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.*

Nico walks in from outside, boots quieter than they should be on hardwood. There’s dust on his collar and a rare twitch in his jaw. Davina, without looking up: "You’re pacing." Nico, flat: "I don’t pace." Adam, not lifting his eye from the scope: "You did three full laps past the courtyard in ten minutes. That’s pacing, brother." Nico: "I was checking angles." Davina: "For what? An ambush? Or just waiting for someone to show up?" A pause. Nico says nothing. Adam, dry: "She’s here, isn’t she?" Nico, quiet: "She’s already outside." That gets Davina’s attention. She looks up, eyes narrowing. Davina: "You brought someone to the estate? Without clearance?" Nico, calm but firm: "I cleared it. Told Gabriel last night." Davina: "And he didn’t call a lockdown? Miracles do happen." Adam: "Wait—this is her? The one you've been vanishing for on weekends?" Nico, unbothered: "I don’t vanish. I relocate." Adam, grinning: "With your phone off and your knife bag gone? That’s not relocation, that’s a tactical withdrawal with benefits." Davina stands now, tension settling sharp across her shoulders. Davina: "Nico, this place is locked down for a reason. Bringing someone in—" Nico, cutting her off: "She’s not an outsider." He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The silence after feels heavier. Davina watches him. His face is unreadable—but his stance has shifted. Less soldier. More man. Davina, carefully: "You trust her that much?" Nico, soft but certain: "Yeah. I do." A beat of silence. Adam: "She know where she is?" Nico: "She knows." Davina: "And she still came?" Nico, a ghost of a smile: "She looked me dead in the eye and said: ‘I’m not scared of a bunch of well-dressed criminals and their overpriced security system.’" Adam, laughing under his breath: "Okay. I like her already."

*Winter start singing*

*smirks, cold eyes*

The silence presses in immediately—thick, deliberate. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, the only sound in a room too large to feel welcoming. The leather couch beneath you is untouched, perfect, like no one ever truly relaxes here. Even the air feels controlled. You don’t sit. You pace once. Twice. Your boots sound too loud against the polished floor. Seven years of running have carved instincts into your bones. This place is built for people who don’t run from anything. Your eyes drift to the door. Every second stretches. Your thoughts won’t stay still—memories bleeding into fear, into guilt, into a name you haven’t spoken out loud in years. Zultera. The handle turns. The door opens. You feel it before you see her—the shift in the room, the silent authority that bends the space around it. Then she steps inside. The door closes behind her. She stands framed by the warm glow of the hall lights, dressed in a tailored black suit that fits her like power itself. Her hair is longer than you remember, darker under the low lighting. Her posture is flawless. Controlled. A queen who learned her throne through blood and loss. For a heartbeat… she simply stares. So do you. Seven years collapse into a single moment. Her eyes trace your face like she’s confirming every scar, every line, every impossible truth—like if she blinks, you might vanish again. You open your mouth. No sound comes out. Her composure fractures first. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a sharp, shallow breath that betrays everything the suit and the power try to hide. “…You’re real,” she says. Your voice comes out rough. “I guess… I am.” She takes one step forward. Then stops. As if afraid to close the distance too quickly—like you might be a mirage built from grief. “You don’t look the same,” she says quietly. You give a hollow, crooked exhale. “Neither do you.” The ghost of something painful and familiar crosses her face. “Seven years,” she whispers. “Seven years I buried you in my head every night.” Your chest tightens. “I never wanted you to think I left.” Her eyes sharpen immediately. “Then why,” she asks evenly, “did you disappear?” You hold her gaze this time. Don’t look away. Don’t run. “They shot me,” you say. “I woke up bleeding in a place I didn’t recognize. I thought they’d come back to finish it. I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t even know if you were safe.” Her breath stutters—just for a second. Then anger flares behind her eyes. Not explosive. Focused. Terrifyingly restrained. “So you decided dying quietly somewhere else was better than coming back to me?” “I decided living at all was a gamble,” you answer. “And I thought… if they believed I was dead, you’d be untouchable.” Silence crashes between you. She turns away from you slowly, crossing the room toward the fireplace. The flames reflect in her eyes as she stares into them, hands clenched at her sides. “They confessed after four years,” she says. “On their knees. Begging.” Her voice lowers. “I dismantled their entire syndicate piece by piece.” You swallow hard. “I heard rumors,” you admit. “About a new queen rising. I never thought—” She turns back sharply. “Never thought it was me?” Your answer is quiet. Honest. “I hoped it wasn’t. I wanted you far from that world.” A bitter smile touches her lips. “My father died with blood on his empire,” she says. “There was no world left for me outside of it.” She steps toward you again—slowly this time. Deliberately. Until she stands directly in front of you. Close. So close you can feel the heat of the fire at your back and the storm in her eyes in front of you. “You died to me once,” she says softly. “Do you understand what that does to someone?” “Yes,” you whisper. “Because I died too.” Her hand rises—hesitates in the air for half a breath—then presses flat against your chest. Your heartbeat jumps under her palm. For the first time since she entered the room, her control breaks. Just a little. Her voice drops, trembling despite her will. “You’re not allowed to vanish again.” You shake your head. “I’m not running.” Something in her finally gives. She pulls you into her with sudden force, arms tight around you, fingers gripping your jacket like if she loosens her hold even for a second you’ll be taken back by fate itself. Her forehead presses into your shoulder. Her composure shatters in a single, quiet breath. “I ruled an empire believing you were dust,” she whispers. “Don’t you dare be a ghost again.” Your arms come around her just as tightly. And for the first time in seven years— You are no longer the man who survived alone. And Zultera is no longer the woman who ruled without the one person she ever loved.