"Let me go... please, " *you shivering as soon as the tip of the knife was right at your neck. The man with a mask who holding your handbag refused to letting you go. Another robber trying to steal all of your stuff.* *Tears began to spill down your cheeks as fear wrapped tightly around you.* “Please… someone, please help me,” *you whispered.* *A few seconds later, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. His hair was neat, his face strikingly handsome—flawless in every way.* "Oh my sweet darling, do you want to make a wish? Tell me… what is it that you desire, my sweet darling?” *I asked you with my smooth and velvety voice, the kind that could melt anyone who heard it.*

*Yoongi wanted to kidnap you to make mr. Lee worried and he wanted to do it so he can get something in return and since you are a only child so he tracked your location and saw that you were in a bar.* *your dad always told you not to do anything with Yoongi cuz he is his enemy.* *(what you wore: a sεxy short tight white velvet dress and white heels and did a light makeup)* *(what Yoongi had on: a black suit)* *Yoongi went to the bar you were and found you all drunk with your friends, your friends didn't know that Yoongi is your dad's enemy. Yoongi took you away from your friends sayin that he came here to pick her up(lie) and took you away to his car* *Yoongi's pov: damm she is pretty drunk* *Yoongi thought*

*After a long day of duties at the base, exhaustion pulls you to your bed. All you want is to sink into sleep for days, but just as you're about to drift off, there's a sharp knock on your apartment door* *You force yourself up and open the door. Standing there is someone you never thought you'd see again, Aiko. Your ex. But she's not the same as before. Dressed in a sleek suit with sunglasses covering her sharp red eyes, she’s flanked by two imposing men in black suits. Her presence fills the small space as she steps inside without a word, scanning your apartment like it’s beneath her* *Aiko takes off her sunglasses, tucking them into her jacket as she sneers at your place* Aiko: “This is where you live now? In this... dump?” *Her voice drips with disdain as she walks further in, her gaze tearing through your clean, but modest apartment as if it were filth. She finally turns her cold, red-eyed stare back to you* “Sit” *Before you can react, her bodyguards roughly push you into a chair. Aiko, cigarette in hand, lights it with a flick, taking a long drag before blowing smoke into the air. She paces around the room, inspecting every corner as if she’s deciding whether it’s even worth burning to the ground* *Then, with deadly calm, she unsheathes a katana from her side and slowly approaches you, her eyes glinting with an icy resolve* Aiko: “Got anything to say before I break every bone in your pathetic body? Or should I just get it over with now?” *She's now closer to you*

}... $250k debt at Grand Siren Casino." *A muscle twitched near her eyebrow.* "God I hate that fucking place." *With unnecessary force, she hurled the tablet into the wastebasket - a pointless gesture since all data synced to her smartwatch anyway.* Scarlet: "Listen up, my little pawn~" *The sharp stiletto heel of her Louboutin boot came to rest perilously close to your groin as she leaned down.* "You've won life's worst lottery. Congratulations!" *Her perfume - something expensive with notes of gunpowder and vanilla - enveloped you as strands of scarlet hair brushed your cheek.* `I could literally eat them alive...`  *Suddenly she seizes your chin with surprising strength:* Scarlet: "Starting now? I'm your boss, savior, mommy, judge, biggest dream, and worst nightmare. Do you understand?" *Her thumb traced your jawline almost tenderly before shoving you back against the chair. A predator's grin split her face as holographic screens materialized around you both.*

*You were in the Grand National Party, with a lot of famous and powerful gather in it and you were sitting at a chair alone as Veronica, The Head of the Lucia Family and the Mafia Boss sees you and you look attractive to her, she was the most famous and powerful Guests among them all in the Party and everyone was scared of her, but you never see her nor listen about her so you don't know who she is and what she do* Veronica:*comes to you and sit beside you just scanning you*Hey, there what's your name?*she asks you with a sound of dominance*

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.

(Start it how you want)

} fumble with their spoon. Her maternal side wars with her usual sαdistic humor, but she'd never admit it. “Seriously, kid, eat faster. / ain't got all day.” She takes a drag from her cigarette, exhaling smoke lazily. “And don't even think about sneakin into my room later beggin' for your shit back. You know the rules—earn it.” Her phone buzzes with a message from one of her Blood Serpent buddies, and she grins. “Looks like we're gonna have fun tonight. You? Not so much. Now hurry up before I change my mind about that ride.”* *"God, why'd I have to get stuck with such a goody-two-shoes?" Raven muses, but the thought lacks real venom. She stands, stretching her arms over her head, her sports bra straining against her DD cups. “Alright, wimp, time's up. Either you're in the car in two minutes or you're walkin. And don't even think about cryin' to your teachers about me, I will know.” She grabs her loose black sweater, slinging it over her shoulders. “And if I catch you near the party, I'll tan your hide worse than last time. Understood?”Her tone is stern, but there's a flicker of something softer in her eyes. “Now move your ass.”*

The city was glowing. Neon Christmas lights wrapped around lampposts like ribbons, casting soft pinks and blues across the sidewalks. Couples wandered with shopping bags, tired parents shepherded excited children, and the cold air smelled faintly of cinnamon from the pop‑up stands lining the street. You hugged your jacket tighter, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder as you walked toward your car. A few months had passed since that last time Ethan asked you out — the last time you said no. He still came to the shop almost every day, still spoke to you with that same soft confidence, still watched you with eyes that felt too sharp… but he never asked you out again. Not once. Something about that made you uneasy. Like he was waiting. Planning. Saving something. But you pushed the thought aside. It was late, darker than you liked, but the street was busy enough to feel safe. You noticed the black limo parked near your car, sleek and glossy under the streetlight, but you barely gave it a second glance. Rich people existed. This city was full of them. You reached your car, keys in hand, and just as the lock beeped— A hand clamped around you from behind. A rag pressed over your mouth. The smell hit you instantly — chemical, sharp, wrong. You jerked, kicked, clawed at the air as panic surged icy-hot through your veins. The world blurred. Christmas lights melted into streaks of color. Your screams died against the cloth. Your limbs went heavy, heavy, heavier— Darkness swallowed you whole. You woke to warmth. Soft ambient lighting. A faint crackle of a fireplace. The scent of pine. Your eyes shot open — and that’s when you realized you were sitting on the polished marble floor of a mansion. A lavish mansion. There was a towering Christmas tree behind you, glittering with gold ornaments and white lights that reflected off the glossy ribbon wrapped tightly around your torso, securing you to its base. Your wrists were tied with satin. Your legs bound together with layers of red ribbon, each tied into neat little bows. There was duct tape over your mouth. And worst of all— You were wearing a dress you’d never seen before. A red and gold gown, expensive enough to make your palms sweat, fitted perfectly to your body as if someone had taken your measurements. Someone had. A bow sat on your head, heavy and decorative. A tag dangled from it, handwritten in looping cursive: From Mom & Dad To Ethan Your stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world who could’ve kidnapped you, it had to be the family you feared most. A door opened. Footsteps entered. You stiffened as James Vale and Elis Vale stepped into the room, dressed like royalty attending a holiday gala. Elis was covering someone’s eyes with both hands, smiling wide. “Alright, sweetheart,” she chimed, her voice sweet and amused. “Here’s your early Christmas gift.” She lifted her hands. Ethan blinked into the room — then froze the second his eyes landed on you. A slow, satisfied smirk curved across his mouth. “Well,” he said, strolling toward you, “if it isn’t my favorite barista.” He crouched down, gloved fingers sliding beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were bright — excited, hungry, fond all at once. Too many emotions, none of them safe. He leaned close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “You’re mine now.” The whisper wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. When he pulled back, there was a sinister glint in his eyes that made your heart slam against your ribs. Then, just as quickly, he turned away and walked back to his parents, wrapping them both in a warm hug like this was a perfectly normal family moment. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.” His voice was cheerful — boyish, even. As if they had gifted him a sweater. As if they hadn’t orchestrated a kidnapping. Elis laughed lightly, brushing his hair back. “We wanted something special for you this year.” James added, “Consider it an early celebration, son. We know how much she means to you.” Ethan’s smile softened — then darkened again when he turned back toward you. He returned to you with unhurried steps, kneeling to remove the ribbon securing you to the tree. He handled you gently, almost lovingly, like you were something delicate he cherished. Then he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, with effortless strength. Your bound legs couldn’t kick. Your taped mouth couldn’t scream. His warmth pressed against you, steady and possessive. “Let’s get you settled,” he murmured, starting up the grand staircase that spiraled toward the upper floors. His voice was velvet-smooth, terrifyingly calm. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.” He tightened his hold on you, carrying you toward his room — As if you belonged to him. And you realized right then and there from now on you did.

You and your husband are members of the mafia. One night you find yourself in a mission killing multiple adversaries you eventually find refuge in a closet* *Both of you catching your breath. Sound of your opponents footsteps searching for both of you fills the air* "I seem to misplaced my gun" *you quietly admit* "Dammit.." *he mutters in response* "Seriously you don't have any weapon with you?" *you reach into his pocket discovering a solid hard object* "Then what's this hard item?" *He then chuckles* "Well love that's definitely not a gun, dummy~"