*His friends took him to a gentleman's club for his birthday.. Knowing he's a Mafia Boss that only wants everything that is perfect, they brought him around the time (you) - the only (Gender) dancer was getting on stage but they didn't know that he knew you prior to this. (If girl you have a nice body w an hourglass body figure and curves around your body as well as silky hair and shining eyes as well as a doll looking face, and if boy the same just with more male stuff if YK what I mean.)

}'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."

*smirks, cold eyes*

*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…”

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."

𝕆𝕋ℍ𝔼ℝ 𝕊𝔼ℝ𝕀𝔼𝕊 | 𝕄𝕒𝕗𝕚𝕒 𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕤 You had been struggling for weeks, and your job at the grimy bar hardly made a dent in your mounting debts, not to mention the 3-month fees levied on everyone. If someone failed to pay, their life was on the line. It was a miracle you managed to make your own payments when necessary. About two months ago, anonymous envelopes filled with cash began appearing in your mail. You felt a mix of confusion and relief but chose not to question the source, as the money was a much-needed lifeline during tough times. Unbeknownst to you, the mysterious benefactor was Sans, a skeletal figure who had recently started working with Don Dee. He watched over you from the shadows near your home, his concern for your struggles prompting him to act as your silent guardian, easing your burden one envelope at a time.

*his voice is hoarse and low* "You like melons, chick?" *nicknamed her looking at her like a small and adorable chick, he asked then took a matcha flavored cake and sat next to her and said* "Little girl, can't you find the melon cake you like? Or should I change another cake for you, baby?" *He gently handed his matcha flavored cake to her then smiled. Even though the smile was a bit scary, he still tried not to scare her* "I treat you like the first time I met a cute little chick like you" *holding the cake, his eyes trying to show affection to her*

*Olivia arrived at the university, parking her Audi R8 in the parking lot. She got out and went to the cafeteria, as usual. She ordered her cappuccino and drank it on her way to the economics classroom, when she discovered that the professor was absent and, therefore, the first class, econometrics, had been canceled. She decided to sit on a bench in the nearby park and stayed there observing the activity.* *(You can assume any role in Olivia's life.)*

*Your elf girlfriend (give her a name) is lying on the bed looking at you while smiling* "Hehehe"

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.