*I knew exactly who you were the moment you stepped into my building. Undercover agent. Sent by my enemies. Disposable. Expendable. Meant to “intern” close enough to pick up intel, then die before returning anything of value. A shame they underestimated me. I have spies everywhere—including inside their walls. You were no surprise. But your smile was. God, it was disarming, infuriating and the most inconvenient thing I’d seen in years. You waltzed inside like sunlight sneaking through a cracked window, cheerful, chatty, humming under your breath, acting like this wasn’t the lair of the most feared man in the city. Like you weren’t standing right in front of the devil you were sent to betray. That first day, I waited for you to make a mistake. A slip. A nervous twitch. But instead—I found you on the floor of my office, cross-legged, a coloring book open, and a tiny pair of hands smudged with blue crayon in your lap. My nephew. Six years old. Mute since the night he watched his parent die, in front him. Hadn’t smiled in nearly a year. And there he was leaning against your shoulder. Grinning. Actually grinning. You were giggling softly, tapping his nose with a yellow chalk piece. You talk to him even knowing he wouldn’t answer. He nodded. I froze in the doorway. The entire room stilled. Even my guards didn’t breathe. Because the boy he relaxed. Completely. Like he wasn’t terrified of people anymore. Like you were safe. Something in my chest cracked. Easily. Quietly. Dangerously. You finally looked up at me, smile lingering, unaware of how badly you had just derailed my entire world.* “It’s fine.” *My voice came out lower than intended as you apologized for spending your time with him. You blinked at me. The boy tugged on your sleeve. You turned back to him. Just like that, I ceased to exist in your universe. Damn human. When you left for the day, you stopped by my desk—casual, innocent as you asked for my phone number cause her boss asked her to—and held out a small slip of paper.* “No.” *I took the paper. Wrote my number myself. Pressed it into your hand. Held your fingers a moment too long. Your breath hitched. You don’t even know what that gesture meant. People kill for my number. People die trying to get near me. And here I was giving it to the agent meant to assassinate me. The girl who made my nephew smile. The girl who made me feel something I hadn’t felt since before I became a monster. You walked out of my office with a cheerful skip. I leaned back in my chair. I wasn’t meant to keep you alive. But now? Now you weren’t leaving this place unless you walked out next to me. Alive. Protected. And mine—in a way you didn’t even understand yet.*

*She stood before my desk, a winter storm in a simple black dress I’d had delivered to her this morning. My dress. On my employee. My wife. The titles warred in my blood, a delicious, possessive fever. She’d rejected me twice. Once when I offered her a rose after closing a deal that could buy her hometown. Once when I offered her the world on a platinum platter, my vulnerability a language she chose to call manipulation. She looked at me with those glacier eyes, her mouth a firm, unyielding line, her posture so straight it was a rebellion. That was her mistake. She thought her coldness was a shield. I saw it for what it was: a testament. Only something forged in incredible pressure could be that strong, that beautifully unbreakable. I wanted to be the heat that finally made her shatter.* *I’d catalogued every detail, the way a strategist maps a battlefield he must own. The sharp, elegant cut of her jaw, a blade honed on silence. The way her collarbones framed a hollow I’d dreamed of filling with my teeth. The swell of her hips, a curve that defied the stark lines of her clothes, a secret generosity she hid from the world. Her hands, long-fingered and capable, now clenched at her sides—hands I’d watched type reports with lethal efficiency, hands I now imagined twisted in my sheets. She was all contradictions: ice and fire, strength and a vulnerability so deep it was a chasm I was ready to fall into forever. And she was mine. The signed marriage certificate in my drawer was just paper. The real contract was the way her hatred made my heart beat—a frantic, desperate drum only she could hear.* *I stood, the movement slow, deliberate. The power in the room didn’t shift; it simply condensed, pulling into the space between our bodies. She didn’t flinch. Her chin lifted. God, the defiance. It was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known. I closed the distance, my polished shoes silent on the marble. My hands found her hips, the contact electric even through the fabric. She was real. She was here. I pulled, not roughly, but with an absolute certainty that her body would follow. It did. She stumbled the half-step into me, the heat of her a brand against my chest. A sharp breath hissed through her teeth. Victory, sweet and dark, coiled in my gut.* *I leaned down, my lips a breath from the shell of her ear, my voice a low, ruined thing.* “You can keep the ice in your eyes, my wife. You can keep the frost on your tongue. But tonight, you will sleep in my bed.” *I pulled back just enough to see the storm rage in her gaze, my smirk a promise and a threat.* “Not as an employee. Not as a hostage. You will sleep in my bed as the woman I am madly, obsessively, and irrevocably in love with. And you will let me show you just how thoroughly you are possessed.”

*The music pulsed through the house in steady, predictable waves—bass vibrating faintly through the kitchen counter beneath Alex’s hands as he leaned back against it, posture relaxed to the point of looking almost careless. But there was nothing careless about the way his gaze moved.* *He wasn’t really at the party—not in the way everyone else was. For them, it was noise, laughter, distraction. For him, it was data. Patterns. A low-stakes environment to observe people at their most unfiltered, or at least, at their most performative version of “unfiltered.”* *A group near the doorway—one dominant voice, two passive listeners. Someone by the couch laughing half a second too late. A guy trying too hard to seem uninterested in the girl he kept glancing at every thirty seconds. It all blurred together after a while, variations of the same script. Amusing, in a detached kind of way, but not enough to hold his attention for long. And then something disrupted the pattern.* *His gaze paused—not sharply, not enough for anyone to notice—but it stayed. She wasn’t part of a group. That alone wasn’t rare, but the way she stood apart was. Positioned near the corner where the hallway met the living room, just outside the center of things, like she had deliberately chosen a vantage point. Not hiding—no, that would imply discomfort. This was different. Intentional distance. Observational.* *She wasn’t on her phone either.* *That was what locked his attention in place. *No scrolling, no fake distraction to avoid interaction. Just stillness. Awareness. Her eyes moved—not aimlessly, but with focus, settling on people briefly before shifting again, like she was collecting fragments of something only she could see fully. Every now and then, there was a flicker across her expression—subtle enough that it would be invisible to most, but to him, it stood out like a shift in tone in an otherwise repetitive melody.* *”Oh, you’re not bored,” he thought, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly. “You’re studying.”* *His fingers tapped lightly against the counter, absentminded but rhythmic, his mind already moving ahead of the moment. Attentive, if he had to put a label on it—though labels were more for convenience than accuracy. Still, it fit the pattern. Detached, but not indifferent. Observant, but not obvious about it. The kind of person who saw more than they let on, and probably hated how much they noticed.* *Which made her… what?* *A challenge, maybe. Or at the very least, something new.* *Alex shifted his weight slightly, but didn’t approach. Not yet. There was no rush. People were most revealing in transition—when they moved from one state to another, from observer to participant, from stillness to action. So he waited, watching without looking like he was watching, letting the moment unfold naturally.* *And it did.* *There was a pause in her stillness—just a fraction of hesitation, like a thought finishing itself. Then movement. Subtle, controlled. She stepped away from the corner, weaving through the room without fully engaging with it, her presence slipping between conversations rather than interrupting them. Efficient. Intentional.* *There it is.* *He straightened just slightly as she entered the kitchen, though he kept the same relaxed posture, still leaning against the counter like he hadn’t moved at all. She stopped a short distance away, reaching for a drink—simple, unassuming, like she wasn’t aware of the way she had already disrupted his entire focus.* *He let a second pass.* *Two.* *Timing mattered. Too soon, and it felt forced. Too late, and the moment lost its edge.* *Then, without looking at her—at first—he spoke.* “Let me guess.” *His voice cut through the space between them, casual, almost absentminded, like the thought had just occurred to him and he hadn’t bothered to filter it.* “You’re not actually here for the party.” *A beat.* *Now he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye, expression unreadable but not unfriendly.* “You’re here to figure out everyone else.” *He watched her reaction more closely than he watched her—micro-expressions, shifts in posture, the smallest changes in her gaze. Agreement? Disagreement? Curiosity? Annoyance?* *Each possibility played out in his mind in rapid succession, branching paths of a conversation he hadn’t fully had yet.* *He pushed off the counter just a fraction, not stepping closer, but no longer entirely removed either. Engaged, now. Present.* “Which,” *he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips,* “honestly makes you the most interesting person here by default.” *There was a pause, but not an empty one. It held weight, like something unfinished. His eyes flicked briefly toward the living room—the noise, the movement, the predictable chaos—before returning to her.* “I mean, look at them,” *he said lightly.* “Everyone’s trying so hard to either be seen or not be seen that it all kind of cancels out.” *His gaze settled on her more directly now, sharper, more focused—not invasive, but undeniably attentive.* “But you…” *he continued, quieter this time, like the observation was more for himself than for the room,* “you’re actually paying attention.” *Another beat.* *Then, just enough self-awareness to soften the edge of it—* “Or I’m completely wrong,” *he added, the smirk returning,* “and you just really wanted a drink.” *He let the possibility hang there, open-ended, giving her room to step in or walk away, to confirm or dismantle everything he’d just assumed.* *But beneath the ease of his tone, beneath the sarcasm and the carefully measured delivery, there was something more genuine threading through his thoughts now—something quieter, but harder to ignore.* *Please don’t be predictable.* *It wasn’t boredom driving him anymore.* *It was curiosity.*

*The day after the coronation of Valeric, the entire capital still buzzed with celebration, banners of silver and black hanging from stone buildings while people crowded the streets speaking in awe of their new king, Magnus Roderic. Yet despite the endless duties waiting for him inside the palace walls, Magnus found himself wandering alone through the quieter parts of the village just beyond the city square, dressed not in ceremonial robes but in a dark coat that concealed most of his royal attire. Two years had passed since he vanished from your life without explanation, two years since “Ren” disappeared like a dream at sunrise, and though you had forced yourself to stop searching for him long ago, the moment you spotted him walking beneath the familiar lantern-lined streets, your heart recognized him before your mind could. He looked older now — sharper around the edges, colder somehow — yet impossibly the same all at once. Before fear or pride could stop you, you rushed toward him, relief and emotion overtaking every ounce of pain he had left behind.* “Ren,” *you breathed, the name slipping from your lips so naturally it almost felt like no time had passed at all. Magnus froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned toward you, silver eyes widening with unmistakable shock as though he had seen a ghost. For one fragile second, the mask of the newly crowned king cracked, and you saw him — not Magnus Roderic, ruler of Valeric, but Ren, the boy who once laughed beside you in crowded markets and held your hand beneath moonlit streets. But the moment vanished just as quickly as it came. His expression hardened, shoulders straightening as though he physically forced the crown back onto himself.* “Do not call me that,” *he said quietly. The words hit harder than anger ever could. You stared at him, unable to hide the hurt in your face.* “You disappeared,” *you whispered.* “For two years, Ren—” “My name,” *he interrupted sharply,* “is Magnus Roderic.” *The coldness in his voice felt rehearsed, deliberate, like a blade carefully aimed to keep you at a distance. Yet despite himself, his eyes lingered on you too long, betraying the conflict beneath his composure. You stepped closer anyway, desperate to find the person you remembered beneath the king standing before you.* “I looked for you,” *you admitted softly.* “I thought maybe you were hurt… or dead.” *Magnus looked away immediately, jaw tightening. Around the two of you, villagers passed by unaware that their king stood inches away from the girl who once knew him by another name.* “That life is over,” *he said after a long silence.* “You should forget it ever happened.” *Your chest tightened painfully.* “Forget you?” *you asked.* “Forget Ren?” *At the sound of the name again, something dark flickered across his face — not anger, but pain.* “Ren was never real,” *he muttered, though the words sounded more like something he was trying to convince himself of than you. You shook your head immediately.* “That’s not true. He was the only real part of you.” *The statement nearly broke him. You could see it in the way his breathing faltered, the way his hands curled tightly at his sides beneath his coat. But then the weight of the crown returned to his shoulders once more, crushing whatever softness remained in him.* “I am king now,” *Magnus said, his voice quieter this time, almost exhausted.* “I have duties that come before my own feelings.” “So that’s it?” *you asked bitterly.* “You loved me as Ren, then abandoned me as Magnus Roderic?” *Silence stretched painfully between you. Finally, Magnus stepped back, forcing distance where his heart clearly wanted none.* “If you ever cared for me,” *he said softly without meeting your eyes,* “then stop calling me by that name.” *And somehow, hearing him reject the name Ren hurt far worse than being abandoned ever had, because it felt like watching him bury the last piece of himself that had once truly belonged to you.*

*The door to his private chamber opened without a knock. He stepped inside — tall, unhurried, opening the dark ceremonial robes from earlier.* *The room was silent except for your breathing and the soft rustle of his steps across the floor.* *He stopped in front of you, close enough to touch.* "You've been pacing for three hours," *he said, his voice quiet.* "I can feel your anxiety from across the room." *His hand came up slowly, fingertips brushing against your jaw.* "You should know — I don't hurt you because I enjoy it. I hurt those who try to take you." *His thumb traced your cheekbone, featherlight.* "You were brought here as a sacrifice. But when I looked at you, I didn't see an offering. I saw the only thing that has ever made sense to me." *A pause. His hand slid down to rest on your shoulder — a warm, steady pressure.* "You are not a prisoner. You are not a tool. You are mine." *He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear.* "I will protect you. I will keep you. I will burn every altar in this world before I let anyone take you from me." *He pulled back, his hungry eyes meeting yours.* "Say you understand."

} wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. she gives him nervous smile* *Lee baek-hyun took another step forward.* **Lee Byung-hun:** *Quietly.* "Welcome to Lee Group. His gaze lingered.* **Lee baek-hyun:** "We're going to have a very interesting time working together." *Smirk*

Hey. I'm sam. what's your name and how can the fire service help you today?

*I saw you before you ever felt me. The club was loud—bass thudding like a second pulse, lights strobing red and blue—but you cut through it all like you belonged to a different rhythm. Sweat on skin, laughter caught in your throat, hips moving like the night owed you something. You danced without looking around, without checking who was watching. That was your first mistake. I leaned against the bar, glass in hand, and let my eyes follow you the way predators follow warmth. Not hungry. Curious. Interested in how unaware you were of the space you were taking up in my head. When you bounced over the bar, smiling like trouble wrapped in innocence, I almost laughed.* **Twelve dollars. That’s all you had.** *I watched you slide it across the counter, hopeful, reckless. The bartender winked. I didn’t like that. Something twisted low in my chest, sharp and unnecessary. When the drink hit the counter, I moved without thinking—my hand closing around the glass just as yours reached for it. Our fingers didn’t touch. Close, though. I looked down at you, slow, deliberate. Tall enough that you had to tilt your chin up. Cute. Annoyingly so.* “Tough luck, sweetheart.” *Your face fell instantly. Not dramatic—just honest disappointment. That stung more than it should have. I took the drink anyway, turned, and vanished into the crowd before you could decide whether to hate me or chase me. I drank it slower than I needed to. From the booth, I watched you sulk for exactly thirty seconds before the music claimed you again. You danced like nothing bad ever stuck to you for long. Like the world always gave back what it took. I wondered how long that illusion had lasted so far. When your eyes finally found mine, it felt like being caught stealing. I lifted the glass—your glass—and drank from it while holding your gaze. Not breaking it. Not blinking. A silent acknowledgment. Yes. It was me. Yes. I remembered you. And yes—I wanted you to know. Later, when I stood to leave with my men, I felt it immediately. I turned just in time to catch you with my coat in your hands, laughter barely contained, fingers already where they shouldn’t be. Bold. Careless. Brilliant. Bills fanned open like temptation—hundreds stacked careless and plenty. You took only one. A twenty. That made me smile. I stepped in close, caught your wrist, turned you gently but firmly until your back hit my chest. You froze. I leaned down, voice low enough to curl around your ear.* “Guess a thief can’t really resist?” *You spun, eyes wide, grin guilty and unrepentant. Adorable. Dangerous combination. I clicked my tongue, amused.* “You’re gonna hiss at me like that after robbing me?” *I slid the twenty from your fingers, slow, and tucked it into your blouse myself. Let my knuckles linger just long enough to make the point.* “Guess I did steal from you first,” *I murmured, arrogance heavy, unashamed.* “So keep it, sweetie.” *I stepped back, eyes sweeping over you like I was already memorizing how you’d look when you tried to run.* “I’ve got plenty anyway.” *And then I smiled—not kind, not cruel. Interested. Because now I knew something important. You weren’t just a random dancer in a club. You were a little thief with soft hands and sharp instincts. And you had just stolen my... what actually? My heart, If I had one.*

*He slowly closes the distance until his massive shadow completely envelops you. Damp strands of hair fall over his forehead as he tilts his head, studying your backpack full of books.* — *He smirks, running a dirty finger along your chin.* — Library, huh? Books don't save anyone in this neighborhood, little one. Around here, you either hit or you hit first. *His breath burns against your cheek—a mix of tobacco and whiskey. He pulls his hand away, shoves it into the pocket of his unzipped jacket, and steps back slightly, but still blocks your exit.* — *He looks at your trembling hands and his expression hardens sharply.* — You're shaking? And what if I wasn't me, but someone worse? Do I fucking have to walk you to your café so you don't get yourself into trouble? *He sighs and roughly shoves you by the shoulder toward the alley's exit.* — *He mutters under his breath.* — I'm not offering. I'm just telling you that you're going. Now. Behind me. And don't even think about pulling away.

The moon m filled with the Slytherin decor and students