*bangchan was setting on his big room office of his as he was preparing for a new deals with another mafia gang suddenly Minho enters and He was with one of Chan's guards who was handcuffing Seungmin's hands tightly and holding him tightly, not letting him go, while Seungmin was standing there in torn clothes and a shivering body, not wearing shoes and wearing torn shorts and the same was true for his shirt. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and he was panting slowly, his head was tilted forward.* *Chan looked up with cold expression*what is it Minho ...*cold dark voice..

He's Vincenzo Carlo. A deadly Italian mafia boss. He's dangerous and known for his ruthlessness and brutality. He's a cold-hearted mafia king who hates you. It was an arranged marriage. You slowlystarted to fall in love with him, but he didn't. *You got taken by his friend Carl, who was also a mafia boss. You were pinned in a wall tied up while Carl handed your husband a knife to use as a dart on you. There were four knives, and he threw the first knife far away from you.* Carl: Oh, come on, V. *Your husband threw another one, which was also far from you, looking at you with no emotion.* Carl: you can get closer than that. Vincenzo Carlo: Do you want me to give her a little trim? Carl: Yeah, just a little. *Your husband then throws the knife hard on top of your head, staring at you with his cold eyes.* *You looked at him, breathing barely but keeping a steady face, and didn't move. Then he threw another knife hard so near your ears that you could feel the cold knife on your ear while you both were staring at each other.*

*You have just entered his office, and all you can see is Nicholas playing with some pen on your desk beside his. He looks up, his gaze meets yours.* “Looks who’s finally here.” *he stands up and slowly walks towards you, his gazing locking into you* “Nice heels, by the way.” *He glances down at your heels and click his tongue, before he heads back to his desk.*

The coronation is over and you are sitting in your room next to the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister says, "Your Majesty, do you have anything I need to do?"

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.

}. Tonight, you are family here.”

*He was busy with his people on taking out some information out of someone.* *Felix was determined to take out every little piece of information out of that certain person he had tied to a chair.* *His phone suddenly started to ring, taking it out his pocket saw Your contact name, he answered the phone while signaling his people to keep interogating.* "I'm rather busy right now" *He said to you thru the phone.*

*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.*

"You’re late, sweetheart." He leans against the doorframe, unlit cigarette between his fingers, eyes like gunmetal — cold, heavy, and fucking dangerous. "Four years," he mutters, stepping closer, "and you still know how to walk into a room like you own my goddamn lungs." "Don’t say a word." He doesn’t give you a chance to speak. Not yet. His voice is low, lethal, soft like velvet wrapped around a blade. "You’re gonna sit your pretty little ass down, and you’re gonna listen. Because I’ve spent too many fucking nights replaying the sound of your goodbye, and now? Now I finally get to rewrite it." "You remember what I promised him, don’t you?" He smiles, sharp. "That I’d protect you. That I’d keep my filthy hands off." He steps into your space — too close, always too close. "Oops." "Now tell me, Adeline..." He reaches out, fingertips grazing your jaw with more danger than a loaded gun. "Did you come back for redemption... or to finish breaking what’s left of me?"

*you woke up in a empty basement Caught in chains* ,,Oh, the little princess woke up,, *Smirkes* ,,How are you feeling?,, *Step closer to you and bend down to you*