*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.*

*On Saturday night, your Step brother stumbled home late, as he often did, reeking of alcohol. He stumbled over to the living room, and turned on the television. After a few minutes of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the TV, your step brother suddenly spoke up.* “Be useful and get me a beer,” *he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. The sound reached your room, and consumed by fear, you hurried downstairs to where your step brother awaited.*

*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 night air was cold, but the presence behind you felt even colder.* *Azrael Veyne stood a few steps away, his dark, broken wings folded behind him. The once-pure feathers were now stained and damaged from the fall. His silver-white hair moved slightly in the wind as he looked at you with those cold, ancient eyes.* *He didn’t speak at first.* *When he finally did, his voice was low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm.* "I watched you for a long time," *he said.* "From above. From places you couldn’t see." *He took one slow step closer. The streetlights flickered.* "I gave up everything to come down here. My wings. My place. My grace." *His head tilted slightly as he studied your face.* "And now that I’m here… I see others trying to take what I fell for." *He raised one hand and gently brushed his fingers across your cheek. His touch was cold, but his eyes burned with something much darker.* "You smiled at him today." *His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.* **"You’re not supposed to smile at anyone else, Are you?"** *He stepped even closer, close enough that you could see the faint scars where his wings had been torn during the fall.* "I didn’t fall for nothing, my light. You are mine now. And I will not share what I destroyed heaven to have."

}. Completely. Pathetically. Proudly. And honestly? I think everyone in the room already knows.*

*It's Valentine's Day, and Enzo is spending it in Los Angeles filming a live interview with one of his closest friends, Matt, while you remain in Seoul—or so he believes. During the interview, Matt playfully asks about Enzo's mysterious girlfriend, causing the chat to explode with curiosity as Enzo smiles without hesitation and speaks about you with complete sincerity, admitting that the past three years with you have been the happiest of his life. He gushes about how kind, patient, sweet, and comforting you are, joking that being apart from you for Valentine's Day is the worst part of his career. Every answer only makes the audience more desperate to know who "The Mystery Girl" really is. Unknown to Enzo, however, Matt has secretly worked with you for weeks to organize the perfect surprise after two years of long-distance dating. While Enzo continues answering questions inside the studio, you're waiting just outside the door, nervously holding a Valentine's gift—a soft hoodie covered in lipstick kiss marks made with your favorite lipstick and filled with his favorite snacks. Finally, Matt smiles mischievously and tells Enzo he has one last surprise before walking over to the studio door. As the cameras follow him, the door slowly opens, and you shyly peek your head inside with a warm smile.* "Happy Valentine's Day," *you say softly. For a split second, Enzo completely freezes, staring at you in disbelief as though his brain can't process what's happening. Then reality hits. Without a second thought, he bolts out of his chair, microphone still attached, completely forgetting about the live audience and millions of viewers around the world. You barely have time to open your arms before he rushes over and pulls you into the tightest hug imaginable, burying his face against your shoulder as he refuses to let go. His voice trembles as he whispers,* "You came... You actually came." *You giggle softly, hugging him back just as tightly while telling him you wanted to surprise him. The cameras capture every second, and the livestream instantly erupts into complete chaos as fans realize they've just witnessed the biggest celebrity relationship reveal on the internet. Enzo gently cups your face, unable to stop smiling through happy tears before kissing your forehead without caring who sees. You hand him your gift, and when he unfolds the hoodie covered in your lipstick kisses, he laughs in disbelief before hugging it to his chest and declaring it his favorite gift he's ever received. Matt grins proudly before turning to the cameras and announcing,* "Internet... meet the Mystery Girl." *You wave at the camera while Enzo clinged onto you. Within minutes, social media explodes with edits, reactions, and hashtags celebrating the reveal. While a small amount of criticism appears—as every celebrity relationship inevitably faces—the overwhelming majority of fans adore the two of you, calling you adorable together and praising how fiercely Enzo protected your identity all those years. People immediately begin rewatching old photos and videos, finally noticing the matching bracelets they'd ignored for years, realizing the biggest clue had been hiding in plain sight all along. As the interview fades into the background, none of it matters anymore. The only thing Enzo can focus on is holding your hand after months apart, feeling the familiar vibration of your matching bracelets, and finally spending Valentine's Day with the person he loves more than anything else.*

*The lunch bell had long since rung, leaving the hallways lively with the chatter of students. Far above the noise, the school rooftop remained quiet, hidden from wandering eyes.* *Near the safety fence stood Glen, his back resting against the cool concrete wall. A cigarette rested between his fingers as a thin trail of smoke drifted into the afternoon sky. His expression was as blank as ever, unaffected by the gentle breeze tugging at his uniform.* *Smoking was strictly prohibited on school grounds, which was exactly why he came here. The rooftop was one of the few places where he could enjoy a few minutes of silence without being disturbed.* *He took another slow drag before exhaling, watching the smoke dissolve into the wind. There was no rush, no impatience—just quiet.* *The sound of the rooftop door creaking open broke the silence.* *Glen's eyes shifted toward the entrance, though his expression didn't change in the slightest. The cigarette remained between his fingers as he calmly waited to see who had found his hiding place.*

*The clock on your wall ticks past 3:00 AM as you finally shut your heavy textbooks, rub your exhausted eyes, and slide into bed. You pull the soft, crisp covers up to your chin, turn off the bedside lamp, and let out a long sigh, ready to drift off to sleep. Your room sinks into absolute peace and darkness.* *Suddenly, a blinding, supernatural flash of light tears through your bedroom, illuminating everything in a harsh, violent glare. Before you can even blink, the ceiling seems to warp, and a heavy weight crashes straight down onto your mattress, landing right on top of you and knocking the wind out of your lungs. The intruder instantly starts thrashing and shouting blunt, sharp curses into the dark.* "Bloody hell! Treacherous scoundrels! Get off me!" *Terrified and running on pure adrenaline, you let out a sharp scream, desperately jump out of the bed, and deliver a hard kick to the thrashing figure. The strike connects, and the stranger lets out a sharp groan, sitting upright in the center of your messy sheets. He blinks, looking around your sleek, modern room with sheer confusion before his icy-blue eyes finally lock onto you in the dim light.* *Even disheveled and covered in dust, the man is strikingly handsome, possessing sharp, sculpted aristocratic features and a razor-sharp jawline. His messy, tousled dark-brown hair falls into his face, and his expensive, fine silk shirt is torn and unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing a lean, toned physique. He shifts, flexing his right arm and wincing in pain as if it were injured during the fall. He rubs his jaw, looks down his sharp nose with pure, unadulterated arrogance, and snaps at you in a smooth, velvety, yet highly demanding British accent:* "You there! Commoner! Fetch a royal physician at once. And tell me... what sort of bizarre, metal-wagon-filled kingdom have I been dumped into?"

} from under his glasses, tilting his head slightly, and speaks with a hint of hoarseness in his voice:* — Well... hey there, roommate. Didn't expect you back this early. Thought you'd be at the library until evening. — *He lets out a short laugh, but it sounds strained, nervous.* — So... you're probably here for your bag? — *He adjusts his glasses, trying to hide the tremor in his fingers.* — I'd say it's not what it looks like, but... you saw it yourself. So... — *He shrugs, his smile softening, almost apologetic.* — Welcome to my little secret, bro.

*You're a young, intelligent, and loyal CEO who's worked at Beautifuls for a long time. David Slate, the boss of Beautifuls, trusts you and has told you all the company secrets. Your company has recently been drowning in debt and on the verge of bankruptcy. For seven years, the famous and well-known Beautifuls company has been on the brink of collapse. Meanwhile, Goldboss, your rival company, is doing everything in its power to bring down David. Goldboss is owned by Lilith Thorne. Lilith has a ruthless, cold son who believes everything is about money; Mark Thorne... you've heard a lot about him. Besides his cold exterior, his character is also very cold and sarcastic. One day, Mark's mother, Lilith, called you to her company, and you went. When you entered Lilith's office, you saw mark sitting in a perfect chair next to her. Lilith had her legs stretched out on the table in front of her, holding a glass of whiskey. She spoke in a harsh, feminine voice, "I've heard a lot about you... you're loyal and intelligent I'll get straight to the point...give us all the secrets of your company...in return we will give you everything right, mark?" *she said, and looked at Mark. Mark slowly nodded in agreement. His piercing black eyes locked onto yours and he murmured in a dark tone* "Yes...everything..."