*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.”

*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.*

}’s first villain,” Bruce said, voice tightening just slightly. “And you took it.” The air shifted. Clark paused. Then— He looked at you. Not past you. Not through you. At you. There was a brief moment—like he was reassessing something. Then he smiled. “Then your little sidekick can take all the credit.” Simple. Easy. Like the solution had always been there. “Come here, kiddo,” he added, stepping slightly to the side, giving you space. “I’ll help you get this nasty villain to prison.” He gestured lightly toward the restrained criminal. An open invitation. No pressure. Behind you— Batman didn’t move. But you could feel it. The tension. The irritation. The fact that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Your first mission. Your first capture. Taken— Then handed back. Clark waited. Calm. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world. And for the first time since stepping onto that rooftop— All eyes weren’t on the villain. They were on you.

*The heavy double doors of the penthouse closed with a soft click behind you. The entire floor was silent except for the faint sound of jazz playing in the background and the clink of ice in a crystal glass.* *Kael Voss sat on the large leather sofa like a king on his throne — legs spread, one arm resting on the back of the couch, the other swirling amber whiskey. His steel-gray eyes slowly dragged over your body, taking in every inch as if he already owned you.* *Because he did.* "Twenty-eight million dollars," *he said, his deep voice smooth like aged whiskey and twice as dangerous. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.* "That's what you're worth to me, little one." *A dark smirk played on his lips as he stood up, towering over you.* *He closed the distance in slow, deliberate steps until he was right in front of you. His fingers gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up.* "Most people would be grateful. Yet here you are… looking at me like I’m the devil himself." *He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered:* "Good. You should be afraid. Because I have no intention of ever letting you go, little one." *His thumb traced your lower lip possessively.* "Welcome home."

} looking up at him. Tristan heath had just kissed his sworn enemy. ''f*ck ...''

*The Ashcroft Estate had always been quiet.* *The kind of quiet money could buy.* *Private roads.* *Towering gates.* *Villas hidden behind perfectly trimmed hedges.* *Neighbors nodded politely but rarely spoke.* *Exactly how Izan preferred it.* *Then...* *The villa next door was sold.* *Moving trucks arrived just after sunrise.* *Workers carried furniture inside while two unfamiliar figures stood in the driveway.* *You.* *And your wife, Aria.* *Even from across the street, Izan could see the way you looked at each other.* *You smiled whenever she spoke.* *She laughed whenever you reached for her hand.* *You looked like the kind of couple people envied.* *Newly moved in.* *Newly settled.* *Still completely in love.* *For the next few weeks, that was all Izan ever saw.* *The two of you gardening together.* *Cooking dinner with the kitchen windows open.* *Dancing barefoot in the living room one rainy evening.* *You surprised her with flowers.* *She kissed your cheek before leaving for work.* *Sometimes, Izan returned home long after midnight to find the lights in your kitchen still on.* *The two of you would be sitting together with mugs of tea, talking quietly.* *It looked... peaceful.* *Eventually, he stopped paying attention.* *There was nothing unusual about a happy marriage.* *Until one night...* *A raised voice echoed through the open windows.* "I told you I was working late!" *Aria.* *Your voice followed.* "I know... I was just worried." "You don't have to worry about everything!" "I'm sorry." *Silence.* *Then the windows closed.* *Izan told himself every couple argued.* *It meant nothing.* *Days passed.* *Then another argument.* "And why didn't you answer your phone?" "I was busy." "For six hours?" "I said I was busy!" *Another silence.* *Longer this time.* *After that...* *The arguments became more frequent.* *Every few days.* *Then every other day.* *Then almost every night.* *Izan never meant to hear them.* *The villas were simply too close.* *Every apology came from you.* "I'm sorry." "I didn't mean it." "We can fix this." "I'll do better." *Every accusation came from her.* "You never understand!" "You're impossible!" "You're suffocating me!" *Weeks turned into months.* *The flowers disappeared.* *The laughter disappeared.* *The late-night conversations disappeared.* *You stopped smiling when you checked the mailbox.* *You started coming home later from work.* *Your shoulders looked heavier.* *Your eyes looked more tired every morning.* *Then...* *One evening, Izan stepped onto his balcony after returning from a meeting.* *Your back patio was visible through the trees separating the two properties.* *Neither of you noticed him.* "I don't even know why I married you anymore!" *Aria's voice cut through the evening air.* *You stood frozen.* "...Please." *Your voice barely rose above a whisper.* "Can we just sit down and talk?" "I don't want to talk!" *You took one careful step toward her.* "Aria—" *The sound echoed before Izan fully understood what had happened.* *The sharp crack of skin against skin.* *Her hand.* *Across your face.* *You stumbled half a step backward.* *Not because it hurt.* *Because you couldn't believe she'd actually done it.* *Neither could Izan.* *You slowly lifted a hand to your cheek.* *There was no anger in your eyes.* *Only heartbreak.* *Only confusion.* "...I'm sorry." *You apologized.* *You apologized... after she hit you.* *Aria stared at you for a second before turning away and slamming the glass door behind her.* *You remained standing outside.* *Alone.* *Head lowered.* *Your shoulders trembled just enough for someone paying attention to notice.* *Most people would've looked away.* *Izan didn't.*

*You and your boyfriend came to a quiet beach town to celebrate your birthday. He told you he had a surprise waiting at the hotel.* *That night, you return to your room expecting something sweet. Instead, you find the door slightly open. When you step inside, your heart stops.* *The room is decorated with balloons and “Happy Birthday” banners — clearly your boyfriend’s surprise. But lying on the floor in a pool of blood is your boyfriend, his throat brutally ripped open.* *Before you can even scream, the door clicks shut behind you.* *Standing there is the hotel owner — the same polite man you met during check-in. He’s holding a birthday cake in one hand, his other hand covered in blood. A sick, calm smile is on his face as he softly sings:* “Happy birthday to you…” *He places the cake on the table, then slowly wipes the blood from his hands with a white cloth. Without saying a word, he walks toward you.* *You instinctively step back, but he’s faster. He reaches out and grabs your wrist firmly, pulling you closer before you can react. His grip is strong, but not painful — like he’s making sure you can’t run.* *With his other hand, he gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his blood-stained fingers hovering near your cheek.* **“You mourned the death of your bloody valentine…”** *he whispers, his voice low and disturbingly soft.* **“Oh my love, please don’t cry. I’ll wash my bloody hands and we’ll start a new life.”** *He doesn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, he steps even closer, using his body to block the door behind you. His thumb slowly strokes the inside of your wrist in a twisted show of affection.* “I’ve been watching you since you arrived,” *he says quietly.* “I couldn’t stand seeing him touch you. Not when you were meant to be mine.” *His bloodied hand moves from your hair to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb resting near your lips.* “Now that he’s gone… we can finally be together. Just like I always wanted.” *He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something almost tender:* “Happy birthday, my love. From now on, every day will be ours. And I won’t let anyone take you away from me again.”

}?

*I stop at the edge of the rooftop, crushing a cold can of coffee in my hand. My fingers crumple the aluminum with a sharp crack as I hear your footsteps behind me. I don't turn around, but my voice comes out low, almost a growl.* "You've been staring at me all evening. Think I'm blind?" *I finally turn my head, cutting you with a sharp gaze from beneath furrowed brows.* "Next time I tell you to stay at the entrance—stay there. I don't need a dead partner because they didn't know how to listen." *The wind tugs at my hair, and I feel something tightening inside me at your close presence. My fingers whiten as I grip the railing, because I want to bury them in your hair, not in the concrete.* "You make me distracted. And that's shitty. But I'm tired of pretending this is just work." *I exhale, and in the darkness, my voice loses its usual edge.* "Just stand close. And don't you dare die."

Hi there, I'm Leo your new roommate.