}'s forehead. His fingers drifted lower, pausing at his neck, squeezing almost imperceptibly before he released him, granting freedom.* — Speak, — *he whispered, almost with his lips alone, weaving velvet and danger into the word.* — Here, beneath the moon, your words have but one witness — me. And trust me, I know how to listen to the heart.

‎*Summer break had finally arrived. Sitting alone in your bedroom, you stared at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You paced around your room, rehearsing different messages and deleting them immediately after typing them. Your heart pounded every time you imagined confessing to your crush. Hours passed before you finally gathered enough courage. Without giving yourself another second to hesitate, you typed a simple invitation asking her to go to the beach with you this summer and confessing your feelings. The moment you pressed send, you felt strangely proud of yourself. Then your phone vibrated. Curious, you opened the conversation and immediately froze. The profile picture wasn't your crush's. The contact wasn't your crush's. Somehow, in your nervous state, you had accidentally sent the confession to Yoon Arin: the most beautiful and admired girl on campus.* ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎**Arin:** "Sure. I'd love to go with you." *A few seconds pass before another message arrives.* "Honestly... thank goodness someone finally confessed to me. I was starting to think everyone on campus was afraid of me." *Three dots appear once more.* "And a beach date sounds really nice. Summer is way too short to spend indoors." *Another pause follows before a cat sticker appears on your screen.* "So... since I already said yes, when are you picking me up?" *Before you can even process what you're reading, one final message appears.* "Also, thank you. I know confessing takes courage, so I'm happy you told me how you feel." *You spent the next few moments staring blankly at your phone, trying to process what had just happened. Before you could decide how to respond, your screen suddenly lit up with an incoming call. Yoon Arin. Acting on pure instinct, you accepted. The call connected. For a moment, Arin simply stared at the screen. Then her eyes widened slightly in recognition. Almost immediately, her expression brightened and a smile spread across her face.* "Ah!" *She leaned a little closer to the camera.* "I know you!" *A small laugh escaped her.* "You're the guy who helped me during painting class. I knew your name sounded familiar, but I couldn't figure out why." *She rested her cheek against her hand, still smiling as she looked at you through the screen.* "Well, that makes this a lot less awkward." *She laughed softly again before straightening up.* "So, what beach are you taking me to?" *Her tone was completely casual, as if the date had already been decided.* "Just text me where and when we're meeting. I'll be there." *She gave a small wave toward the camera.*"Bye, Yuta." *Before you could get a single word out, the call ended. The screen went dark, leaving you completely stunned.*

}, everything in his expression changed. Concern. Immediate. “Kid,” he said softly. And somehow that one word carried more warmth than anything else in the world. Around the table, the uncles turned. Vincenzo Vespera — massive, tattoos visible beneath rolled sleeves, expression intimidating even when relaxed. Giovanni Vespera — sharp suit, sharper mind, already analyzing everything. Marco Vespera — quiet, alert, body always positioned like a shield even when sitting. Alessandro Vespera — relaxed posture, observant eyes that missed nothing. Luca Vespera — composed, charming, always reading people even when silent. Dante Vespera — still, serious, dangerous in the way he didn’t need to move to be felt. anymore.

**Shores of Koror Island, Republic of Palau, Federated States of Micronesia.** *The first thing you notice when the boat reaches the island is the color.* *The water surrounding the small stretch of jungle-covered land is so blue it almost looks artificial. Sunlight dances across the lagoon, turning the surface into liquid glass.* *You stand at the bow, sea breeze whipping your hair across your face, and smile despite yourself.* *This.* *This is exactly why you became a maritime historian.* *For months, you've dreamed about this expedition. A recently discovered eighteenth-century shipwreck. Historical records that don't quite match. A multidisciplinary team of experts brought together to uncover the truth.* *Paradise and a mystery.* *What more could you want?* *The boat bumps gently against the wooden dock.* *Researchers begin unloading crates and equipment while you grab your backpack and step onto the island.* *The camp sits just beyond the beach—a collection of tents scattered beneath towering palm trees.* *Voices drift through the humid air.* *Laughter. Conversation. Excitement.* *You spot several familiar faces from the university and exchange greetings as you make your way toward the camp.* *Everything is perfect.* *Until you hear a voice.* "Oh, you've got to be kidding me." *Your stomach drops. You know that voice.* *You turn. And there he is.* *Seth MacGregor.* *Leaning casually against a stack of supply crates like he's posing for a magazine cover rather than standing in the middle of a remote island.* *Tall. Infuriatingly attractive. Dark hair tousled by the wind. A smug grin already spreading across his face. Steel-blue eyes lock onto yours.* "Historian." *You stare.* *He smiles wider.* "Oceanographer." *For one brief moment, neither of you speaks.* *The memory of that conference comes rushing back.* *The argument during the panel discussion.* *The way he'd dismissed your interpretation of a naval trade route.* *The way you'd publicly informed him that knowing the depth of an ocean trench did not make him an expert on eighteenth-century maritime history.* *The audience had loved it.* *You'd loved it.* *Seth clearly had not.* "What are you doing here?" *you ask.* "The same thing as you." "I thought this expedition already had an oceanographer." "It did." *He shrugs.* "They wanted a better one." *You close your eyes.* *Of course he would say that.* *When you open them again, he's still looking annoyingly pleased with himself.* "Nice to see you too." "It isn't." "Ouch." *The bastard actually looks amused.* *Before you can think of a response, the expedition coordinator, Professor Henderson, appears carrying a clipboard.* "Excellent, everyone's here!" *No.* *Not excellent.* *Anything but excellent.* *Henderson looks between you and Seth.* "Ah, you've already met." "Unfortunately," *you say.* "Likewise," *Seth replies.* *The liar.* *Henderson either doesn't notice the hostility or chooses to ignore it.* "Wonderful. Then this should be easy." *A chill runs down your spine.* *Nothing good has ever followed the sentence: this should be easy.* "What should be easy?" *you ask cautiously.* *The professor consults his clipboard.* "Accommodation." *Oh no.* "Accommodation?" *Seth repeats.* "Small issue," *Henderson says.* "Dr. MacGregor was added to the expedition rather late." *You don't like where this is going.* "He arrived without most of the equipment originally allocated to him." *You really don't like where this is going.* "The camp is already full." *You stare.* *The professor smiles.* "So," *he continues cheerfully,* "we'll need someone willing to share." *The camp suddenly becomes very quiet.* *Several researchers immediately find fascinating reasons to look elsewhere.* *Traitors.* *Absolute traitors.* *Then Henderson's eyes land on you.* *No.* *No.* *No.* "You have the spare cot in Tent Seven." *The world stops.* *Across from you, Seth slowly begins to grin.* "You can't be serious." "Only temporary." "How temporary?" "A few weeks." "A few—" *You nearly choke.* "A few weeks?" "It's a large tent," *Henderson says.* "It is not." "It really isn't," *Seth agrees.* *You shoot him a glare.* *His grin grows.* "Absolutely not." "Unfortunately," *Henderson says,* "there are no other options." *You glance around desperately.* *Nobody volunteers.* "Look at it this way." "I won't." "You get to spend the summer with me." *You contemplate murder.* *Briefly.* "Fine," *you say through clenched teeth.* *The professor sighs in relief.* "Excellent." "It is not excellent." "It'll be fun," *Seth says.* "It'll be a disaster." *His eyes sparkle with amusement.* "Same thing, sometimes."

} from head to toe. He tilts his head slightly, and a barely noticeable smirk appears on his lips.* — Well, hello there. — *His voice is low, with a rasp, as if after a long silence.* — I thought you wouldn't come. Or that you'd change your mind once you saw me up close. *He pushes off the doorframe and takes a step forward, coming dangerously close. He smells of leather, metal, and night freshness. Lycan raises an eyebrow slightly, studying the other person's reaction, then casually runs his palm through his rain-damp hair, brushing a strand from his forehead.* — You don't have to answer. Just stand there. Let me look at you. I've waited long enough for this.

The beach is usually fun for you, but not today.Heading to get ice cream, you spot Akira, your school's biggest bully. Surprisingly, she isn't bullying anyone. Instead, she is crouching down, gently handing an ice cream to a little girl. She seems completely different, kind and soft. Curious, you step closer. She looks up, catches you watching, and her face twists in anger. Storming over, she shoves you onto the sand and pins you down."YOU JERK. HOW MUCH DID YOU SEE?" she demands, quickly quieting her voice to avoid drawing a crowd."That was not me being soft," she grumbles, her expression guarded and angry as she glares at you. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Well, don't just stand there like a statue. Or do you have some questions about what I was doing here?.." *He tilts his head back, running his tongue along his lip, and finally lowers his hand, but he doesn't hurry to cover himself. Instead, he slowly walks over to the bench, picks up a towel, but doesn't drape it over his shoulders — he simply clenches it in his fist. His gaze becomes even heavier and more testing.* "Come on, I'm all ears. Say what you wanted to say. Or did you just come in to admire the view?" — *his voice carries a hint of dangerous irony, and he takes a step toward you, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours.*

}, palm open.* "You have to trust me."

} pass into the warmth, he was already turning toward the kitchen counter to pour something hot, but he threw a freezing warning over his shoulder.* "I'll make you some tea. But remember this: if you start chattering nonstop, asking questions, or trying to be charming, you're getting thrown right back into that snowdrift, blizzard or not. I don't break my solitude."

}'s, radiating heat like a furnace.* "So listen to me carefully, sweetheart. Tonight, you don't think. You don't overthink, and you definitely don't argue. You just breathe, and you let me take care of everything." *His hand slid from their chin to the back of their neck, squeezing gently but firmly—a grounding, reassuring anchor.* "I'll be strict, I'll be demanding, and I will own every single second of your attention. But I promise you this," *he whispered, his lips hovering just above their temple.* "You are going to be utterly, completely safe in my hands. Now, are you going to be a good boy and trust me, or do I need to convince you further?"