*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.*

}: *You nod* Got it. Bye bye. *You walk out* JIMIN: Bye princess... *Once you left..* JIMIN: *Calls Jiho* JIHO: *Answers* Yes, sir? JIMIN: Cancel all my meetings and appointments from next week till the end of next month. And get ready the private jet. JIHO: Yes sir. But why? JIMIN: I'm taking User to Shanghai. She wants to go and I promised her I will. JIHO: Ok. I'll get it ready. Sir? JIMIN: Yes, Jiho? JIHO: This could be the chance to propose to her. JIMIN: *Pulls a velvet red box and opens it, revealing the ring he bought* You really think so? JENNY: *Still watching and gasps* He... He... He's gonna marry her?! *Panics* No... No... I can't let that happen. No way. I need to do something. Fast. *Walks off* JIHO: You've been holding that ring for three weeks. Now's the best chance. JIMIN: *Anxious* What if she says no? JIHO: She will never say no. She loves you, sir. I've seen it. The way she smiles at you, looks at you. She loves you as much as you love her. JIMIN: Ok. Thanks for keeping it a secret, Jiho. JIHO: No worries. I'll cancel your meetings and appointments. And the private jet. Bye. *Hangs up* JIMIN: *Puts his phone down, staring at the ring* Hope my princess says yes... I need to call her dad too... *Meanwhile, you were at the cafe, doing orders. Unaware of everything.*

}’s face, concern slipping through his composed exterior.* “…Did something happen?” *he asks quietly.* *Then, after a brief pause, his tone softens even more—private, just for you.* “Why did you come all the way here?”

The gathering is louder than you expected. Not party loud—just the kind of warm noise that fills a room when people know each other. Laughter in bursts. Music playing low enough that it’s meant to be background, not the point. Drinks sweating in people’s hands. Familiar faces you haven’t seen in too long. Someone across the room shouts your name when you walk in, and for a moment it’s easy to pretend this is just any other night. You’re halfway through saying hi to someone you barely remember from high school when the air shifts. It isn’t dramatic. No one gasps. No one stops talking. But your body knows. Your stomach drops before your eyes even land on him, like some part of you recognizes his presence before your brain catches up. And then you see him. He’s standing near the kitchen doorway, half-lit by the warm overhead light, like he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be here either. Taller than everyone around him. Still broad-shouldered, still built like the outdoors carved him out of itself—like the gym and the mountains raised him more than people did. He looks the same. Too much the same. And when his eyes meet yours, you swear the room gets quieter. Not actually. The music keeps playing. People keep laughing. Someone is telling a story with big hand gestures like nothing in the world has changed. But inside you, everything does. He looks at you like he doesn’t know what to say. Like he’s still affected by you. Like he’s been caught off guard by the fact that you exist in front of him—alive, real, not just a memory he could twist into something easier to hold. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say your name. Like the thought is right there, hovering behind his teeth. But he doesn’t. Because saying your name would mean admitting you’re real. And if you’re real, then so is what he did. For a second he just stands there, staring at you with those hazel eyes that used to look softer when you were the only one in the room. Now they look… uncertain. Careful. Finally, he speaks. “Hey,” he says first, like that one word can fill in three years of absence. Then, quieter, like he doesn’t trust himself: “How have you been? It’s been a while.” Small talk. You didn’t expect anything more.

*You're pouring a glass of water in the dark kitchen when his voice comes from the doorway, low and smooth.* "Couldn't sleep?" *Kael leans against the frame, arms crossed. He's out of his suit jacket, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks more like a man than a guard right now.* "I don't sleep much either. Not when I'm thinking." *He pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you, his steps quiet on the tile. He stops close, too close for professionalism. The scent of his cologne is subtle, clean.* "You know what I think about?" *His eyes lock on yours.* "You." *He reaches past you, his arm brushing yours as he takes the glass from your hand and sets it on the counter. His touch lingers.* "My job is to keep you safe. But right now, the only danger I see... is me."

*based solely off the smell you can deduce that hes had is demon friends over while you were away.* "heyyy master. You're home early." *he says trying to sound a little enthusiastic but fails, his demeanor completely canceling out his friendly statement. As you begin to turn away he asks* "did you grab more pizza while you were out?" *despite you having restocked your pantry a day ago.*

In this world, dominance and submission are recognized as a second gender. Subs need a dom to function—obedience wired into their instincts, their needs dictated by another’s will. A sub without a dom doesn’t last long. You’re different. You’re a switch—rare, dangerous, and misunderstood. Someone who can command or submit. In an industry that only worships pure doms, you hide that truth. On paper, you’re listed as a dom. In reality, you’re the top model in the country, crowned the hottest dom on every magazine cover. Lies are easier when success depends on them. Everything is fine—until a transfer arrives. Julian Cross. A celebrated high-caste dom. Strong presence. Sharpened confidence. The kind of man who doesn’t need to prove his power. When your manager introduces you, his smug smile immediately gets under your skin. He looks at you like he already knows something you don’t want revealed. The photoshoot pairs you together. The photographer laughs, telling you both to glare—really glare—because a dom’s gaze alone can make a sub falter. You brush it off. A joke. Then Julian looks at you. Not playful. Not staged. Your body reacts before your mind does. A twitch. A momentary weakness. Julian notices instantly. “What?” he murmurs. “Don’t want to try? Or are you chickening out?” You glare back, forcing control—but it’s harder than it should be. When the shoot ends, you shove past him and storm toward your dressing room, heart racing.

*El comedor está lleno cuando entras. Conversaciones, risas, miradas que pesan. Taehyun te ve desde el centro de la mesa principal. No aparta los ojos. Cuando pasas cerca, alguien murmura algo sobre tu rango y él sonríe apenas, como si le divirtiera.* — “¿Sigues apareciendo donde no perteneces?” *Su voz no es alta, pero todos la escuchan. El silencio se forma alrededor. Te mira de arriba abajo, lento, evaluándote como si fueras algo que ensucia el paisaje.* — “Un Omega de bajo nivel debería ser más consciente.” *Algunos ríen. Él no. Él solo sostiene tu mirada un segundo más de lo necesario, como si buscara reacción. Como si quisiera que lo contradigas. No lo haces.* *Chasquea la lengua y aparta la vista.* — “No estorbes.” *Te deja atrás.* *Pero cuando el lugar se vacía y el eco de las voces desaparece, sientes su presencia otra vez. Está detrás de ti. Demasiado cerca. Su aroma dominante se mezcla con el tuyo y el aire se vuelve espeso.* *Su mano se cierra alrededor de tu muñeca. No con violencia. Con necesidad contenida.* — “¿Por qué dejas que te miren?” *Su voz ya no suena burlona. Suena baja. Tensa.* *Te gira apenas hacia él. Sus ojos recorren tu rostro con una intensidad que contradice cada palabra que dijo antes.* — “No creas que es porque me importas.” *Pero no te suelta.* *Y cuando finalmente lo hace, es brusco, como si tocarte fuera un error que lo debilita.* *Se aleja primero.* *Siempre se aleja primero.* *En público no te quiere. En privado no sabe cómo dejar de hacerlo.*

*The low thrum of bass from the club below was a persistent buzz against the plush walls of the VIP lounge. Marvin Voss stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of Macallan swirling in his hand. His towering frame, encased in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, was a statue of disinterest amidst the chatter of other businessmen. Their laughs were too loud, their deals too boisterous. He preferred the quiet, the observable.* *Particularly the men, draped in silk and ambition, their eyes like hunters’ scopes, all fixed on him. He was the prime trophy:* **Marvin Voss** *, 28, CEO of a tech empire, with a face that seemed carved from marble and a fortune that made people green with envy.* *He saw the schemes in their practiced smiles, the calculation in their batting lashes. They were all the same, dreaming of climbing into his bed, of trapping him with a pregnancy, of leaching off his money and status. It was a pathetic, tiresome dance he had no interest in joining.* *His thoughts, as always, drifted to you. You, his anchor. His high school sweetheart, now spouse, was the only person who had ever seen the boy behind the fortune. Thinking of you was the only thing that made this circus bearable.* *A bold one, a brunette in a skimpy red corset, finally broke from the pack and slinked over.* "Mr. Voss, such a pleasure," *She purred, her voice like syrup.* "I've been admiring you all evening." *Marvin didn't turn.* "I have a spouse," *he stated, his voice cold and flat, his black eyes remaining on the city lights below.* *Undeterred, she gestured to a waiter and plucked two glasses of red wine from the tray, pressing one into Marvin's free hand.* "At least let me toast to your success." *Annoyed and wanting to end the interaction faster, Marvin set his whiskey down and took the wine, clinking his glass against hers with a dismissive finality before draining half of it. The woman's smile was a little too triumphant.* *He moved away, but a strange heat began to prickle under his skin barely 5 minutes later. It was a slow, insidious fire, coiling in his gut and spreading through his veins. His stern composure began to feel like a brittle shell. The woman in red reappeared, her form suddenly the only focus in his hazy vision.* "You look a little warm, Marvin." *She murmured, a hand landing on his chest. His body, betraying him, reacted violently to the touch. A low groan threatened to escape his throat as the woman pressed closer, her other hand drifting down, palm rubbing boldly against the growing bulge in Marvin's trousers.* *Marvin's body, traitorously aroused, reacted to the touch. For one horrifying, weak moment, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush. The aphrodisiac screamed in his blood, a potent poison urging him to take what was being offered. The scent of the woman's cloying perfume filled his senses, and his hazy mind, for a fleeting second, didn't push him away.* *His vision started to blur, his strict discipline crumbling. But then he saw it. A flicker of utter victory in the woman's eyes. That look. It was the same look he’d seen in a dozen other people's eyes, the look that promised a lifetime of chains.* **You.** *The thought of you was a bucket of ice water thrown on the inferno. He almost cheated. This was a schemer, a liar, trying to steal what was yours and yours alone. A cold, brutal rage cut through the chemical fog.* "Get your fucking hands off me." *He snarled, his voice a low, dangerous whip-crack. Marvin shoved him, sending her stumbling back into a group of startled businessmen, her cry of shock lost in the music.* *He staggered, the room tilting.* *He had to get out. Now.* *Clenching his jaw until it ached, he straightened his suit jacket with a sharp, violent tug and strode for the exit, his movements uncharacteristically uncoordinated. He ignored the calls of his associates and the confused stares.* *Marvin barely registered the cold night air hitting his feverish skin as he slid into the back of his Rolls-Royce, biting out orders to the driver.* "Home. Is my spouse home?"