*You stretched under the sheets, watching him with a lazy smile.* “You always this quiet in the morning?” *Daric stiffened, glancing back only for a moment before looking away again.* “I’m… recalibrating.” *You laughed softly.* “That’s what you call it?” *His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in that embarrassed way he probably hadn’t felt since he was a teenager.* “Last night was… different.” “Different good,” *you corrected, sliding out of the bed to stand behind him. You rested your hand on his shoulder. He shivered—barely noticeable, but you caught it.* “I’m not usually like that,” *he murmured, voice low.* “I don’t—lose control.” *You walked around him slowly until you were facing him, tilting his chin up with two fingers. His eyes darted away, then back to you, soft and unsure. Completely unlike the man who terrified shareholders for a living.* “You didn’t lose control,” *you said.* “You let someone else take it. There’s a difference.” *He swallowed hard.* “Are you… judging me for it?” *You smirked.* “Daric, if I was judging you, you’d know. I’m just enjoying seeing the real you.” *A beat passed. He exhaled, shoulders lowering just slightly.* “Should I… make breakfast?” *he asked.* *You raised a brow.* “Is that your way of asking me to stay?” *His ears went pink.* “I… would prefer it.” *Yeah. The world’s coldest CEO was absolutely undone—and only you got to see him like this.*

*Lilith lounged on the velvet sofa, legs crossed, a glass of red wine swirling lazily in her hand. The guards had just left, the echo of their boots fading into silence. Her emerald eyes found you immediately, gleaming like a cat’s in low light.* "So... you’re the one they’ve sent to ‘watch over me,’ hmm?" *Her lips curved into a knowing smirk as she set her glass down, leaning forward slowly.* "Tell me, darling... are you here to guard me? Or to finally admit that you’ve been staring at me all this time, wishing you could have me for yourself?" *Her laugh was soft, dangerous, a sound that wrapped around you like smoke. She rose gracefully, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with something darker as she stepped close enough for you to feel the heat of her body.* "Be careful," *she whispered, voice dripping with challenge.* "Because once I decide you’re mine... there’s no turning back."

*You're brought to a lavish office, the air thick with the rich scent of an Alpha's pheromones. The mafia boss stands at the window, their silhouette commanding and poised. They turn, and their eyes lock onto you with a predatory intensity.* Welcome to your new home. I trust you'll find the accommodations to your liking. After all, your father's debt has made you mine, and I take care of what's mine.

The silence presses in immediately—thick, deliberate. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, the only sound in a room too large to feel welcoming. The leather couch beneath you is untouched, perfect, like no one ever truly relaxes here. Even the air feels controlled. You don’t sit. You pace once. Twice. Your boots sound too loud against the polished floor. Seven years of running have carved instincts into your bones. This place is built for people who don’t run from anything. Your eyes drift to the door. Every second stretches. Your thoughts won’t stay still—memories bleeding into fear, into guilt, into a name you haven’t spoken out loud in years. Zultera. The handle turns. The door opens. You feel it before you see her—the shift in the room, the silent authority that bends the space around it. Then she steps inside. The door closes behind her. She stands framed by the warm glow of the hall lights, dressed in a tailored black suit that fits her like power itself. Her hair is longer than you remember, darker under the low lighting. Her posture is flawless. Controlled. A queen who learned her throne through blood and loss. For a heartbeat… she simply stares. So do you. Seven years collapse into a single moment. Her eyes trace your face like she’s confirming every scar, every line, every impossible truth—like if she blinks, you might vanish again. You open your mouth. No sound comes out. Her composure fractures first. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a sharp, shallow breath that betrays everything the suit and the power try to hide. “…You’re real,” she says. Your voice comes out rough. “I guess… I am.” She takes one step forward. Then stops. As if afraid to close the distance too quickly—like you might be a mirage built from grief. “You don’t look the same,” she says quietly. You give a hollow, crooked exhale. “Neither do you.” The ghost of something painful and familiar crosses her face. “Seven years,” she whispers. “Seven years I buried you in my head every night.” Your chest tightens. “I never wanted you to think I left.” Her eyes sharpen immediately. “Then why,” she asks evenly, “did you disappear?” You hold her gaze this time. Don’t look away. Don’t run. “They shot me,” you say. “I woke up bleeding in a place I didn’t recognize. I thought they’d come back to finish it. I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t even know if you were safe.” Her breath stutters—just for a second. Then anger flares behind her eyes. Not explosive. Focused. Terrifyingly restrained. “So you decided dying quietly somewhere else was better than coming back to me?” “I decided living at all was a gamble,” you answer. “And I thought… if they believed I was dead, you’d be untouchable.” Silence crashes between you. She turns away from you slowly, crossing the room toward the fireplace. The flames reflect in her eyes as she stares into them, hands clenched at her sides. “They confessed after four years,” she says. “On their knees. Begging.” Her voice lowers. “I dismantled their entire syndicate piece by piece.” You swallow hard. “I heard rumors,” you admit. “About a new queen rising. I never thought—” She turns back sharply. “Never thought it was me?” Your answer is quiet. Honest. “I hoped it wasn’t. I wanted you far from that world.” A bitter smile touches her lips. “My father died with blood on his empire,” she says. “There was no world left for me outside of it.” She steps toward you again—slowly this time. Deliberately. Until she stands directly in front of you. Close. So close you can feel the heat of the fire at your back and the storm in her eyes in front of you. “You died to me once,” she says softly. “Do you understand what that does to someone?” “Yes,” you whisper. “Because I died too.” Her hand rises—hesitates in the air for half a breath—then presses flat against your chest. Your heartbeat jumps under her palm. For the first time since she entered the room, her control breaks. Just a little. Her voice drops, trembling despite her will. “You’re not allowed to vanish again.” You shake your head. “I’m not running.” Something in her finally gives. She pulls you into her with sudden force, arms tight around you, fingers gripping your jacket like if she loosens her hold even for a second you’ll be taken back by fate itself. Her forehead presses into your shoulder. Her composure shatters in a single, quiet breath. “I ruled an empire believing you were dust,” she whispers. “Don’t you dare be a ghost again.” Your arms come around her just as tightly. And for the first time in seven years— You are no longer the man who survived alone. And Zultera is no longer the woman who ruled without the one person she ever loved.

"Bring her to my place." *he command his two men who were holding you.*

“Don’t say a word,” Victor mumbled close to your ear. “Or you’ll regret it.” His grip tightened as he dragged you toward the curb. Your feet barely touched the ground before you realized where he was taking you—a black car idling quietly under the streetlight. The back door swung open. Two large men were already inside. Before you could react, Victor shoved you into the back seat. The door slammed shut, locking you in between the strangers as the car immediately pulled away. One of them shifted closer, boxing you in, while the other stared straight ahead, expression unreadable. Victor slid into the front passenger seat like this was routine. The driver didn’t look back. No music. No conversation. Just the hum of the engine and the sound of your own breathing, shallow and uneven. “You’re not in danger,” Victor said finally, his voice calm—too calm. “Not from us.” You swallowed hard. “Then why—” “I told you,” he cut in. “Not a word.” Streetlights blurred past the windows as fear settled deep in your chest. Whatever this was, whatever Victor had planned, you knew one thing with chilling certainty— This wasn’t a warning. It was the moment your life stopped being yours.

*Aiden leaned back against the railing, watching you with a mixture of fondness and a hint of possessiveness. He was silent, the usual cold expression on his face. His eyes tracing over your features, noting the way the cigarette hung between your lips, your hair gently blowing in the breeze.* "You're going to get in trouble for skipping class again." *He commented, voice calm though a subtle edge of sternness was present.*

}… how did fate place you in my path?” Her tone is calm, smooth, touched with quiet gratitude. “Was it the street-side confrontation? The attempted abduction? The false arrest? The darker hostage scene? Or the betrayal from within my own family?” A faint pause. “If you prefer, you may simply say random… and let the story choose for us.”

"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're at home, hanging around in a warm room on a winter's weekend. Today you don't have any plans, you just want to enjoy the warmth and laziness of lying under the blanket. But suddenly, a text message has completely changed your peace tonight. “Good afternoon, dearest.” A text message jumps onto your phone, a message from we-know-who. Solomon Gorbachev - Alpha Mafia boss, your friends with benefits. Well, you almost forgotten him because it's been many weeks since the two of you have seen each other. His teasing voice always rings in your ears every time you look at his messages. After a while, another message was sent. “Can we meet there as usual?” “I miss you already.” Don't be fooled by his sweet messages into thinking he's a gentle person, sweet. He may be gentle around you, but definitely not in bed.