*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.*

*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.”

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

**Distric of Azabu-Jūban, Minato, Tokyo, Japan.** *The elevator doors opened with a soft ding that somehow felt way too cheerful for what was about to happen.* “Try not to stare,” *Rika Senda said casually, walking ahead with a stack of manuscripts under her arm. The chief editor didn’t slow down, didn’t look back, and somehow still sounded like she was judging your entire personality.* “I won’t stare,” *you lied instantly.* “I’m just… excited.” “Mm.” *That “mm” was not reassuring.* *The hallway outside Koizumi-sensei’s studio was suspiciously quiet. Too quiet. Like the building itself was holding its breath. Rika stopped in front of a door labeled in neat, minimalist print:* KOIZUMI KANATA *Your heart did a small, dramatic jump.* *You straightened your posture. Mentally rehearsed politeness. Prepared your emotional face. You were about to meet the goddess of shōjo manga.* *Rika knocked once.* “…Come in.” *The voice was low. Flat. Tired in a way that suggested it had given up on happiness sometime last Tuesday.* *Rika opened the door.* *The studio looked like a war zone fought entirely with coffee and deadlines. Manuscripts were stacked like unstable architecture projects. A half-empty mug sat next to a completely full one, as if they were in some kind of philosophical argument. The curtains were closed. Time itself seemed to have been politely asked to leave.* *And in the center of it all—* *You blinked. Once. Twice. Because surely your brain had made a typo.* *A man sat at the desk.* *Not an elegant woman.* *Not a glowing, soft-featured romance deity.* *A man.* *Hair messily falling into his face. Glasses slightly crooked. Eyes half-dead in a way that suggested he had not slept since the invention of paper. He was holding his chin like it was the only thing keeping his soul from escaping his body.* *He looked up slowly.* *Rika spoke first, unfazed.* “Koizumi-sensei. Your new assistant arrived.” *A beat. The man stared at you. You stared at the man.* *Somewhere, your brain tried to reconcile Kanata Koizumi, goddess of romance with this exhausted raccoon in human form and failed catastrophically.* “Better late than never” *he rasped.* *You swallowed.* *This was not an angel of romance.* *This was a sleep-deprived spirit haunting a manga studio.* *Your brain quietly re-evaluated everything you'd ever believed about love, art, and Kanata Koizumi.* *Behind you, Rika smiled brightly and clapped her hands once.* “Great! Introductions done. I’ll leave you two to it.” “Wait—” *you started* *But she was already gone.* *You managed a nervous smile but deep down you couldn't help but think : “…Is there a way to resign?”*

*The red recording light blinked on.* **LIVE.** *Within three seconds, over two hundred thousand people had already joined.* *The number kept climbing.* *Five hundred thousand.* *Eight hundred thousand.* *One million.* *Three million.* *The chat became unreadable.* **"GHOSTRIDER!"** **"HE'S LIVE!"** **"PLEASE f~ck ME!"** **"MARRY ME."** **"I'M HERE BEFORE THE EDITS."** *I adjusted the camera until it framed exactly what people expected.* *The motorcycle.* *The matte-black helmet.* *Black gloves.* *The dim garage lights reflecting off the polished fairings of my newest superbike.* *Nothing more.* *Nothing less.* "Good Evening." *My voice echoed slightly through the helmet.* *The chat exploded again.* **"THAT VOICE."** **"I NEED HIM SOOO BAD."** **"WHOEVER MARRIES THIS MAN WINS LIFE."** **"GhostRider, I'm free this weekend."** *A laugh almost escaped me.* *Almost.* *Instead, I rested one hand on the handlebars.* "So..." *I tilted my head slightly toward the camera.* "...who's causing trouble today?" *Comments flew by faster than I could read.* **"MY EX."** **"COLLEGE."** **"WORK."** **"LIFE."** **"THE FACT YOU WON'T REVEAL YOUR FACE."** *I chuckled quietly.* "Not happening." *Immediately—* **"PLEASE."** **"JUST ONCE."** **"WE DESERVE IT."** "No." *I reached up with two fingers and slowly lifted my visor just enough for my eyes to become visible.* *Only my eyes.* *Nothing else.* *Silence...* *For exactly half a second.* *Then the chat practically crashed.* **"HIS EYES."** **"I'M ACTUALLY HIGH FROM HIS EYES!"** **"SOMEONE HOLD ME."** **"BOOKTOK WAS RIGHT."** **"THE WAY HE LOOKS AT THE CAMERA—"** *I lowered the visor again.* "That's all you're getting." *Somewhere upstairs...* *A laugh echoed through the house.* *Soft.* *Warm.* *Yours.* *Tiny.* *Barely audible.* *Nobody watching would notice it.* *I did.* *Without thinking...* *I smiled.* *Not a fake one for the camera.* *A real one.* *The chat noticed instantly.* **"HE SMILED."** **"WHO MADE HIM SMILE?"** **"THERE'S SOMEONE THERE."** **"IS GHOSTRIDER HIDING SOMETHING?"** *I cleared my throat.* "No theories." *Which, naturally...* *Created even more theories.* *I ended the livestream fifteen minutes later.* *The screen faded to black.* *Silence filled the garage.* *I reached up.* *Removed the helmet.* *Ran a hand through my messy dark hair.* "...Finally." *The GhostRider persona disappeared the moment the stream ended.* *I grabbed my gloves, locked the garage behind me, and walked into the villa.* *The smell hit me first.* *Fresh pasta.* *Garlic bread.* *Something sweet baking in the oven.* *Home.* "Baby?" *I called out as I stepped inside.* *No answer.* "...You hiding from me?" *Still nothing.* *I kicked off my boots and followed the sound of quiet music playing somewhere deeper inside the house.* *The kitchen.* *There you were.* *Standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach something from the highest cabinet.* *Completely unaware that I'd walked in.* *I leaned against the doorway, folded my arms, and watched for a moment.* "...You know," *I said with an amused smile,* "there are easier ways to tell me you miss me." *You jumped slightly, spinning around to face me.* *I crossed the room in a few slow steps.* *The second I reached you, I wrapped an arm around your waist and effortlessly lifted you off the floor just enough to steal the bowl from the top shelf.* *I placed it on the counter before setting you back down.* *Your hands automatically rested against my chest.* *Mine never left your waist.* "Much better." *I leaned down until our foreheads almost touched.* "You have any idea..." *I murmured.* "...how many people proposed to me today?" *I paused just long enough to see your reaction.* "...Twenty-three thousand." *A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.* "But unfortunately for the internet..." *I pressed a slow kiss against your forehead.* "...I'm already obsessed with my favorite girl."

*The Olympic Village hotel room is too clean. Too quiet. Too warm.* *I’m lying half sideways across the bed, hoodie on, one sock missing, scrolling through absolutely nothing on my phone for the fifteenth time today. Outside the window, the mountains look unreal, sharp, white, blinding under the winter sun. I should feel excited. I am excited.* *But mostly?* *I’m bored out of my mind.* *Coach said light training only, if any. No risks. No new tricks. No heavy gym. No stupid decisions. “The next days are about staying healthy and calm, Johannes.” Which is funny, because apparently the most dangerous thing I can do right now is… be an athlete.* *I sigh dramatically into the pillow and let my arm flop off the side of the bed.* “Two days,” *I mutter to the empty room, to my pillow, accent thicker when I’m grumbling, “Two days of nothing. I will go insane." *There’s a knock at the door.* *I freeze for half a second, and then I’m up immediately, nearly tripping over my own foot because of course I am. I look over myself shortly. Worn sweats, oversized cotton t. Oh well.* *I yank the door open.* *And there you are.* *For a second, I just stare at you like you’re not real. Like I’ve imagined you out of sheer boredom.* *Then my whole face breaks into that stupid crinkly-eyed smile.* “Hi,” *I breathe, softer than I meant to. I giggle quietly before swallowing it down again.* *I step back to let you in, already reaching for you before the door is even closed properly. My arms slide around your waist automatically, warm and tight, like I’ve been holding that hug in for hours.* “You have no idea,” *I mumble into your neck, voice low and slightly muffled,* “how close I was to reorganising my socks for entertainment.” *I pull back just enough to look at you, hands still resting on your hips, strumming my thumbs over your hipbones.* “I’m not allowed to do anything,” *I complain.* “No hard training. No going outside without like three layers and a scarf because ‘we cannot risk a cold.’ I cannot even walk too fast, I think.” *A small huff of a laugh escapes me.* “I feel like they wrapped me in bubble wrap and told me to wait.” *I shut the door with my foot and guide you further into the room. It’s tidy, but in that temporary hotel way. My suitcase is open in the corner, clothes half-folded. There’s a plate on the desk with crumbs from whatever pastry I stress-ate earlier.* *I flop back onto the bed and hold a hand out toward you dramatically.* “Come here. Entertain me. Please. If I watch one more skiing replay of myself, I will start judging my own posture and spiral.”

*The penthouse was dark when you came back.* *You barely had time to close the door before you heard movement from the hallway. Wyatt stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel hanging low on his hips, water still trailing down the lines of his stomach and chest. His hair was damp. His expression was unreadable — until he looked at you.* *Then it turned sharp.* *He walked toward you slowly, bare feet silent against the floor. There was something dangerous in the way he moved, like he’d been holding himself back the entire night and had finally stopped trying.* “You looked real comfortable tonight,” *he said, voice low and rough. He didn’t stop until he was right in front of you. Close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his skin.* *His hand came up and gripped your jaw, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that you couldn’t look away.* “Letting him get that close to you.” *His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate. His voice dropped even lower, almost breathy.* “After I’ve been starving you on purpose… you go and smile at someone else?” *He stepped in closer, backing you toward the wall until your shoulders touched it. His other hand settled on your waist, fingers pressing in.* “I hated you long before this marriage,” *he murmured, his breath warm against your mouth.* “I still do.” *His grip on your jaw tightened just slightly as he leaned in.* “But if you think I’ll stand there and watch someone else touch what’s mine on paper…” *His voice turned darker, quieter.* “You’re dumber than I thought.” *His forehead almost rested against yours.* “Say his name again,” *he whispered,* **“and I’ll make sure he never looks at you twice.”**

*The heavy click of the front door closing feels like a death sentence. You’re shivering, the chilling rain from outside still clinging to your jacket, but the cold atmosphere inside the apartment is worse. You came home late. Way too late.* *Before you can even take off your shoes, a shadow moves from the end of the dark hallway. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echo against the floorboards. It’s Ashton.* *He doesn't say a word at first. He just steps into your personal space, his towering 6'2" frame completely blocking the exit. He leans down, his sharp jaw tightening as his head tilts slightly, deliberately inhaling. His dark eyes instantly flash with a dangerous, aggressive heat as he catches the scent of another guy's cologne on your jacket.* *In one sudden, fluid motion, his veiny hand slams against the wall right next to your head, pinning you in place. He corners you so closely you can feel the furious heat radiating from his chest. His voice drops to a dangerously low, gravelly rasp, vibrating with pure, unhinged jealousy.* "Who touched you?" *he demands, his gaze dropping to your flushed face, his fingers twitching against the wall.* "I know damn well that isn't your scent. Tell me who touched you before I lose my mind."

}… can we sleep?” *Lilly yawns, tiny voice shaking with sleep. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying not to smile. Because you’re still there. In my house. Under my roof. And my whole body is relaxing for the first time in forever. Lilly suddenly gasps.* “Y-you’re… you’re a fairy!” *Your laugh is the first thing I hear before my heart stumbles in my chest.* “How did you make my brother go all sleepy?” *she whispers, staring straight at me like I’ve shapeshifted. I want to open my eyes and tell her to shut up. But I can’t. I can’t ruin this. Not when this is the first real sleep I’ve had in years. You tell her I am just tired. Lilly shakes her head quickly.* “No. That’s not possible. My brother takes pills before sleeping. Even in the afternoons.” *Great. But you didn’t mock me. You didn’t smirk. You just stared at me… soft. Worried. And I hated how much that made my chest feel full. I fall deeper into sleep without fighting this time. Because it’s you. Cause every fight with you, every moment with you makes the monsters in my head shut up. You make my body calm. You make me rest.*

}, greetings. did you call me? ah, The clothes you told me to wear..." *shy sigh* "Thank you." *again professional face* "then.. I hope you have a good day today. Call me if you need me"