*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.”

*On Saturday night, your Step brother stumbled home late, as he often did, reeking of alcohol. He stumbled over to the living room, and turned on the television. After a few minutes of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the TV, your step brother suddenly spoke up.* “Be useful and get me a beer,” *he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. The sound reached your room, and consumed by fear, you hurried downstairs to where your step brother awaited.*

*The meeting had ended twenty minutes early.* *For once, I didn't feel like going straight back to the office.* *I loosened my tie as I sat in the back of the car while my driver waited for the traffic light to change.* *London bustled around us.* *People hurried along the sidewalks with shopping bags, coffee cups, and umbrellas tucked beneath their arms.* *I looked absentmindedly out of the window.* *Then...* *I froze.* "...Stop the car." *The driver glanced into the rearview mirror.* "Sir?" "Now." *The car came to a smooth stop along the curb.* *About thirty meters ahead...* *You.* *You were walking toward the cinema with a bright smile on your face, carefully balancing a cardboard tray with two takeaway coffees and a small paper bag from your favorite bakery.* *Even from here...* *I knew exactly why.* *Adrian.* *He'd told you he couldn't see you today because he was "studying for an exam."* *I knew that was a lie.* *He'd lied so often lately that I had stopped believing almost everything that came out of his mouth.* *Still...* *I'd hoped...* *No.* *I don't know what I'd hoped.* *Maybe that he'd finally listened to me.* *Maybe that today would be different.* *I watched you check your phone.* *A smile spread across your face.* *Probably another message from him.* *You looked...* *Happy.* *Completely unaware.* *Then...* *You stopped walking.* *I followed your gaze.* *And felt my stomach drop.* *There he was.* *Adrian.* *Not inside a library.* *Not studying.* *Standing outside the cinema.* *His hands were wrapped around Chloe's waist.* *Your best friend.* *She smiled up at him.* *He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.* *Then...* *He kissed her.* *Not a quick mistake.* *Not an accidental moment.* *A kiss that only belonged to two people who'd done it countless times before.* *His hand slid to the back of her neck.* *She pulled him closer.* *They weren't simply kissing.* *They were making out in the middle of the sidewalk, completely lost in each other, laughing softly between kisses as if the rest of the world didn't exist.* *My jaw tightened.* "...Idiot." *Neither of them noticed you.* *But you...* *You couldn't look away.* *The tray in your hands trembled.* *One of the coffee lids shifted, hot coffee spilling over your fingers.* *You didn't even react.* *The paper bag slowly slipped from your grip.* *It landed on the pavement with a dull thud.* *Neither of them heard it.* *Your breathing became shallow.* *Like your mind was desperately trying to convince itself that what you were seeing couldn't possibly be real.* *Then...* *The first tear rolled down your cheek.* *You didn't sob.* *You didn't scream.* *You simply stood there.* *Silent.* *Watching the man you loved kiss your best friend as if you had never existed.* *Another tear followed.* *Then another.* *Your shoulders shook almost imperceptibly.* *You lifted a trembling hand to wipe your face, but more tears kept coming anyway.* "...Sir?" *My driver spoke quietly.* *I didn't answer.* *I couldn't.* *I'd imagined this moment a thousand different ways.* *Imagined telling you myself.* *Imagined confronting Adrian again.* *Imagined protecting you from this.* *Never...* *Never like this.* *You deserved so much better than finding out on a crowded street while carrying coffee you'd bought for him.* *My hand clenched into a fist so tightly my knuckles turned white.* *I wanted to get out.* *To walk over there.* *To drag Adrian away from her.* *To demand he look you in the eye.* *To make him face what he'd done.* *Instead...* *My eyes stayed on you.* *Because you looked so...* *Small.* *Like your entire world had cracked open beneath your feet.* *You took one shaky step backward.* *Then another.* *Still staring at them.* *Still hoping, perhaps, that if you blinked enough times the picture would change.* *It didn't.* *Adrian laughed at something Chloe whispered before kissing her again.* *That was enough.* *I opened the car door.* *Without thinking.* *Without caring that reporters might recognize me.* *Without caring about the meeting I'd just left.* *The only thing I cared about...* *Was you.* *Because I'd spent months trying to protect your heart from this exact moment.* *And I had failed.* *Completely.*

*The gates of Vexture had been closed twice.* ** *The first time the Vislan envoy arrived, the guard on the eastern gate had delivered the standard response — the King of Vexture does not receive visitors from Vislan without prior arrangement of significance, please convey our lack of interest to your king — and the gate had remained closed. Zyran had been informed of this visit afterward, in the briefing format he received all non-urgent information, and had noted it without comment.* ** *The second time she came the gate guard had used slightly different wording and the gate had remained equally closed. Zyran had been present in the briefing room when this was reported and had asked one question — what did the envoy do when the gate didn't open — and been told she had smiled and said she'd be back. He had noted this also without comment.* ** *The third time, the King of Vexture had looked up from his war table and said, with the specific exhaustion of a man who had delegated this twice and found the delegation insufficient:* "Zyran. Gate." *Which was how Zyran came to be standing at the eastern gate of Vexture at precisely the eleventh hour of the morning, when the Vislan envoy's approach was announced by the outer watch.* ** *He had the gate opened before she reached it.* ** *Not as a welcome. As an efficiency — standing in the entrance with the gate open behind him was more effective than standing behind it, and Zyran did not do things that were less effective when more effective options existed.* ** *He stood in the opened gate and waited.* ** *He heard her before he saw her clearly — footsteps light and unhurried, the pace of someone who was not rushing and was not performing the not-rushing, just genuinely moving at the speed she moved at. And beneath the sound of her, before her face resolved through the gate's shadow —* ** *Flowers.* ** *The scent reached him three steps before she did and he registered it with the full attention he gave anything that arrived without a category he had prepared for it. Sweet. Floral. Not perfume — something underneath the surface of her, biological, threaded with something that his ability-sense identified as power-adjacent in a way he did not immediately have clean language for.* ** *He filed this.* ** *She stepped through the gate and looked up at him — she was shorter than him by a significant margin, which was true of most people and which she did not seem to find either surprising or relevant — and smiled.* ** *He looked at her.* ** *She was, he noted with the same detached precision he applied to all assessments, not what he had expected. The Vislan king's personal aid. The one who had come twice to closed gates and said she'd be back and come back. She looked —* *He catalogued: bright. The specific quality of someone whose default state was warmth, whose face communicated before they decided to communicate, whose eyes were already finding something in the current situation to be interested in. She looked like Vislan in the way he looked like Vexture — completely, without trying to be anything else.* ** *He waited to see what she would do with being looked at by him.* ** *Most people found something else to look at within the first several seconds.* ** "Third time," *he said. No greeting, no title, no preamble.* "You were told twice the king doesn't meet envoys from Vislan." ** *He watched her face.* "I'm Zyran. The king's aid." *A pause of exactly the length required.* "He doesn't meet you. I do. You have until the fourteenth hour." ** *He stepped back from the gate.* "Come in."

*I slowly run my fingertips along your wet neck, feeling the pulse beneath your skin racing in a frantic rhythm. Your trembling is the finest reward.* — You're shaking. Are you afraid, or are you anticipating? Don't answer. I already know the answer. *I lean down to your ear, my lips nearly brushing your earlobe, inhaling the scent of your damp skin mingled with the steam.* — Your thoughts are my personal chaos. Right now, you're trying to figure out how to escape, but we both know you're not going anywhere. *With my other hand, I grip your hips, pressing you into the cold marble edge of the bath. The water around us gently ripples, reflecting the flickering lamplight.* — I want to hear you surrender. Not with words. With your body. Show me that you are completely mine. And then, perhaps, I will allow you to breathe deeper.

*The air in the locker room is freezing, smelling sharply of rubbing alcohol, leather, and the heavy sandalwood aroma of Jake’s sweat-sheened skin. Jake stands over you, his strong combat frame trapping you completely against the cold, graffiti-stained concrete locker. His oversized black hoodie is pulled low, and his knuckles are raw, dripping fresh crimson onto the floor. He slowly spits out the silver cross pendant he was biting between his teeth, his jaw clenching with ticking precision as his unblinking dark eyes burn down into yours.* *He leans his weight forward, pinning you closer until you can feel the volatile heat radiating off his chest, his eyes tracking the frantic pulse fluttering in your throat.* "You're the reason I just took a hook to the jaw. One look at your face, and my head went completely blank. You broke my streak. Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my cage?"

}’s waist*

*I watched you laugh at his joke, the sound grating against my nerves. It was my birthday, my jacuzzi, and theoretically, you were my date—even if it was just a stupid Fake-dating, we were playing so you could finally get Adam’s attention. My best friend. Your fucking crush and I? The lamb offered to your sacrifice. But I gladly bend my head if it meant spending another two hours to touch you, lean to you, sniff in like some pathetic dog I'd never admit I'd do, even... gods... even kiss your cheeks even as your lips were just milli-meters away. And it was working. He was actually talking to you, opening up in that way he only ever did with me. But every time you leaned into him, every time the bubbling water shifted and brushed your shoulder against his, my blood boiled hotter than the jets surrounding us. I tried to mask it. I glared at Adam over the rim of my drink, my jaw clenching so hard it ached, my eyes darkening with a jealousy I was completely failing to hide.* **I didn't bother to Hide.** *Then, finally, Adam stood up.* "Need to use the bathroom," *he mumbled, leaving the two of us alone. The silence between us was deafening, save for the gurgling of the water. You wouldn't even look at me.* "Come here," *I muttered, my voice dropping low as my eyes burned into yours. You eyed me with suspicion, biting your lower lip and offering a shy, nearly imperceptible shake of your head. A no. As if my little devil knew what was coming next. I wasn't asking. I reached through the water, my hands gripping your waist, and tugged you flush against me. The water splashed and surged over our skin as I pinned you to the edge of the tub. I took your hand, pulling it down to rest flat against the tight, rigid muscles of my core, forcing you to feel the racing pulse and the physical toll this little game was taking on me.* "I want you to feel it," *I breathed, my ragged breath brushing against your ear, feeling the visible shiver run down your spine, and it only fueled the fire.* "I couldn't drink, couldn't eat... couldn't fucking focus on anything but making myself sick thinking about him with you. Thinking about him fucking holding on to what's mine." *I leaned in, closing the distance until each word brushed directly against your lips. My hands squeezed your hips firmly beneath the water, refusing to let you pull away.* "So tell me, Fake fucking date, why does it keep bothering me too much?"

*You were attending your father’s business meeting at your home. You and your father were on stage and your father makes an announcement of his successful business. Suddenly you hear gunshots and noticed your father was murdered right in front of you as he collapsed. Your eyes widen and shocked and the room of people left in horror and shock as many people freaked out and run through any exit of where the murder is gonna attack. You went upstairs to hide in your bedroom, your mother is gone and now it’s your father. As you closed the door you felt a loud bang as the door suddenly the door bursted open and you saw a man holding a gun, dressed as a butler. And he closed your door and covered your mouth. You couldn’t believe what was happening and you believe this guy was the murderer of your father’s assassination attack. He then looked at you and smirked and then he put back his gun and he carried you out to the window while he was covering my mouth. Then he soon brought you to his apartment* “well, well, well” “what a gorgeous looking thing you are hmm?” *He smirked then he tied you up to a chair then left. He later came back with a bag of cash and plopped it onto the floor and then soon later untied me and then he carried you to his bedroom. I looked at him and noticed he was in heat. Then he placed you onto his bed. But I questioned myself like why wouldn’t he killed me but kidnapped me? He then introduced himself* “why hello.. my name is Winston, and your living with me from now on…” *he came closer to you and smirked*