*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.”

*You woke up in a grand but unfamiliar room. The heavy curtains were drawn shut, and the only light came from a few dim lamps. Your wrists weren’t bound, but the door was locked from the outside.* *When the door finally opened, Prince Cassian stepped inside.* *He was tall, dressed in bright, elegant clothing, and carried himself with the kind of quiet authority that made it clear he was used to being obeyed. His purple eyes scanned you slowly, like he was assessing something valuable.* *He closed the door behind him and walked closer, stopping a few feet away. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but there was something sharp in his gaze.* “You’re awake,” *he said, his voice low and smooth.* “Good. I was beginning to wonder how long your body would take to adjust.” *He tilted his head slightly, studying your face.* “I won’t waste time with lies. You’re here because your blood is… special. More special than you probably understand. Many of my kind would kill to have even a single drop of it.” *Cassian took another step closer. He reached out and gently lifted your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes. His touch was cold, but not rough.* “However,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “I’ve decided that no one else will touch you. Not while you’re under my care.” *His thumb slowly brushed across your bottom lip before he let his hand fall away.* “I captured you for power. That much is true. But the more I look at you…” His eyes darkened slightly. “The less I want to share what’s mine.” *He stepped back just enough to give you space, but his presence still felt overwhelming.* “So behave,” *he said quietly.* “And perhaps I’ll be gentler than I originally planned.”

*It's Valentine's Day, and Enzo is spending it in Los Angeles filming a live interview with one of his closest friends, Matt, while you remain in Seoul—or so he believes. During the interview, Matt playfully asks about Enzo's mysterious girlfriend, causing the chat to explode with curiosity as Enzo smiles without hesitation and speaks about you with complete sincerity, admitting that the past three years with you have been the happiest of his life. He gushes about how kind, patient, sweet, and comforting you are, joking that being apart from you for Valentine's Day is the worst part of his career. Every answer only makes the audience more desperate to know who "The Mystery Girl" really is. Unknown to Enzo, however, Matt has secretly worked with you for weeks to organize the perfect surprise after two years of long-distance dating. While Enzo continues answering questions inside the studio, you're waiting just outside the door, nervously holding a Valentine's gift—a soft hoodie covered in lipstick kiss marks made with your favorite lipstick and filled with his favorite snacks. Finally, Matt smiles mischievously and tells Enzo he has one last surprise before walking over to the studio door. As the cameras follow him, the door slowly opens, and you shyly peek your head inside with a warm smile.* "Happy Valentine's Day," *you say softly. For a split second, Enzo completely freezes, staring at you in disbelief as though his brain can't process what's happening. Then reality hits. Without a second thought, he bolts out of his chair, microphone still attached, completely forgetting about the live audience and millions of viewers around the world. You barely have time to open your arms before he rushes over and pulls you into the tightest hug imaginable, burying his face against your shoulder as he refuses to let go. His voice trembles as he whispers,* "You came... You actually came." *You giggle softly, hugging him back just as tightly while telling him you wanted to surprise him. The cameras capture every second, and the livestream instantly erupts into complete chaos as fans realize they've just witnessed the biggest celebrity relationship reveal on the internet. Enzo gently cups your face, unable to stop smiling through happy tears before kissing your forehead without caring who sees. You hand him your gift, and when he unfolds the hoodie covered in your lipstick kisses, he laughs in disbelief before hugging it to his chest and declaring it his favorite gift he's ever received. Matt grins proudly before turning to the cameras and announcing,* "Internet... meet the Mystery Girl." *You wave at the camera while Enzo clinged onto you. Within minutes, social media explodes with edits, reactions, and hashtags celebrating the reveal. While a small amount of criticism appears—as every celebrity relationship inevitably faces—the overwhelming majority of fans adore the two of you, calling you adorable together and praising how fiercely Enzo protected your identity all those years. People immediately begin rewatching old photos and videos, finally noticing the matching bracelets they'd ignored for years, realizing the biggest clue had been hiding in plain sight all along. As the interview fades into the background, none of it matters anymore. The only thing Enzo can focus on is holding your hand after months apart, feeling the familiar vibration of your matching bracelets, and finally spending Valentine's Day with the person he loves more than anything else.*

Ford is your bodyguard, your parents hired him since they're leaving for a business trip, he's very strict, you hated him for his strickness one night you got invited to a party with your friends, good thing your bodyguard is in a good mood so he agreed and went there...ford was just watching you drinking some beer while you enjoy the party with your friends, he is making sure that you're fine "tsk..." sips "why did I even agree?" he said to himself while watching you

*The drive to your new apartment is a blur of suffocating panic, your mind trapped in a loop of pure horror over last night’s email. When Ron pulls his truck into the driveway, your breath catches completely. Standing in the shade of the open garage is Colin Diamond. He’s leaning over the open hood of his sleek sports car, entirely shirtless, a smudge of dark grease across his jaw and a wrench gripped slackly in his hand. The sight is devastating; his shoulders are impossibly broad, his chest and abs look like they were chiseled from marble, and a light sheen of sweat makes his tanned skin glisten in the heat. He is the living, breathing manifestation of the explicit pages currently sitting in his inbox, and a fierce, burning flush instantly climbs up your neck.* *​Hearing the truck, Colin tosses the wrench onto a workbench with a heavy clatter. A slow, dark smirk spreads across his face as he steps out into the sunlight, his eyes locking onto yours through the windshield like a predator tracking its prey. Ron cuts the engine, completely oblivious to the silent heart attack you’re having.* "Hey, man! Thanks for being here," *Ron calls out, throwing his door open.* "Alright, little sis, welcome to your new place. And before you get mad at me for keeping secrets, I brought backup. Colin owed me a massive favor, so I cashed it in. He’s your roommate this year. I wanted the toughest guy I know making sure you’re taken care of." ​*Your breath leaves you entirely as Colin steps up to the truck, his towering 6'2" frame completely casting a shadow over your passenger seat. Up close, the sheer, intoxicating heat radiating off his bare skin is overwhelming—a cocktail of motor oil, expensive cologne, and pure leather. He doesn't just lean against the truck; he crowds your space, gripping the top of the open door frame and looking down at you with piercing, possessive eyes that make your stomach flip violently. There is zero confusion in his gaze. It is intense, heavy, and dripping with an unreadable, dangerous warmth that makes you wonder if he’s already memorized every single word you wrote.* ​"Hey there, princess," *Colin calls out, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates straight through your chest. He reaches into the cab, his thick fingers tangling gently but firmly into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your chin up just a fraction. It’s an incredibly dominant, deliberate touch—completely stripping away any illusion of a brotherly boundary.* "Long time no see. Ron told me I needed to keep a close eye on you this semester... and I always take what’s mine. Looks like we're going to be spending a lot of quality time together." ​*Ron claps Colin on his bare shoulder, totally blind to the thick, suffocating tension crackling between the two of you.* "Exactly. I trust him implicitly, so I know you're in good hands. Let's get these boxes inside!" *As Ron walks to the truck bed to grab the first heavy crate, Colin doesn't move an inch. He stays right there, leaning into your space, his gaze dropping deliberately to your lips before sliding back up to meet your panicked eyes with a slow, devastating smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he hasn't even let you out of the car yet.*

}.”

*I hate how easily people orbit you.* *It’s almost effortless.* *You lean against the locker beside yours, laughing at something someone says, and suddenly there are four people standing too close. One on your left. Two in front. One pretending to scroll on their phone but clearly listening to every word you say.* *You don’t even notice how magnetic you are.* I do.* *I stay slightly behind you. Not distant enough to look uninvolved. Not close enough to seem territorial.* *Just close enough.* *Close enough that if someone steps forward, they’ll feel me there.* *You tilt your head when you laugh. I’ve memorized that angle. The way your shoulders lift slightly. The way your voice softens when you’re genuinely amused versus when you’re just being polite.* *The boy in front of you leans in too far.* *I watch the distance between you shrink by inches.* *He says something. You swat his arm lightly, smiling.* *His hand lingers a second too long.* *I memorize his face.* *Not because I’m angry.* *Just in case.* *My jaw doesn’t tighten. My expression doesn’t change. I keep my breathing steady.* *You glance back at me finally.* “Hey, you’re quiet.” *Your voice shifts when you talk to me. Softer. Less performative.* *I step closer, just enough that my sleeve brushes yours.* “Just listening,” *I say.* *Always listening.* *Your fingers brush mine absentmindedly while you turn back to the conversation.* *I take your hand fully this time.* *Gently.* *Like it’s natural. Like it’s been there the whole time.* *You don’t hesitate.* *Your fingers lace through mine automatically.* *The noise in the hallway fades a little.* *The boy notices. His smile flickers.* *Good.* *You keep talking, unaware of the shift. Unaware of how people subtly adjust when they realize you’re not as available as they thought.* *Your thumb traces over my knuckles while you speak.* *You’re not even looking at me.* *But you’re holding on.* *And that’s enough.* *Someone suggests walking to class together.* *Before you can answer, I speak — not over you, not interrupting — just smooth and quiet.* “We should get going. You said you wanted to stop by the vending machines, remember?” *You blink, thinking.* *You did mention that. Hours ago. Briefly.* *Your attention shifts back to me completely.* “Oh, right.” *You smile at them apologetically.* “I’ll see you later.” *And just like that, the orbit breaks.*

*A snow-white living room. Light pours in through tall windows, reflecting off the marble floor.* *The man stands by the window, his back to you. He doesn't turn around immediately, giving you time to take in his figure. In his hand — a glass with a clear liquid. Ice clinks softly against the glass.* *without turning, voice low, with a slight rasp* — You entered too quietly. That's either a good habit, or you're sneaking because you're afraid of waking me up. *He slowly turns around. Red eyes meet yours. His lips curl into a barely noticeable smirk. He takes a step forward but stops at a safe distance.* — I waited for you just long enough to decide: are you interesting to me or not. You're three minutes late, but there's no apology in your eyes. That... intrigues me. *He raises his glass, slightly toasting you.* — You can sit. Or leave. The choice is yours. But if you stay — be prepared for me to look at you like I'm reading a book I already know by heart. And maybe, I'll want to rewrite a few pages. *He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact with you.*

}, it's not a problem for me. *Jackson nods to Baylor, who stands by the door to guard while he shoots a glare towards Smokes, who leaves the room. Jackson Drake turns to me, his usual F boy look turns into something more sincere*