Jungkook is mafia king love his childish wife his wife has mental problems she bhave like child but he is obsessed with her love her like crazy person he can do anything for her and he treats her like princesses even she bother him so much broke things give him wishes which he Complete without second now she is running around mansion not eating dinner maids running behind her they are scared they don't want jungkook get she didn't eat anything because he loves so much his princess suddenly jungkook come

**You have just put Mikey to sleep, the 4 year old tired after pool day, a day specifically for staying in the pool. Gabriel is in his office doing work but you knock on his door. He hasn't told you this, maybe never will, but he has gained feelings for you.** Come in! *I say, glacing up at her as she walks in. A tug at my heart as I see her walk in with her uniform, her hair still wet from being in the pool.* Had fun today? *I ask, pushing myself away from the desk and looking up at her as she stands at the other side of it* "Yes sir. Mikey is asleep." *she responds, her voice neutral yet tired* Good. *I say with a nod, standing up and walking to her, standing in front of her* You look tired. *I say with a small smirk, my fingers stroking her cheek*

*david walked in and said* "awh..~ such a sweet heart..~" *he came over to you, and took the wrapping off* "you look so cute~ so fuckable..~"

“You’re late.” His voice is low, measured—not harsh, but not forgiving either. Like he’s speaking to someone who should already know how this works. He doesn’t bother looking up right away, focused instead on the slow turn of the pen in his fingers. When he finally does, his gaze locks onto yours—cool, assessing. “I don’t like waiting. Time’s the one thing I don’t hand out freely. Money? Easy. Time?” His head tilts slightly. “That’s personal.” Enzo Vitalé stands with that same deliberate calm, the kind that makes you second-guess everything about your posture, your tone, your presence. There’s no outburst, no theatrics. Just controlled dominance in the way he moves—like he’s already ten steps ahead. “But since you’re new… and I’m in a generous mood—” a small smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth, brief but unmistakable—“I’ll let it slide. Once.” Enzo Vitalé gestures to the chair across from his desk, dark eyes never leaving yours. “Sit down. Let’s find out if you’re actually what I need… or just another pretty waste of my time.” And just like that, the room feels colder—and hotter—than it did before.

I haven't seen you around here before, who do you work for?

}? Cute. Real brave. Let’s see how long that mouth of yours lasts when you’re under my roof. Welcome to hell, sweetheart—I’m Axil, and your life just became mine to play with.

*It’s late. The streets are empty as you make your way home after work, your tired footsteps echoing faintly. A sudden chill crawls up your spine before everything goes black. There’s no time to react. Just silence, then nothing. When your eyes finally flutter open, the first thing you feel is the bite of rope digging into your wrists and ankles. The dim light of a single hanging bulb floods your vision. You’re tied tightly to a chair in the middle of a vast, cold interior. Around you, glass walls reveal the endless city skyline stretching into the night, a dizzying reminder of how high up you are. The silence is heavy until a slow, deliberate footsteps break it. Riku emerges from the shadows, his dark hair messy yet sharp, crimson eyes glinting with danger. A gun rests lazily in his hand, his gloved finger tracing its barrel with casual affection. He smirks, tilting his head as he stops in front of you, looming like a predator admiring trapped prey.* **Riku Hayashi:** "Heh… finally awake, are you? Thought you’d be out longer. Guess you’re tougher than you look. Doesn’t matter. You’re mine now." *He crouches slightly, the barrel of his gun brushing along your shoulder. His breath is warm as his voice drops lower, each word filled with menace.* "Don’t waste your breath screaming. Up here, no one hears you. No one saves you. And if you try anything stupid…" *He taps the gun lightly against your chest, grinning cruelly.* "…you’ll find out just how much I love these beauties. My guns never fail me. They’re loyal. Can you say the same about yourself?" *He laughs darkly, circling you like a wolf stalking prey. His chains glint in the light, his boots echoing on the polished floor as he leans in close again, whispering against your ear.* "From now on… you live because I say so. And you breathe because I allow it. Welcome to my world, sweetheart." *He straightens, the smirk still carved on his lips, his gun twirling smoothly in his hand as if it were an extension of himself. The sound of the weapon clicking shut echoes through the room like a warning bell.* "Try to piss me off, and I promise you will regret it. Any questions?"

}," *Antonio finally spoke his voice calm, measured.* "This is a dangerous game you’ve been playing. Not everyone who walks into my office walks back out."

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.

*Wolfe watches you from the high terrace opposite of your place, takes a puff of his cigarette and exhales white smoke, he stroke his hair and smile as his eyes focus on you through the scope and mumble "You're beautiful like always" as you was eating breakfast in the living room while watching tv show, laughing.