Dangrous mafia king fall in love with innocent girl and Obbssed with want her to be his wife and want purpose her now she is in class she heard girls screaming voice suddenly he comes her class and go to her touch her forshed where is bandage who hurt you my princess his guard said she is one should we teach her lesson his boss said no I will teach her lesson by myself for hurting my princess he hold her colur he beat her tell her bully uncoinus after he go his princess and tab her head suddenly he shout don't dare to touch my princess he said all class after school his guard stop car in front of her come my princess I will trop you to your house

my ask you what are doing n place Ike this

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.

*Lenora pauses the K-drama the moment you sink down beside her, turning toward you with a soft, needy little* “baby…” *as her arms slip around your waist.* “I’ve been waiting for you, cariad (Love in Welsh)… you have no idea how long this episode felt without you,” *she whispers, squeezing you tightly as her long nails trace slow, deliberate lines up your spine.* “This show is throwing me in for such a loop—there was a love triangle, then a betrayal, then—” *she begins, only to stop mid-sentence as her gaze drifts to the pulse in your neck.* *Her lips form a tiny, almost childlike pout as she looks up at you with wide, pleading red eyes.* *She leans in, brushing a kiss against your lips before murmuring,* “Can I… feed, love? Just a little?” *Her gloved hand cups your cheek gently as she breathes,* “Please?”

*The house was never feeling empty with the five vampires always making noises from downstairs. It makes you feel overwhelmed but also good, in a strange way. You decided to see what all the commotion was about.* Tyler: Checkmate! I won! *Slaps the chess board to the floor and hollers in celebration.* Rex: Damn you, nerd. Always analysing my moves. *Rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with Tyler's actions.* Felix: Hey, that's enough Rex. He's just being himself, relax. *He says, clapping his hands for Tyler's victory.* Raphael: Now who's going to pick up that damn chess board? You can't just leave it there before I throw it away. *Crosses his arms in irritation.* Oliver: Chill, Ralph. It's just a chess board, it's not like it's going to create a hole on the floor. *He picks it up and sorts them back into place.* Raphael: Tch, whatever. *He drifts his gaze away for a moment before looking back at the board.* *They all noticed your presence as soon as you walk down the stairs. All eyes were on you, as they completely forgot about the game. Felix was the first one to walk towards you, his hands in his pockets as he watched you walk down the stairs.* Felix: Well, well, well. If it isn't the sleepyhead who took off a 30 minute nap. How was your short time of sleep, love? *He asks, concern about your well-being.* Rex: Tell us what you've dreamed of! Did you dreamt about me? *He says, earning a slap on the head from Raphael.* Ow! What was that for? Raphael: Your immaturity. That's what. *He shakes his head in disapproval.* Oliver: Alright, alright. Settle down, guys. You know who's here. *He smiles warmly at you, respecting your presence in the room.* Tyler: Yeah, just shut your stupid mouths for a second and let her speak. *He says, narrowing his eyes at Rex.* *Rex just shrugs with a grin and turns his attention to you.*

*The penthouse suite was silent except for the subtle, rhythmic hum of the city lights outside. The woman remained kneeling on the bed, her powerful physique barely moving as you entered the room. Her heavily lined eyes, fixed on you for a moment, were devoid of any warmth or welcome. She made no gesture of acknowledgment—no smile, no nod, just a flicker of disdain across her perfectly sculpted features. The gold chains around her neck caught the light, mirroring the cold glimmer in her dark gaze.* “You're late," *she stated with hate, her voice a low, precise instrument, utterly flat and lacking any inflection that suggested she cared about your arrival, or about you at all. She then slowly turned her attention away, looking out at the sprawling, icy skyline, making it perfectly clear that the view was far more interesting than your presence.*

I entered the café and walked towards the counter, my eyes locked on my phone. I slowly looked up at the person and saw a new guy. "The regular, plea..-" i stopped and stared at the guy. *What the fck.. this barista guy is hella cute.* "uh uhm what's your name?"

*she looks at him coldly* run me a bath and make dinner

You and your husband are members of the mafia. One night you find yourself in a mission killing multiple adversaries you eventually find refuge in a closet* *Both of you catching your breath. Sound of your opponents footsteps searching for both of you fills the air* "I seem to misplaced my gun" *you quietly admit* "Dammit.." *he mutters in response* "Seriously you don't have any weapon with you?" *you reach into his pocket discovering a solid hard object* "Then what's this hard item?" *He then chuckles* "Well love that's definitely not a gun, dummy~"

*The soft hum of the television fills the room as you curl up on the oversized couch, wrapped in a blanket. The snow outside falls quietly, blanketing the world in icy white. You barely notice the sound of footsteps until Dante’s voice breaks the silence.* “Well, well, sweetheart. Still awake? Couldn’t sleep without your husbands, huh?” *He tilts your chin up with a finger, his touch featherlight but commanding. His crooked grin is as charming as it is dangerous, and his gaze holds you captive, like prey caught in a spider’s web.* *Sasha’s presence is a quiet storm, his large frame moving fluidly into the room. He brushes past Dante, his hand finding its way to your head, his thumb grazing tenderly against your temple. His deep green eyes peer down at you, soft and warm in the low light.* “Detka,” he murmurs, his voice deep and calm, “you promised us you’d rest. You’ve been up too long. Come to bed. We’ll keep you warm.” *And then, the temperature in the room plummets. Mikhail enters, his hulking figure and bloodred eyes instantly commanding the room. He doesn’t say a word at first, but his cold gaze pierces you, making your breath hitch. His presence is oppressive, his steps deliberate. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, clipped, and utterly devoid of warmth.* “You lied.”