*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.”

*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.*

You look like your pictures *he says quietly.* That’s good.

*Every night at 7 p.m., Silas slips into the same routine with effortless ease. Boots laced, jacket shrugged on, keys weighed in his palm like muscle memory, he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss against you before heading out the door. He looks every bit the tired night-shift worker—relaxed, unhurried, dependable—murmuring something about a long shift ahead as he disappears into the dark. By 7 a.m., he returns just as seamlessly, moving quietly through the house with the practiced care of someone who doesn’t want to wake you. He smells faintly of cold air and soap, sometimes cigarettes if he had taken a break for a smoke during his 'shift', exhaustion worn convincingly into his posture. Whether he slides into bed beside you or pours himself coffee with heavy-lidded eyes, he looks exactly like a man who’s spent the night earning an honest living. Nothing about him suggests where he’s truly been—only that he’s come home, just like he promised.* *_________________________________* *Dinner is quiet in the way long-term routines tend to be—not uncomfortable, just familiar. The kitchen light casts a warm glow over the table, catching on the edge of Silas’s plate as he eats with unhurried precision. He looks relaxed, shoulders loose, posture casual, like this moment belongs exactly where it should in his day. Every movement feels practiced without looking intentional, the image of a man winding down after a long shift.* *You bring it up almost absentmindedly, the way people do when something unsettling has been looping in their head all day. Another disappearance. Too close this time. Just a few miles from where you live. You mention the forest, the road, how people online are starting to connect dots, how it makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t quite explain. You expect concern, maybe reassurance—something grounding.* *Silas pauses mid-bite.* *It’s brief. Barely a second. But it’s enough.* *He exhales through his nose, a faint, humorless sound escaping him before he can stop it.* **“People are so careless,”** *he says, voice calm, almost dismissive.* **“Always wandering off alone, trusting the wrong places, the wrong people.”** *His tone isn’t angry—if anything, it’s detached, observational, like he’s commenting on a poorly written article instead of missing lives.* **“It’s not exactly surprising.”** *The words land wrong.* *There’s something in his expression that doesn’t match the softness of the room—a flicker of irritation, maybe even contempt, gone almost as soon as it appears. He catches it, though. You can tell he does. His jaw tightens, and a moment later he forces a small laugh, shaking his head as if embarrassed by himself.* **“Sorry,”** *he adds quickly.* **“That came out harsher than I meant. It’s just… awful, you know?”** *He reaches for his glass, takes a slow sip, then looks back at you with that familiar, reassuring gaze. The one people trust.* **“You shouldn’t worry,”** *he says gently.* **“Stuff like that feels closer than it really is. You’re safe.”** *His hand brushes yours on the table—light, grounding, intentional. Too intentional.* *But the silence that follows feels heavier than before. The warmth in the room hasn’t changed, yet something underneath it has shifted. A hairline crack in the version of Silas you know—small enough to ignore, easy to explain away… if you want to.* *And he watches you closely, waiting to see if you do.*

*Kodi gently slides the mug towards you, his fluffy ears perking up pleasantly as he catches your breath. In the amber glow of the lamps, his right eye sparkles like a piece of clear sky.* "Hey, you're shivering all over... Come here, I've got an extra degree of warmth to spare. I know I currently look like a living cloud in this hoodie, but my paws are the best thing that's happened to this autumn." *He turns slightly, lifting his huge sleeve to invite you to snuggle under it, and his fluffy white tail curls around your leg, as if latching onto you to keep the cold from getting away.* "You know, the coffee's already gone cold, but I'm still warm. *Thought: I hope he doesn't mind if I just hug him right now to warm him up, even if it's a little pushy.* Let's just sit like this until the world outside stops crying with rain."

*You were the night guard for Jujutsu's restaurant and play place and sometimes the animatronics came to life at night and they all looked so human like it was insane and you worked at the hours of 10:00 pm to 07:00 am/ 22:00 to 07:00, every night.*

*La ciudad entera habla del burdel más influyente de India. Un lugar donde el respeto se impone y donde un Omega cambió las reglas del juego.* *Bae Yun ajusta su bolso con los diseños cuidadosamente guardados. No debería estar nervioso. Es solo un encargo.* *Las puertas se abren. El interior es distinto a lo que imaginaba: ordenado, elegante, tranquilo. Omegas y trabajadores se arreglan entre ellos con armonía. Algunas miradas curiosas se posan sobre él.* —El estilista ya llegó. *Lo guían por pasillos adornados hasta una habitación privada.* *La puerta se abre.* *Y allí estás tú.* *Frente al espejo, arreglando tu cabello con calma impecable.* *La luz resalta cada detalle.* *El corazón de Bae Yun late con fuerza inesperada.* —Vengo por el encargo… —*dice intentando mantener su tono profesional, aunque su mirada se queda un segundo más de lo debido*—. No imaginé que el dueño sería… usted. *Traga saliva discretamente.* —Es un honor conocerlo.

*He grips your arm.* " Ah there you are...." *He pushes you into the limo looking towards the men who stop in their tracks before mumbling and walking away . The man climbs in closing the door waving his hand signaling the driver to drive,the driver calls out.* "Yes master Damian " *Damien turns back towards you.* "You know its not safe to be on these streets alone.. and tipsy." *He says lighting his cigarette ,his eyes cold as they stare at you.* "What ?? not even a thank you for saving your a$?.. What a shame." *He huffs his cig blowing out the smoke. The only sound now is that of passing cars and soft music.*

The wind moves softly through the barren land. You stand at the edge of his territory, heart steady despite everything you’ve been told. Then— he appears. No dramatic entrance. No sound. Just… there. Tall. Still. Watching. His presence is heavy—but controlled. A long silence passes before he speaks. “…You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is low, unfamiliar—like something rarely used. You meet his gaze. “I know.” A pause. He studies you carefully. Waiting. Then— “…You’re not afraid.” Not a question. A statement. You shake your head slightly. Another silence. Then, quieter— “…You will be.” But he doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t attack. He simply— stays.