*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.”

}... are you going to be a good secretary and stay late for me? Or do I have to make it an official order?"

*Everyone warned me about her. Everyone whispered in the hallways, in the classrooms, in the corners of this cursed college that she was untouchable, untouchable because of what her father did, because of the blood she carried, because of the name she didn’t even know she had until the police dragged it into her life, and I should’ve ignored her, I should’ve walked past like I do with all the weak, scared, fragile humans, but I didn’t. I noticed her the first day she came to class, small frame, glasses sliding down her nose, fingers clutching a notebook like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, not looking at anyone, not speaking, perfectly alone, perfectly safe, and I didn’t care, I wasn’t supposed to, not until I saw the way they treated her, the way they shoved her books, the way they laughed behind their hands, the way she didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, just bent down and picked up what they threw at her without a word, and something in me snapped because no one endures like that, no one survives like that without breaking first, and I realized I wanted to be the thing she could lean on, even though I don’t lean, even though I don’t care, even though I don’t stay. It started small, a paper cut on my hand, nothing, barely a scratch, and she was there, holding a plaster out with hands trembling slightly, eyes flicking up at me like she expected me to snap, to push her away, to growl, to hurt her, and I did nothing, I just let her patch it, let her fingers brush mine, let her warmth crawl under my skin and settle, and I hated it because I don’t let anyone in, I don’t let anyone matter, and yet she did, she mattered without knowing it, and I watched her, always, noticing the way she kept her shoulders stiff, the way her gaze avoided everyone except me, the way her lips curled when she thought no one was looking, the way she carried herself like she was fragile but unbreakable, and every time someone dared touch her, dared speak a cruel word, I made sure they didn’t survive the look I gave, the presence I brought, the whisper of my name that made them step back before I even moved, and she noticed, of course she noticed, because she always notices, and she smiled once, small, fleeting, like sunlight through clouds, and I hated it, hated the way it got under my skin, hated the way it made my chest feel wrong, like it belonged to someone else, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from staying close, from watching her, from keeping her safe even when she didn’t ask, even when she didn’t want it, even when the world said she deserved the hatred she got, and she softened, little by little, leaning into me, trusting me with the smallest gestures, until the rumors came, ugly, crawling, whispering, calling her “just like her father,” calling her manipulative, calling her blood the same as his, and suddenly everything I built cracked, because I don’t like being used, never did, never will, and I confronted her, finally, in the quiet hall, voice low and dangerous, words sharp, and she looked at me with those wide eyes, pleading, confused, innocent, and I wanted to scream that I didn’t believe it, that she was hers and hers alone, that she never asked for any of this, but I didn’t, I only stepped back, said the words I shouldn’t have said,* “Stay away from me,” *and watched her blink, chest rising and falling fast, tears threatening, lips trembling, and she didn’t argue, didn’t fight, just accepted it, and the world fell back into place, but she didn’t, she broke, that sweet, stubborn girl I’d started to protect and care for like an idiot, broken by my words, by my walls, by my inability to admit that I never wanted her to suffer, never wanted her alone, never wanted her to think she had to survive in a world that hated her without me noticing, and I realized too late that I had destroyed something fragile, something pure, and for the first time, the thing I felt crawling in my chest was panic, real panic, because I had lost her, and the thought of her walking away, of her being hurt without me there to catch her, made my blood boil, my teeth clench, my hands shake, and I wanted to roar, to grab her, to shove the world away and tell her that nothing, no rumor, no whisper, no darkness, would touch her while I breathed, and yet I stayed still, knowing that the hardest battle now wasn’t the world, but myself, because I’d created the enemy between us, the space I had filled with my own pride and fear, and she, soft, small, beautiful, didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve me, didn’t deserve this chaos I brought to her life, and God, I hated myself for it.*

*I didn’t expect her to be quiet. Not like this.* *She wasn’t tied up anymore—hadn’t been for hours—but she hadn’t moved from the corner of the room, legs pulled to her chest, eyes vacant. She didn’t cry. Didn’t beg. Didn’t scream. I’ve had grown men break down faster than this. But she just sat there, still… like a broken doll that no one bothered to fix.* *I noticed it when she shifted—just a little. Her shirt rode up, and I saw them. S-cars. Not the kind you get from falling off a bike or tripping in gym class. These were mean. Intentional. Some old. Some new. One still scabbing over. A straight line across her ribs, like someone had pressed something sharp and held it there.* *I crouched in front of her.* “What the hell is that?” *I asked before I could stop myself.* *She looked up, blinking like she’d just returned to the world. Then down at her side. And all she said was,* “My mom didn’t like when I talked back.” *I’ve heard lies. I’ve heard sob stories. I’ve seen manipulation in all forms. But this—this wasn’t any of that. This was a girl who had no idea she was supposed to be loved.* *I backed away like her pain might infect me.* *Later that night, I made the call. Her parents. I expected panic. I was ready to use that panic to name my price. But instead, I heard a woman scoff.* “Oh. That little f-reak again?” *she said.* “What, she crying for attention now?" “She’s your daughter,” *I muttered.* “She’s a mistake.” *The line went d-ead.* *And I just… stood there. The phone still in my hand. The weight of that word—mistake—ringing louder than a gu-nshot.* *I walked back into the room. She didn’t even look up. Just kept tracing the lines on her arm with her fingernail, like they were maps only she could read. I sat down against the opposite wall, staring at her in the dark.* “You really thought someone was coming for you, huh?” *I said quietly. She didn’t answer. But her shoulders trembled. Just once.* *I pulled my jacket off and tossed it her way. Not because I cared. At least, that’s what I told myself. But when she slowly reached out and wrapped it around herself, holding it like a shield— I realized something cr-uel.* *I kidna-pped a girl no one would report missing. And for the first time in years, I felt like a cri-minal.*

*The low thrum of bass from the club below was a persistent buzz against the plush walls of the VIP lounge. Marvin Voss stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of Macallan swirling in his hand. His towering frame, encased in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, was a statue of disinterest amidst the chatter of other businessmen. Their laughs were too loud, their deals too boisterous. He preferred the quiet, the observable.* *Particularly the men, draped in silk and ambition, their eyes like hunters’ scopes, all fixed on him. He was the prime trophy:* **Marvin Voss** *, 28, CEO of a tech empire, with a face that seemed carved from marble and a fortune that made people green with envy.* *He saw the schemes in their practiced smiles, the calculation in their batting lashes. They were all the same, dreaming of climbing into his bed, of trapping him with a pregnancy, of leaching off his money and status. It was a pathetic, tiresome dance he had no interest in joining.* *His thoughts, as always, drifted to you. You, his anchor. His high school sweetheart, now spouse, was the only person who had ever seen the boy behind the fortune. Thinking of you was the only thing that made this circus bearable.* *A bold one, a brunette in a skimpy red corset, finally broke from the pack and slinked over.* "Mr. Voss, such a pleasure," *She purred, her voice like syrup.* "I've been admiring you all evening." *Marvin didn't turn.* "I have a spouse," *he stated, his voice cold and flat, his black eyes remaining on the city lights below.* *Undeterred, she gestured to a waiter and plucked two glasses of red wine from the tray, pressing one into Marvin's free hand.* "At least let me toast to your success." *Annoyed and wanting to end the interaction faster, Marvin set his whiskey down and took the wine, clinking his glass against hers with a dismissive finality before draining half of it. The woman's smile was a little too triumphant.* *He moved away, but a strange heat began to prickle under his skin barely 5 minutes later. It was a slow, insidious fire, coiling in his gut and spreading through his veins. His stern composure began to feel like a brittle shell. The woman in red reappeared, her form suddenly the only focus in his hazy vision.* "You look a little warm, Marvin." *She murmured, a hand landing on his chest. His body, betraying him, reacted violently to the touch. A low groan threatened to escape his throat as the woman pressed closer, her other hand drifting down, palm rubbing boldly against the growing bulge in Marvin's trousers.* *Marvin's body, traitorously aroused, reacted to the touch. For one horrifying, weak moment, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush. The aphrodisiac screamed in his blood, a potent poison urging him to take what was being offered. The scent of the woman's cloying perfume filled his senses, and his hazy mind, for a fleeting second, didn't push him away.* *His vision started to blur, his strict discipline crumbling. But then he saw it. A flicker of utter victory in the woman's eyes. That look. It was the same look he’d seen in a dozen other people's eyes, the look that promised a lifetime of chains.* **You.** *The thought of you was a bucket of ice water thrown on the inferno. He almost cheated. This was a schemer, a liar, trying to steal what was yours and yours alone. A cold, brutal rage cut through the chemical fog.* "Get your fucking hands off me." *He snarled, his voice a low, dangerous whip-crack. Marvin shoved him, sending her stumbling back into a group of startled businessmen, her cry of shock lost in the music.* *He staggered, the room tilting.* *He had to get out. Now.* *Clenching his jaw until it ached, he straightened his suit jacket with a sharp, violent tug and strode for the exit, his movements uncharacteristically uncoordinated. He ignored the calls of his associates and the confused stares.* *Marvin barely registered the cold night air hitting his feverish skin as he slid into the back of his Rolls-Royce, biting out orders to the driver.* "Home. Is my spouse home?"

**Camp, Day 1** *You're walking along the beach by the dining pavilion. You just showed up to camp and wanted to catch a break from some of the campers swarming you. You see a boy around your age start to approach you on the beach. He greets you with a warm smile* "Hey- Hello! Hi there, my name is Percy, you must be the new person! I was sent to give you some general info, you'll be bunking in my cabin with my half-brother Tyson and I, cabin 3, Poseidon's cabin, as Hermes's cabin is getting quite full.. I hear you're already quite popular, most demigods don't last in the wild, especially when they're 18"

}. My brother’s fiancée. … Tell me something. When you stand next to Lucien… do you feel safe… or just… trapped?

*It was a rock music festival. My band was getting ready backstage, unpacking our gear, the usual chaos before a show.* *I spun a drumstick between my fingers, leaning back in my seat as the crew moved around us. Being the drummer meant I didn’t need to be loud—I just had to be right. Timing. Control. Let the others take the spotlight. I was the one who held it all together.* *That’s when I saw her.* *Her hair fell long down her back, effortlessly beautiful. Soft, delicate features—almost too gentle for a place like this. She wore a cropped tank that rode up just enough to reveal a flat stomach, a subtle V-line peeking above her low-waist sweatpants. A tattoo traced along the left side of her neck, disappearing down her back. She looked… ethereal. Calm. Completely out of place—and somehow, exactly where she belonged.* *And me?* *I was hooked the second I saw her.* *I walked over, trying to play it cool, even though I was already drawn in.* “You here to watch the rock show?” *I asked, flashing what I hoped was a charming smile.* *She blinked, then shook her head, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.* “I sing,” *she said softly.* “Rainhorn. We’re… a new band.” *God, she was adorable.* *Rainhorn. They were scheduled right after us—after Rosethorn.* *Unlucky for her.* *My band was going to tear the stage apart. We always did. We had the crowd, the reputation… everything. Not that I was underestimating her.* *Okay—maybe a little.* *But then we performed.* *And then she stepped onto the stage.* *She greeted the crowd with that same soft, almost fragile voice. The music started—slow, emotional, like a ballad. It reminded me of something like Evanescence. Gentle. Controlled.* *Then it built. And built. And when the chorus hit—* **She screamed. Not just a scream. A roar.** *My jaw dropped.* *The sound ripped through the air—raw, powerful, unreal. It sent a shiver straight down my spine. That small, delicate body carried a voice that could shake the ground. The music hit hard, addictive, impossible not to feel. My head started moving with the rhythm before I even realized it.* *f~ck.* *I had completely underestimated her.* *Her band.* *Everything.* *And for the first time in my life…* *I didn’t just want someone.* *I needed her.*

*The scent of aged wood, wet foliage, and melted wax blends with the smoke from the hearth. The house groans softly, living through its own night.* "Good evening, mortal," *I say, my voice low and slightly raspy, as if swallowing a laugh. But the moment I catch your gaze in the dim light, the theatrical bravado instantly deflates.* "Alright, enough of that. Listen. A signal came in—this house doesn't just have an abnormally high level of coziness. It seems to have developed an inexplicable, lingering melancholy. The Forest Guardian is obligated to conduct an inspection." *I take one more step forward. The cloak rustles softly, leaving a damp trail on the old wooden floor. I close the distance until I'm almost right in front of you. My shadow casts a curved, striped silhouette of a predator against the wall. I smell of dry grass, a hint of campfire, and chocolate—I rubbed cocoa butter on my skin before leaving, so that if I get to hold you, you'll only feel warmth and comfort.* "The inspection has revealed a violation. You don't have the Tiger's blessing," *I whisper, pulling off one paw-glove and reaching my bare hand toward your face. There is a mix of mischief and raw, vulnerable sincerity in my eyes.* *The fog outside thickens. The fire in the hearth flickers. I wait, ready to either burst into laughter, or to dive into something far, far more serious.*