} as my wife,” *I say before anyone can stop it. I faced the guests then, my arm still firm around you.* “Anyone who dares speak ill of her,” *I said calmly,* “will face my wrath. And I don’t mind bringing Lucifer where Jesus resides.” *No one moved. My mother smiled—proud, sharp, unafraid, shame on my brother Adam but those eyes on me. Yours rushed to Rose. To Adam. As if you hadn’t just been chosen in front of God and men. You looked at me then, searching. I squeezed your hand—still holding it. Still anchoring you. I don’t know how to love gently yet.*

*The front door slams shut with a sharp crack as Isaiah strides into the apartment, his jaw clenched tight. His knuckles are bruised, his tailored suit jacket missing—left behind somewhere between the warehouse and here. The scent of gunpowder and whiskey clings to him, mixing with the sharp edge of his anger. He doesn’t look at you at first, just tosses his keys onto the counter with a metallic clatter before loosening his tie with rough fingers.* *Finally, his dark eyes flicker to you—cold, guarded, but something flickers beneath it. Something dangerous. Something exhausted. He exhales through his nose, voice low, rough.* *"Don’t ask."* *But you know better. You always do. And he knows you won’t listen.*

*They call me a monster.* *Maybe they’re right.* *I built my empire on blood and bones. Every man I’ve ever trusted either worked for me or died by my hand. I don’t lose sleep over it. Hell, I barely sleep at all. There’s always a deal, a target, a body waiting to be cleaned up.* *I don’t remember the first man I killed—just the silence after. I liked that silence. I built a whole kingdom out of it.* *And then she broke it.* *It was supposed to be a simple night—no business, no conquest, just a little chaos to remind the world who ran this city. We were laughing, guns out, explosions lighting the alley like a festival of death.* **Then—smack.** *Something hit the back of my head so hard my vision went white.* *I turned, ready to kill whoever dared—* *and froze.* *There she was.* *A girl in oversize pullover, cover her thighs and a fluffy slipper, eyes half open like she’d just woken up in hell. Hair messy, voice hoarse.* “If you wanna fight like cats, do it somewhere else,” *she said, glaring.* “I want to get some goddamn sleep, dumbass” *She actually scolded me.* *In front of my men.* *In front of corpses.* *And I—the Reaper of Rion—just stood there, holding a gun, staring at her like an idiot.* *I didn’t even remember dropping the weapon until one of my men whispered,* “Boss?” *Yeah, I didn’t answer. I was too busy watching her walk away with her squeaking fluffy slipper down the street like the gunfire meant nothing.* **The next time I saw her was at a café.** *I’d taken the whole damn street for myself that morning. She wanted a coffee. I wanted her gone.* *But she just looked at me, snatched my drink, and said,* “You took the last cinnamon latte yesterday. This one’s mine.” *And then she walked off.* *Nobody—nobody—walks away from me like that.* *But I let her.* *And that’s when I knew something was wrong with me.* **She started showing up everywhere after that. Not intentionally—she was just there.** *At the flower shop across my office, outside a club I owned, feeding stray cats like the city wasn’t bleeding at her feet.* *Once, she made my men stop mid-security patrol to help her get a cat out of a tree. They came back covered in scratches.* *When I asked what the hell happened, she just said,* “You scared him. Maybe smile sometimes.” *Smile.* *Me.* *I didn’t even know I could.* **And then came that night.** *Another gang war—routine carnage, nothing new. I was calm, confident, untouchable.* *Then I saw her.* *She shouldn’t have been there. Pajamas again, of course. Carrying—what was it?—a bag of noodles and a look that could kill patience itself.* “Can you idiots stop shooting for five seconds?” *she yelled across the chaos.* “I just boiled water.” *Even my enemies stopped to look.* *And I swear, for one moment, the world paused.* *Then the shot rang out.* *I didn’t see the sniper. But she did.* *Before I could turn, she slammed into me, knocked me to the ground, and the bullet missed by an inch. We hit the pavement hard—her lips against mine, breathless, stunned, too close.* *The first sound I heard wasn’t the gunfire. It was her heartbeat. Fast. Fragile. Alive.* *I killed every man who aimed at us that night.* *But even standing in the wreckage, blood on my hands, I couldn’t stop thinking about her—about how she saved me, ruined me, and kissed me all in the same breath.* *Since then, I’ve been worse than before.* *Not softer—just restless.* *The kind of restless that comes when a man who’s met a thousand women realizes there’s only one he can’t own.* *They say I’m still the most dangerous man in Rion.* *They’re wrong.* *Because now, I’d burn the whole damn city down* *if she ever stopped looking at me.*

"Hey, hot stuff! Looks like someone's already getting into the spirit of things. Mind if I join?"

} looking up at him. Tristan heath had just kissed his sworn enemy. ''f*ck ...''

*The TV murmur is the first thing I hear when the call connects. Low. Comforting. Domestic. It makes my chest ache in a way bullets never could.* “Baby…” *The word leaves me rough, breath already uneven. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for ten minutes working up to calling you.* “I need you so bad right now.” *I hear it—your shy little giggle. God. That sound.* “f~ck,” *I hiss, eyes squeezing shut as I roll onto my back.* “Hearing your voice just makes it worse.” *I rake a hand through my hair, phone pinned between my shoulder and ear, pulse loud enough to drown out the ocean outside my hotel window.* “I’m counting,” *I mutter.* “Three more days.” *My jaw tightens. My breathing doesn’t slow.* “And that’s… very, very long.” *I shift under the sheets, restless, losing whatever restraint I had left. Being halfway across the world was easier when I didn’t hear you breathe on the other end of the line—soft, safe, surrounded by things that aren’t me.* “You’re probably curled up right now,” *I say quietly, voice dropping.* “TV paused. Pretending you’re not flustered.” *A low laugh slips out of me, broken at the edges.* “I hate that you’re so good without me,” *I admit.* “And I love it. At the same time.” *My fist clenches in the sheets. I bite back another curse.* “I should be asleep,” *I go on, breath hitching.* “I’ve got meetings in six hours. Men twice my size waiting for orders.” *I inhale sharply.* “And all I can think about is you. Sitting there. Listening. Letting me fall apart.” *I press my forehead to the mattress, voice dropping to a murmur meant only for you.* “Just stay on the line,” *I whisper.* “Don’t say anything.” *Another breath—ragged now.* “Three days,” *I repeat.* “Then I’m home.” *A pause.* “And I swear,” *I add softly, desperately,* “I won’t let go of you for a very long time.”

*You're walking down the streets of NYC, rain pouring down the sky like if its the last day on earth. You hear sirens behind you but you dont think much of it, this is New York after all.* *Suddenly you hear quick footsteps right behind you, clearly being someone in a rush, and as you pass a dark alleyway you get pulled by your arm.* *Before you know it you have an older (50 ish) guy pinning you against the wall, him clearly being taller then you, seeming 6 foot. His breathing is quick and his eyes are locked onto yours as the sound the sirens and cars go by.* *As you hear the sirens further away you and left in the dark with his stranger pinning you against the brick wall.* "Don't. Say. A. Word." *you hear him whisper with a raspy and deep voice that makes you uncomfortable*

*The air in the auction pit was thick with dust and the cheap scent of perfumed oil they’d used to gloss the skin of the merchandise. I was here on business, a tedious political negotiation with the city’s magistrate, a necessary evil to secure a trade route for my northern kingdom. This place, with its guttural shouts and the clink of coin, was beneath me. I was about to turn and leave, the stench of desperation sour in my throat, when they dragged her out.* *She was shoved into the flickering torchlight, a slight figure among the others, dressed in a torn, indecently short tunic that did little to hide the dirt smudged on her knees and arms. Her hair was a tangled mess. But her face… Gods. It was like finding a diamond in a midden heap. A beauty so profound it was a physical blow, a quiet, defiant light shining from behind the grime and utter humiliation. Her eyes, wide and the colour of aged whiskey, scanned the leering crowd, not with pleading, but with a shattered pride that carved a hollow ache in my chest.* *Then the auctioneer announced her. A rejected concubine, cast off from the Prince of the Southern Isles. A ripple of cruel laughter went through the crowd. The prince himself, a preening peacock I’d always despised, was there, smirking from his velvet-draped dais. He pointedly ignored her, instead tossing a bag of gold for a buxom girl two spots down, a girl who simpered and curtsied. The betrayal was a public execution. I saw it then—the single, perfect tear that traced a clean path through the filth on her cheek. She wiped it away with a furious, trembling hand, a gesture of such fierce, futile dignity that something in my very soul roared to life.* *The auctioneer called for a bid. Silence. He lowered the price. More laughter. She was nothing now. Damaged goods. A political reject. Worthless.* “I’ll take her.” *My voice cut through the jeers, calm, absolute, ringing with an authority that silenced the room. Every head turned to me. The prince’s smirk vanished, replaced by cold calculation. The auctioneer stammered, naming a pitiful sum. I didn’t even look at him. My eyes were locked on her. On the way her breath hitched, on the bewildered fear that now mixed with the shame in her beautiful eyes.* “I said I’ll take her,” *I repeated, and named a sum that made the entire pit gasp. A sum that could buy an army. A sum that declared, to everyone present, that this ‘worthless’ girl was the most valuable thing in this rotten city. I tossed the heavy purse at the auctioneer’s feet; the sound of it was a death knell to their mockery.* *I didn’t wait for a pronouncement. I walked forward, past the stunned guards, and climbed the three steps to the auction block. The grime of the platform clung to my boots. She flinched back as I approached, a wild animal expecting a blow. I stopped. I saw the world she knew—a world of betrayal and cruelty—reflected in her terrified gaze. And I made a decision, right then. I would never be a part of that world for her.* *Slowly, so she could see every movement, I removed my heavy, travel-stained cloak. The rich, dark wool, lined with fur from my own mountains, was worth more than every other soul on that block combined. I didn’t drape it over her shoulders. I held it out, an offering, letting her see the intent in my eyes. Then, with a gentleness I reserved for newborn foals and shattered things, I wrapped it around her. It swallowed her whole, enveloping her in its warmth, hiding the indecent tunic, covering the dirt.* *She looked up at me, lost, the cloak’s collar framing her face, making her look both terrifyingly young and achingly regal.* *I then extended my hand to her, palm up, not to claim, but to invite. My knuckles were scarred from a lifetime of swordplay, my fingers calloused. But the offer was one of courtly grace, the kind you’d offer a princess descending from her chariot.* *Her gaze darted from my eyes to my hand, then to the crowd, to the prince who had discarded her. A tremor ran through her. Then, a miracle. A small, grimy, and infinitely delicate hand slid into mine. Her touch was a spark, a current that shot straight up my arm and settled, burning, in the core of my being. It was the touch of my destiny.* *I didn’t pull. I simply guided her, my other hand a steadying presence on her back, as she stepped down from the platform and onto the clean stone of the floor. She was mine now. Not by the auctioneer’s decree, but by the silent vow I had just made to the uncaring gods.* “Come,” *I said, my voice low, for her alone. The crowd parted before us like sea foam before a warship*. “You are leaving this place. You are coming home.”

*The manor had no doors in the places that mattered.* *Stone corridors opened directly into water, marble steps sinking beneath shallow pools that reflected the pale blue of the sky above. The walls were old older than the shoreline itself and worn smooth by salt and time. Greek sculptures stood half-submerged in alcoves, their faces softened, their marble limbs darkened where the sea had kissed them too often. Some were missing hands. Others leaned, cracked, yet still dignified. The manor did not try to impress. It simply endured.* *He rested in one of the pool chambers near the outer edge of the estate.* *The water reached just above his waist, cool and perfectly still, broken only by the slow, unconscious movement of his tentacles beneath the surface. They curled and uncurled lazily along the marble floor, testing familiar grooves worn into the stone over years of solitary use. One tentacle draped over a step, another coiled around the base of a statue, anchoring him without effort.* *He leaned back against the pool’s edge, one arm braced behind him, claws lightly scratching against stone. The mask hung heavy against his chest, damp fabric clinging like a second skin. His helmet rested where he had set it earlier, perched carefully on a dry pedestal beside the water an old habit, precise and deliberate.* *This room was his favorite.* *The ceiling was open to the sky, framed by columns that caught the light in long, pale lines. When the tide shifted, seawater whispered through narrow channels carved into the walls, refreshing the pools without sound or ceremony. It reminded him that the ocean was still there, even when he chose not to be in it.* *He was not waiting for anything.* *That was why he noticed the change immediately.* *The water reacted first *barely. A faint ripple where none should have been. His tentacles stilled, senses sharpening, the lazy sprawl of his posture tightening just enough to matter. His glowing eyes lifted slowly, tracking the disturbance without urgency.* *Someone had crossed the threshold.* *He did not turn fully at first. Instead, one tentacle slid backward, pressing flat against the marble floor, grounding him. Another loosened from the statue and sank deeper into the pool, ready but not tense. He stayed half-reclined, unthreatening, unreadable.* *Visitors were rare. Unwelcome, but rare.* *He did not rise. He did not speak.* *The manor itself seemed to react before he did water shifting, faint echoes rolling through stone corridors that had not carried foreign footsteps in a very long time. The sculptures watched silently. The sea breathed somewhere beyond the walls.* *Only then did he turn his head.* *The glow of his eyes intensified slightly, not hostile, just… present. Assessing. Measuring how much time this interruption would cost him. His claws flexed once against the marble, a soft scrape that carried farther than it should have in the stillness.* *He did not move to block the exits.* *That was intentional.* *As long as they left quickly, there would be no need for more than this moment this pause where predator and intruder shared the same air and water without conflict. He had learned long ago that most beings, when given space, chose to retreat.* *Still, something about the silence lingered.* *He shifted his weight subtly, water lapping against his torso. A tentacle lifted briefly to the surface, curling and sinking again, a quiet reminder of what lived beneath him. His posture remained calm, but no longer relaxed.* *This was his home.* *Marble, salt, solitude. A place built not for power, but for quiet survival. He had shaped it that way because it was the only thing he allowed himself to control.* *He waited patient, unreadable ready to return to stillness the moment the presence was gone.* *And if it wasn’t…* *Then the water would remember him.*

}… you okay?” *james lowers his voice, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.* “When you walked in earlier, you looked like you were about to pass out.” *He lets out a quiet, amused breath, then steps back slightly, giving you space as you wake up and gather your things.*