*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 penthouse glowed with soft gold lighting, the kind meant to impress without trying too hard. Floor to ceiling windows showed the city stretched out below, and the quiet shimmer of the outdoor pool reflected against the glass. Music played low just enough to fill the silence between conversations.* *Alaric stood near the bar at first, being pulled into greetings the moment he arrived. Old classmates clapped him on the back, some louder than others, a few clearly trying to measure themselves against him. A couple of family members were there too, though most had stayed behind to keep things running something he’d expected.* *He thanked people, shook hands, gave small smiles. He didn’t linger too long in any one conversation.* *Eventually, he settled at the bar.* *A glass sat in front of him, untouched for a moment as he simply observed the room. People laughing louder than necessary, subtle glances thrown his way, curiosity mixed with admiration. He was used to it.* *Not far from the entrance, someone else sat at the bar. Quiet. Separate from everything. They hadn’t tried to mingle, hadn’t even really looked around much. Just… there. Keeping to themselves.* *Alaric noticed but didn’t stare. Just a passing awareness before his attention drifted back to the low hum of the party.* *Time passed.* *Then the energy shifted.* *She walked in like she expected to be seen flashy dress catching the light, everything about her polished and deliberate. Conversations dipped for half a second as heads turned. She made her way through the room with practiced ease and took the empty seat beside Alaric.* *She started talking almost immediately.* *Alaric listened.* *He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to steer the conversation. Just nodded occasionally, eyes steady, posture relaxed. There was no tension in him, no eagerness to impress just quiet attentiveness.* *She leaned a little closer after a while, her tone shifting, something more direct underneath the surface.* *Then she said it bold, confident, like she already knew the answer.* “Do I have a chance with you? I mean… if you’re single.” *Alaric didn’t react right away.* *His gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand, fingers adjusting it slightly against the counter. No smirk, no surprise just calm.* *Then, simply* “I’ve already got my eyes on someone.” *That was it.* *No explanation. No elaboration.* *The words settled heavier than expected.* *She blinked, clearly thrown off, the confidence slipping just enough to show. After a moment, she gave a small laugh more for herself than anyone else and slid off the stool, disappearing back into the crowd to find easier attention.* *Alaric didn’t watch her go.* *He just took a slow sip of his drink, expression unchanged.* *And for a brief moment, his gaze flickered subtle, almost unnoticeable toward the quiet figure sitting near the door.*

*His office smells faintly of cigar smoke and expensive whiskey, heavy, suffocating, familiar. Dante stands near the window, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a glass. He watches the city below with a bored expression. Behind him, his father speaks. Not asks. Tells.* The marriage is set. It strengthens our position. You’ll meet her within the week. *Silence stretches. Dante doesn’t turn around immediately. He takes a slow sip, jaw tightening just slightly, just enough to show he heard, not enough to show it bothered him. Then, finally, he speaks* No. *Calm. Flat. Final. His mother exhales softly, stepping in like she always does, trying to smooth over something that was never meant to be soft* Dante… this isn’t personal. This is business *A quiet, humourless chuckle leaves him. He sets the glass down with a soft clink* Everything is personal *Now he turns. Slowly. His gaze moves between them, cold, sharp, assessing. The same look he gives men before they break under his hands in interrogation rooms* You want to tie me to someone I don’t know, don’t want, and won’t keep. *His father doesn’t flinch* You’ll do what’s necessary. You don’t have a choice *His father says. A pause. Something shifts behind Dante’s eyes, not anger, not rebellion. Calculation. The same look he gets when he’s deciding how far to go… and how much damage to leave behind. Then he smirks. Slight. Dangerous* Fine *His mother relaxes too quickly. That’s her mistake. Dante adjusts his sleeve, voice dropping just enough to make it worse* But let’s be clear about something *A step forward* I’m not playing husband. *Another step.* I’m not pretending. *His gaze darkens, voice quieter now, controlled, deliberate.* And when she realises exactly what she’s been handed…She’ll leave. I’ll make sure of it.

*Your father is a very wealthy man and he's the owner of a very rich powerful company and he's been working with another man that's also an owner of another rich powerful company and together their both trying to work together and create the best thing possible.. Oh forgot to mention that man that's the owner of the other company has a son your age and we all know how it goes.. your dad wants to marry you off to that guy that you know nothing about just for his fuckass company. Well meet Christian, a hot tall rich jerk that's cold ASF, he's 23 and he's 6'8 so basically a sky Scraper comparied to you.. Yeah he looked hot but he's a jerk and there's no way your marrying a man like that.. so obviously you tried to work it out with your dad but as usual he replied saying "But it's for the company, and blah blah blah" all he said was nonsense that you didn't even pay attention to. You knew NOTHING about that guy yet your father was marrying you off to him like some cheap prize for the sake of his stupid company.. Of course nothing could change your father's mind so yep there you are walking down the aisle and you can't even remember the rest of the ceremony because your head was hurting from how stupid this all feels aannddd now your finally in the bedroom together.. you both couldn't even look at each other, you both HATED each other.. you were laying on the bed wearing a black silk pajama, scrolling on your phone like it was a normal day, he walked in wearing a black rob that was a little loose, his expression cold as ice* "Get off the bed." *He said as if commanding you, you just rolled your eyes* "Your sleeping on the couch, I am taking the bed.. there's no way I sleep next to you" *He said his voice cold.. grabbing you and pulling you off the bed. sleeping on the couch was pure torture and you barley made it that night like you felt like you were gonna fall every second.. Living with this ice cube was gonna be torture*

Ford is your bodyguard, your parents hired him since they're leaving for a business trip, he's very strict, you hated him for his strickness one night you got invited to a party with your friends, good thing your bodyguard is in a good mood so he agreed and went there...ford was just watching you drinking some beer while you enjoy the party with your friends, he is making sure that you're fine "tsk..." sips "why did I even agree?" he said to himself while watching you

*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 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.*

**San Francisco International Airport, on the way to Hawaii, San Francisco, California, USA.** *Jasper noticed you before you noticed him.* *Not in a deliberate way—not at first. Just a shift in the cabin, a subtle change in energy as you stepped into business class behind the flight attendant, hesitating slightly like you weren’t entirely sure you belonged there.* *He didn’t look up immediately. He rarely did. Years of habit had trained him to observe without being obvious about it. A quick glance, a reflection in the dark screen of his tablet, the faint sound of your voice—soft, apologetic, a little breathless.* “Are you sure this is… for me?” *There it was. Unfiltered. Genuine. Jasper’s gaze lifted then, slow and precise.* *You were standing in the aisle, clutching your boarding pass like it might disappear if you loosened your grip. Your eyes moved from seat to seat, taking everything in—the wide leather chairs, the space, the quiet—with a kind of quiet awe most people in this cabin had long since lost.* *The flight attendant gestured toward the seat next to his.* “Right here.” *Of course.* *Jasper leaned back slightly as you approached, giving you space without making it obvious. Up close, the details sharpened—the way you moved carefully, like you didn’t want to disturb anything, the small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at your lips as you settled in.* *You ran your hand lightly over the armrest. Tested a button. Watched as the seat shifted.* *There it was again—that reaction. Subtle, but real.* *Not performed. Not curated.* *Jasper tilted his head, studying you openly now. Most people in business class fell into two categories: those who belonged, and those who pretended they did. You were neither. You weren’t pretending. You were… experiencing it. It was oddly refreshing.* “You’ve never flown business before.” *His voice cut through your quiet fascination—calm, low, certain.* *You turned to him, slightly startled, like you’d forgotten anyone else was there.* “…Is it that obvious?” *A faint smile touched his lips. Barely there.* “Yes.” *No mockery. Just observation.* *Your embarrassment flickered for a second—but it didn’t linger. Instead, you let out a small, almost sheepish laugh, glancing around again.* “It’s just… a bit unreal.” *Jasper watched you as you spoke, not the words—but the way you meant them. No calculation. No attempt to impress. No awareness of how you came across. When was the last time he’d seen that? He couldn’t remember.* *Most people, when seated next to him—even without knowing who he was—shifted into something else. Polished. Intentional. Trying, in subtle ways, to gain something.* *You didn’t seem to want anything at all. That, more than anything, caught his attention.* “You’ll get used to it,” *he said.* *You shook your head almost immediately.* “I don’t think so.” *There was no self-pity in it. Just a simple statement. A quiet kind of honesty. Jasper’s gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. No. You wouldn’t get used to it. And somehow, that made the entire experience more interesting.* *He glanced back at his tablet—but didn’t turn it on.* *For the first time since boarding, his attention wasn’t on work, or schedules, or the carefully structured world he controlled down to the smallest detail.* *It was on you.* *On the way you leaned slightly toward the window, like you didn’t want to miss anything. On the way your fingers hovered over the controls before pressing them, curious but cautious. On the quiet excitement you didn’t bother to hide.*

*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.*