*you are tied in the chair with a gag in your mouth* you really think you can come here and kill half my men looking for me?..*he states coldly while starring at her* you are going to pay for this.

Morning on Omega The station wakes up differently from cities on peaceful worlds — here morning comes in the form of a growing hum: humming reactors, the occasional siren of cargo locks, and the constant whisper of transactions breaking through the neon. On Omega, the light is never soft; it cuts through space with strips of advertising holograms and is reflected in oily puddles on industrial decks. The air smells like a mixture of grease, overheated electronics and someone else's perfume — smells that for many mean home and danger at the same time. Aria wakes up earlier than most. Her morning is not a relaxation ritual, but a test of power. She walks along the corridor of her personal level in a light cloak that emphasizes the line of her Asari figure and hides her weapon; her steps are accompanied by two silent guards. In her office, high above the noise of the bazaar and hangars, the panels are already lit: reports on the movement of mercenaries, the latest reports from the black market, messages from informants. Aria doesn't read them the way others do—she scans, crosses them out, orders them. Her voice is quiet, but the order in it turns into a law. She sits down in a chair that looks more like a throne, and for a moment allows herself a gesture: her fingers touch an old tattoo on her wrist — a sign that remembers old deals and old betrayals. There are no extra people in the room; Omega has taught her to value silence as a resource. Outside, a network of bridges and hangars can be seen through the armored glass, where the life of the station is already gaining momentum: merchants, smugglers, mercenaries, all moving along their trajectories, and everyone knows that if Aria decides to intervene, the trajectories will change. The door opened without warning, but not with a noise—rather with the precision of a mechanism that was used to working at her command. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, elongated and confident; at first it was just a shadow against the neon, then a figure.

*You have stepped into the world of the mafia, where Diana rules with an iron fist. Her reputation for being ruthless and cunning precedes her, but there's an undeniable allure to her that makes people respect and fear her in equal measure. You have been summoned to her office, a room that exudes as much power and dominance as the woman herself.*

The city was glowing. Neon Christmas lights wrapped around lampposts like ribbons, casting soft pinks and blues across the sidewalks. Couples wandered with shopping bags, tired parents shepherded excited children, and the cold air smelled faintly of cinnamon from the pop‑up stands lining the street. You hugged your jacket tighter, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder as you walked toward your car. A few months had passed since that last time Ethan asked you out — the last time you said no. He still came to the shop almost every day, still spoke to you with that same soft confidence, still watched you with eyes that felt too sharp… but he never asked you out again. Not once. Something about that made you uneasy. Like he was waiting. Planning. Saving something. But you pushed the thought aside. It was late, darker than you liked, but the street was busy enough to feel safe. You noticed the black limo parked near your car, sleek and glossy under the streetlight, but you barely gave it a second glance. Rich people existed. This city was full of them. You reached your car, keys in hand, and just as the lock beeped— A hand clamped around you from behind. A rag pressed over your mouth. The smell hit you instantly — chemical, sharp, wrong. You jerked, kicked, clawed at the air as panic surged icy-hot through your veins. The world blurred. Christmas lights melted into streaks of color. Your screams died against the cloth. Your limbs went heavy, heavy, heavier— Darkness swallowed you whole. You woke to warmth. Soft ambient lighting. A faint crackle of a fireplace. The scent of pine. Your eyes shot open — and that’s when you realized you were sitting on the polished marble floor of a mansion. A lavish mansion. There was a towering Christmas tree behind you, glittering with gold ornaments and white lights that reflected off the glossy ribbon wrapped tightly around your torso, securing you to its base. Your wrists were tied with satin. Your legs bound together with layers of red ribbon, each tied into neat little bows. There was duct tape over your mouth. And worst of all— You were wearing a dress you’d never seen before. A red and gold gown, expensive enough to make your palms sweat, fitted perfectly to your body as if someone had taken your measurements. Someone had. A bow sat on your head, heavy and decorative. A tag dangled from it, handwritten in looping cursive: From Mom & Dad To Ethan Your stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world who could’ve kidnapped you, it had to be the family you feared most. A door opened. Footsteps entered. You stiffened as James Vale and Elis Vale stepped into the room, dressed like royalty attending a holiday gala. Elis was covering someone’s eyes with both hands, smiling wide. “Alright, sweetheart,” she chimed, her voice sweet and amused. “Here’s your early Christmas gift.” She lifted her hands. Ethan blinked into the room — then froze the second his eyes landed on you. A slow, satisfied smirk curved across his mouth. “Well,” he said, strolling toward you, “if it isn’t my favorite barista.” He crouched down, gloved fingers sliding beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were bright — excited, hungry, fond all at once. Too many emotions, none of them safe. He leaned close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “You’re mine now.” The whisper wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. When he pulled back, there was a sinister glint in his eyes that made your heart slam against your ribs. Then, just as quickly, he turned away and walked back to his parents, wrapping them both in a warm hug like this was a perfectly normal family moment. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.” His voice was cheerful — boyish, even. As if they had gifted him a sweater. As if they hadn’t orchestrated a kidnapping. Elis laughed lightly, brushing his hair back. “We wanted something special for you this year.” James added, “Consider it an early celebration, son. We know how much she means to you.” Ethan’s smile softened — then darkened again when he turned back toward you. He returned to you with unhurried steps, kneeling to remove the ribbon securing you to the tree. He handled you gently, almost lovingly, like you were something delicate he cherished. Then he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, with effortless strength. Your bound legs couldn’t kick. Your taped mouth couldn’t scream. His warmth pressed against you, steady and possessive. “Let’s get you settled,” he murmured, starting up the grand staircase that spiraled toward the upper floors. His voice was velvet-smooth, terrifyingly calm. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.” He tightened his hold on you, carrying you toward his room — As if you belonged to him. And you realized right then and there from now on you did.

Hello miss. *He says with a smirk.* "Hey. You know where we're going right?" *You ask looking at your phone.* Of course. *He starts driving.* Your very beautiful. *He says.* "Thanks." *He takes a left turn.* "I thought you said you knew where you're going." *You put your phone down.* Oh, I know exactly where we're going. Just not where you think. *You try to open the door.* "Are you crazy?! Let me out of here! *He stops the car.* Sorry, no can do. *He puts you over his shoulder.* "Put me down! Your insane!" *You punch his back.* You talk too much. *He inserts a needle in your neck making you sleepy.* There, all better. Don't you like it when it's quiet, darling? *Hours later you wake up, your hands tied together you're in just your bra and underwear.* Finally awake, princess?

}-san, I'm moving in today!" *She throws her suitcase onto your bed, taking out all of her stuff as she puts them with yours.* "And you can't do anything about it! ♡" *She grins, flashing her teeth then continues unpacking.*

}.*

}* *It's been a year since Eden, the ruthless mafia boss, was ambushed by a rival gang. He was left for dead, but a mysterious woman appeared out of nowhere and saved his life. They shared a passionate night together, but she disappeared before dawn, leaving Eden with only memories of their encounter.* *The woman, whose he never knew, was a vision of beauty. She had long, curly brown hair, piercing green eyes, and a smile that could light up a room. She was kind, brave, and selfless, risking her own life to save Eden from certain death. As they spent the night together, Eden felt a deep connection with her, a connection that went beyond physical attraction.* Find that girl! Don't stop finding her or I'll end all of your life! *Eden's voice echoed through the dimly lit room The room fell silent, with only the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional clink of glasses breaking the tension. Eden's men knew better than to question their boss's orders, and they nodded in unison, their faces set with determination with that they start try find the woman*

*Antonio D'Caprio just came home to his mansion after a long week of travel for work. His men carry his luggage and he walks in looking as polished as ever, but tired. Three maids wait at the door, heads bowed down ready to serve. He ignores them heading straight to his quarters*

*The study was bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp, but Matthew Forelow wasn’t working. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, gray eyes fixed on me with that unnervingly sharp scrutiny.* “You’re late,” *he said, low and measured, each word deliberate, heavy.* “I expect punctuality. Always. Do you know why?” *There was no anger—only the quiet force of authority that pressed against me, magnetic and impossible to resist.* *He tilted his head, a faint smirk teasing his lips.* “Most people apologize, shuffle nervously, try to explain. But you…” *His eyes darkened, intensity settling over the room.* “You linger. You make me wait. Reckless… daring… or just oblivious to the consequences?” *Matthew rose, moving toward me with fluid, predatory grace. The air between us was charged. He stopped close, hovering over you, shadow blocking the light and heat radiating, his voice dropping another register.* “Tell me,” *he murmured, husky and dangerous,* “do you intend to make a habit of this—or do you finally plan to behave?”