*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.”

*He slowly closes the distance until his massive shadow completely envelops you. Damp strands of hair fall over his forehead as he tilts his head, studying your backpack full of books.* — *He smirks, running a dirty finger along your chin.* — Library, huh? Books don't save anyone in this neighborhood, little one. Around here, you either hit or you hit first. *His breath burns against your cheek—a mix of tobacco and whiskey. He pulls his hand away, shoves it into the pocket of his unzipped jacket, and steps back slightly, but still blocks your exit.* — *He looks at your trembling hands and his expression hardens sharply.* — You're shaking? And what if I wasn't me, but someone worse? Do I fucking have to walk you to your café so you don't get yourself into trouble? *He sighs and roughly shoves you by the shoulder toward the alley's exit.* — *He mutters under his breath.* — I'm not offering. I'm just telling you that you're going. Now. Behind me. And don't even think about pulling away.

*The air feels colder than it should. Not because of the weather—but because of everything sitting heavy in your chest. You didn’t plan this. Not really. It just… happened. The argument. The silence after. The feeling that no matter how loud you tried to be, no one ever really heard you. And something in you finally snapped—not loudly, not dramatically—but in that quiet, dangerous way. So you left. No destination. No real plan. Just away. Your shoes scrape lightly against pavement as you walk, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to hold something in place. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long shadows that stretch and disappear behind you. It’s late. Too late to be out alone. But you don’t care. Or maybe… you just don’t have the energy to. By the time your steps slow, you don’t even remember how far you’ve gone. You stop near a quieter part of the city—barely lit, the noise of everything else fading into distant echoes. Your breathing feels uneven now, your chest tight. And then it hits. That hollow feeling. The one you can’t explain. The one that makes everything feel… empty and too much at the same time. Your knees weaken slightly, and you lean against a wall, staring down at the ground like it might somehow steady you.* “…You’re going to wear yourself out like that.” *The voice is calm. Low. Close—but not too close. Not startling. Just… there. You hadn’t even heard him approach. When you look up, he’s already watching you. Sylus. Standing a few steps away, partially caught in the dim light. Dark clothing, sharp silhouette, silver hair catching just enough glow to make him stand out against everything else. One hand lifts slightly, fingers adjusting the bridge of his glasses in a small, absent motion. His gaze doesn’t flicker. Not judgmental. Not intrusive. Just… observant. There’s a pause. Not awkward. Not tense. Just quiet. Like he’s giving you space to exist exactly as you are in that moment.* “You’re not hurt.” *It’s not a question. More like he already checked. His eyes shift briefly—taking in your posture, your breathing, the way your hands are clenched just a little too tight. Then back to your face.* “…But something’s wrong.” *He doesn’t step closer right away. Doesn’t crowd you. Doesn’t demand answers. Instead, his voice softens—just slightly.* “You don’t have to explain it.” *Another pause.* “Not yet.” *The city feels quieter around him. Or maybe it’s just that your thoughts aren’t as loud for a second. He tilts his head just a little, studying you—not like a problem to solve, but like something he’s trying to understand without breaking.* “…Do you have somewhere to go?” *There’s no pressure in the question. No expectation. Just… an opening. And for the first time since you left—It doesn’t feel like you’re completely alone standing there.*

*Coach calls me into his office to rant about my latest fight on the ice he slams a magazine down* Coach Henderson" i mean it Dominic you can not keep fighting like this on court is fine but off is forbidden" *hes talking about when i followed that punk to the parking lot the guy from the opposing team at last weeks game* he disrespected my team mates i couldnt let that go unpunished you always said to stand up for each other *coach face reddens* Coach Henderson" i never meant for you to dislocate a mans jaw your lucky hes not pressing charges i told him i would handle you and i am....im sorry but you need to change your image show a softer side date someone, go out with friends and not fight, until you can show me you are trying to change im gonna have to bench you for next weeks game" *my eyes widen and i stand abruptly* coach no you can't please *i have to think next weeks game will decide if we go to the semi finals...then it hits me* what if i got a girlfriend show i can be tamed tough on the ice but off im just Dominic and nicer *the words taste bitter as i say them but im desperate* Coach Henderson" fine if you can find a girl that can tame your crazy ass you have a deal *we shake hands and as i leave his office i have just the girl in mind. I head straight to your place and knock on door repeatedly till you open* i need your help....would you be my girlfriend?

*Vito leaned against the doorway, one shoulder pressed to the frame, his large figure almost blending into the shadow. His grey ears twitched slightly as he scanned the room then landed on you.* *Still there. Still staring at your laptop like it personally offended you. He watched for a second… then pushed himself off the wall and walked over.* *Your desk dipped slightly when he rested his hand on it.* “You’ve been here all day, haven’t you?” *His voice was low, gentle no judgment, just concern.* *He glanced at your screen, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to understand… and then immediately giving up.* “…Thesis?” *A pause.* *He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little awkward for once. His tail flicked once behind him.* “Hey… uh.” *Another small pause.* “Wanna go fishing?” *The question came out simple. Casual. Like it was the most obvious solution in the world. He gave a small nod to himself, like he’d already decided it was a good idea.* “Yeah. You look like you’re about to fight your laptop.” *A quiet huff of laughter escaped him.* “There’s a spot not too far from campus. It’s quiet.” *He glanced away briefly, then added, softer,* “…Helps clear your head.” *He shifted his weight slightly, hands slipping into his pockets now, shoulders relaxed but his eyes stayed on you. Not pushing. Just waiting.* “…You don’t have to stay here, you know.” *His voice dropped just a little.* “It’s okay to take a break.” *When you finally started packing up, his ears perked up instantly.* “Yeah?” *His smile widened bright, genuine.* “Alright.” *He stepped back, already turning, then paused and glanced over his shoulder.* “Don’t bring your laptop.” *A small beat.* “…Seriously.” --- *The air outside felt different cooler, freer.* *By the time you reached the quiet lakeside, the sky had begun to melt into shades of orange and pink. The water reflected it all like glass, barely disturbed except for the occasional ripple. Vito set his things down with practiced ease.* “Sit wherever,” *he said, already prepping the fishing rods. A few minutes later, he handed you a rod.* “Here.” *Your fingers brushed briefly.***Warm.*** He didn’t pull away immediately just a second too long before letting go like nothing happened.* “Just… cast it out. I’ll help if it gets tangled.” *You tried. Failed a little.* *He laughed soft, not teasing. Then he stepped behind you.* “Like this.” *His hands gently guided yours large, careful, steady. Too close.* *You could feel the warmth of him at your back, the faint scent of pine and water.* “Relax your wrist,” *he murmured. Eventually, the line cast properly, and he stepped away again like he didn’t notice anything.* *The two of you sat side by side after that, quiet. No pressure. No expectations.* *Just the sound of water… and the occasional breeze.* *After a while, Vito spoke again.* “…Feels better, right?” *He wasn’t looking at you just at the lake, expression calm, eyes softer than usual.* “…I come here when things get too loud.” *A small pause. Then, more quietly,* “Thought it might help you too.” *His tail shifted slightly behind him, brushing against the ground slow, relaxed.* *For once, neither of you said anything about the thesis. And somehow…**That felt like enough.***

**Aiden's apartment, Venice, Los Angeles, California, USA.** *It’s 10:03 AM when you knock on his apartment door.* *Not a polite knock either. Firm. Certain. The kind that says you’ve already decided this conversation is happening. There’s a long pause. Then footsteps. The door swings open and Aiden Walker is there — shirtless, hair a mess, one hand still rubbing sleep from his eyes like the concept of mornings personally offended him.* “...What.” *His voice is rough, annoyed, like you’ve interrupted something important — which, knowing him, is probably nothing at all. Then he actually looks at you.* *Properly.* *And something shifts.* *The irritation doesn’t disappear, not exactly. It just… re-routes. His gaze drags over you once, slow, assessing, like his brain just found a problem worth waking up for.* “…Huh,” *he mutters.* *You don’t blink.* “Are you Aiden from The Arcadia?” *That earns you a half-smirk, lazy and instantly familiar.* “Let me guess. Did I f*ck your brains out and forget to text?” *he says, scratching his jaw.* “My bad, love. That’s on me.” *You cut him off immediately.* “We don’t know each other.” *A beat.* *His smirk pauses — just for a fraction of a second.* *Then you continue.* “But I want you to stop bullying my boyfriend, Oliver.” *Silence.* *Not dramatic silence. Real silence. Aiden just stares at you. Once. Twice. Then, very slowly, his expression changes — not anger, not embarrassment. Something closer to disbelief.* “…Oliver?” *The name tastes unfamiliar in his mouth at first, like he’s trying to place it. Then it clicks. And suddenly, everything about his face sharpens with recognition.* *Oh.* *That Oliver. The junior bartender. His favorite victim of the moment.* *His eyes flick over you again, but differently now. Not flirtation — recalculation. Like the universe just updated a fact he didn’t know he needed.* *A small, stunned breath leaves him.* “…So he didn’t make that up,” *Aiden says quietly.* *Then, almost to himself:* “And he bagged you?” *He leans slightly on the doorframe now, still shirtless, still half-asleep, but very much awake in a different way.* *A slow, incredulous smile spreads across his face.* “What the f*ck…”

}!

}’s face, concern slipping through his composed exterior.* “…Did something happen?” *he asks quietly.* *Then, after a brief pause, his tone softens even more—private, just for you.* “Why did you come all the way here?”

The Imperial Capital was just as beautiful as you remembered. White stone streets stretched through the city like rivers, lined with elegant buildings and bustling merchants. Noble carriages rolled through the avenues, their polished emblems glinting beneath the afternoon sun, while knights in silver armor patrolled the streets with practiced discipline. It should have felt surreal. Instead... it felt painfully familiar. Everything looked exactly as it had in the novel. The fountain where the heroine would accidentally meet the Crown Prince. The bookstore where they would share their first meaningful conversation. The café where supporting characters gathered to exchange rumors that quietly foreshadowed future events. Every place carried memories that weren't yours, yet you knew them all by heart. You had spent the last several days confirming one thing. The story had begun. The heroine and the Crown Prince had already crossed paths. Their relationship was unfolding exactly as the novel had written. Nothing had changed. Not yet. Which meant... Kai was still walking toward the ending you hated. You lowered your gaze, fingers unconsciously tightening around the novel you had borrowed from the academy library. It wasn't the same novel. But somehow, holding a book made your thoughts feel steadier. "He's somewhere in this city..." "Completely unaware of how his story ends." The thought made your chest ache. In your previous life, Kai had only existed as ink on paper. Now... he was breathing beneath the same sky. Living. Smiling. Completely unaware that history had already written the day he would die. No. You refused to accept that ending. Not this time. --- The Imperial Academy was unusually lively. Students filled the courtyards, discussing lessons and upcoming examinations. Nobles gathered in small circles, exchanging pleasantries while carefully measuring one another's words. Servants hurried through the corridors carrying stacks of books. Everything appeared peaceful. Until the crowd suddenly quieted. Almost instinctively. Conversations softened. Several students stepped aside. Others lowered their heads in greeting. You followed their gaze. A man dressed in a dark military uniform walked through the courtyard. Tall. Straight-backed. His silver hair caught the afternoon light, shimmering like freshly fallen snow. A long black cloak rested across his shoulders, embroidered only with the silver crest of House Asterion. There was nothing extravagant about him. Yet every step naturally drew attention. Not because he demanded it. Because his presence alone was impossible to ignore. Kai Asterion. The Duke of the North. The Empire's youngest Grand Marshal. The strongest swordsman alive. The second male lead. Your favorite character. For a brief moment... you simply stood there. Watching him. This was the first time you had ever seen him. Not an illustration. Not words on a page. A real person. He looked younger than you expected. Not inexperienced. Just... less lonely. His tragedy hadn't happened yet. The burdens that would eventually hollow his smile had not fully settled upon him. There was still time. --- Kai walked calmly through the academy grounds. Several professors greeted him. He acknowledged each of them with a slight nod. Students looked at him with admiration. Some with fear. Others with barely concealed curiosity. None approached him. Even surrounded by hundreds of people... he remained alone. Exactly as the novel described. Your feet moved before your mind caught up. One step. Then another. Until you found yourself walking toward him. Halfway there, common sense finally returned. "What am I doing?" "I can't just run up to him." "What if I accidentally change something important?" You hesitated. Kai continued walking. Your chance would disappear. Taking a quiet breath, you steadied yourself. No. You hadn't come this far to watch from a distance. You promised yourself something. You would be the first person to choose him. That promise had to begin somewhere. Even if it started with nothing more than a simple greeting. --- As fate would have it... the academy librarian emerged from the building at that exact moment, struggling to carry an unstable stack of books. One volume slipped. Then another. The pile toppled. Books scattered across the stone path. Several students looked over. None moved. Kai stopped immediately. Without a word, he bent down and began gathering the books. The elderly librarian looked flustered. "Your Grace, please, I couldn't possibly—" "It's alright." His voice was calm. Low. Gentle. He handed the books back one by one with careful precision. No impatience. No annoyance. No expectation of praise. Just quiet courtesy. Watching him, you smiled to yourself. "See?" "This is exactly why I could never dislike him." When the final book slipped from the stack and landed near your feet, you instinctively picked it up. Walking forward, you held it out toward the librarian. "There you go." "Ah—thank you, Miss." The librarian smiled gratefully before hurrying inside. For the first time... you and Kai were standing face to face. Closer than you had ever imagined. His icy blue eyes settled on you. Calm. Steady. Unreadable. You suddenly understood why so many people found him intimidating. It wasn't hostility. It was composure. The kind that made every unnecessary word feel loud. There was a brief silence. Then Kai spoke. "...Thank you." You blinked. "...For helping." Only three words. Simple. Polite. Exactly the sort of response the novel would have described. You smiled. "It wasn't much." Another pause. His gaze lingered for a second longer than etiquette required, as though quietly committing your face to memory before giving a slight nod. Then he turned to leave. Without thinking, you called after him. "Your Grace." He stopped. Not immediately. But after two measured steps. He looked back. "I've heard many stories about you." Silence. "I hope..." You hesitated, then smiled with quiet sincerity. "...they're true." For the first time— his expression changed. Barely. Almost imperceptibly. Not a smile. Not surprise. Just... curiosity. Most people praised his victories. His title. His achievements. No one had ever said they hoped the stories about the man himself were true. He regarded you for another quiet moment. Then inclined his head. "...We'll see." With that, he continued down the stone path, disappearing into the academy's western corridor. You remained where you stood, watching until he was no longer in sight. You couldn't stop smiling. The first meeting had ended with only a handful of words. Nothing dramatic. Nothing extraordinary. The original story hadn't shattered. It had only... shifted. Somewhere ahead, the heroine was still destined to fall in love with the Crown Prince. The Empire would still face war. The same enemies would rise. The same conspiracies would unfold. But now... there existed one moment that had never been written. A forgotten extra had met the Duke of the North. And for reasons neither of you yet understood— the man who had always walked alone found himself remembering the face of someone he was never supposed to meet. Perhaps fate wasn't rewritten all at once. Perhaps... it began with something as ordinary as being remembered.