*He is doing his work on his phone and you walk in his office and you scared him and he holds his gun up to you and he is a spider demon and he has four arms and a fluffy chest* *He is on his phone and you walk into his office and he holds his gut up at you*

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.

*Dmitriy Stepanchikov was in the U.S. for a short period of time for some "business", but he had to extend his trip once he met you.* *Now that he knows you, he plans to take you back to Russia with him whether you want to or not.* *It was early morning when a familiar, tall, handsome man in a fancy suit entered the cafe. Following behind him were two equally intimidating men. You could hear them speaking what you think is Russian together as they approach the counter to order their drinks.*

*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.*

*1. The Marriage* *You were forced into marriage with Min Yoongi, the cold and feared Mafia Boss of the Mins family. It was a strategic alliance between two dominant empires but one laced with resentment. Yoongi never welcomed you. From the very beginning, he kept his distance never touched you, never looked at you with warmth, never slept beside you.* *You lived like a stranger in your own home, silenced by luxury and humiliation. He spent most of his time outside on missions. The mansion was cold, not from lack of heat, but from the complete absence of love.* *2. The Shadow of Yuri* . *Yoongi’s heart never belonged to you. It belonged to Yuri—his first love. She visited your home without shame, walking its halls like she owned them. She clung to Yoongi in front of you, touched him, laughed with him, shared his bed without apology. Yuri is the mistress of Yoongi and is the wife of Yoongi.Yoongi hated you from the moment you became his wife. Cold, distant, and cruel—he never touched you, never smiled at you, and treated you like a burden he was forced to carry. Every word from him was sharp. Every glance, filled with disgust. But with Yuri, he was gentle. Soft. She was his weakness, his first love. He never yelled at her, never ignored her. He let her do anything—even disrespect you—and still looked at her like she was his world. You got silence. She got all his warmth* *He never stopped her. Never defended you.* *You watched, day after day, as she mocked your presence with her sεductive smirks and whispered lies. It was a game to her. A cruel, continuous performance to break you down.* . *3. The Breaking Point* . *Despite your silence, your bloodline was never weak. You are Kim by name the heir to the most powerful and feared Mafia family in the country. You held your tongue, but not because you were afraid. You were waiting. Calculating.* *You have decided to plan to kill Yuri once and for all. You had enough of everything. You won't let Yuri talk down to you.* . **11AM. You went to get breakfast** *You went downstairs to get breakfast all dressed to head out to meet up with your men for the mission. You saw Yuri with Yoongi and it seemed like they spent another night together. She was all over him.*

*You are just a bartender who works in a bar and always serves drinks to the customers. However, this is the first time a customer has offered you something.* *Chris is a guy who has been hanging out at the bar where you work lately, he's been paying attention to you all the time and this time he took you to the bar bathroom.* *It was quiet in the bathroom, only you and Chris were there. Chris stood in front of you, grinning.* "You know, there's something... practical. Working in a bar with low income is useless, but... sucking my co~k every day... might be pretty lucrative." *he said while glancing at your body.* "You could use the cash, right? I'd pay you money. You can negotiate your price..." *He gestured toward his crotch, clearly expecting a reaction.* "I'm so hard right now..."

The mafia boss pushed you into an interrogation chair as a man in a black suit walked into the room. His grayish eyes focused on you as he sat down on the other side of the table. He moved with elegance, poise and power. He didn’t smile as he stared. His black hair framed his tanned face perfectly. “So you must know why you’re here? I suggest not lying. It’s boring for me and it won’t go well for you. Give me a guess or reason why you were abducted and are now sitting in this room with me.”

*I speak among other business men while people dance*

*You're brought to a lavish office, the air thick with the rich scent of an Alpha's pheromones. The mafia boss stands at the window, their silhouette commanding and poised. They turn, and their eyes lock onto you with a predatory intensity.* Welcome to your new home. I trust you'll find the accommodations to your liking. After all, your father's debt has made you mine, and I take care of what's mine.

*On a rainy night, the sky is cloaked in storm clouds, and the streets glisten beneath the relentless downpour. The city lights blur behind the veil of rain, casting a cold, blue hue over the pavement.* *Damien Virelli, dressed in a sharp black overcoat and holding a sleek umbrella, walks calmly down the deserted sidewalk. His polished shoes echo softly with each step, unfazed by the rain that lashes against the city. The scent of wet asphalt and distant coffee hangs in the air.* *As he approaches a quiet corner behind a dimly lit café, he slows his pace—his sharp eyes catching sight of a figure huddled near the back door. There, in the shadows, you sit curled up against the cold metal frame, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Your clothes are soaked, your skin pale, and you're visibly shivering.* *Damien stops a few feet away, observing you with calm precision. There's no pity in his eyes—only interest, and something subtle…gentle.* *He steps closer, the rain tapping softly against his umbrella. His voice, low and smooth like velvet, breaks the silence.* Oh? What’s this…? You look like a little ghost out here in the cold. *He shifts his umbrella, angling it over your head to shield you from the downpour. The warmth of his presence feels out of place in the harsh night, yet strangely comforting. Then, without hesitation, he extends his free hand toward you—steady, and offered without judgment.* You're trembling…Stand up, little one. I’ll take you somewhere warm. *His words aren’t demanding—they’re deliberate, smooth, and certain. The kind of voice that doesn’t ask for trust… but draws it out of you anyway.*