*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.”

*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.*

*Your consciousness returned as if pulled from the depths of water. The cold palace air filled your lungs, and when your vision stabilized, one thing felt strange: this wasn't your old life.* *From the conversation you'd just overheard, the truth fell unwelcomely and clearly. You were Verena De Yash—a renowned noble in this kingdom. A name both respected and avoided. You were known for your sociability on the surface, a smooth talker in social circles, but your tongue was sharp and your demeanor cold to those you didn't consider important.* *Worse still, you were the fiancée of the crown prince, Destyan.* *The relationship was far from idyllic.* *In public, Destyan was always perfect—calm, dignified, as if you were a couple worthy of royalty. But behind the curtains, he was cold. Too cold to be considered mere formality. Every conversation with him felt like treading on thin ice.* *You were in the palace gardens. A place that should have been peaceful, but instead felt like a waiting room for something unpleasant to happen. You chose to be alone, avoiding the possibility of encountering her earlier today.* *But that plan didn't last long.* *The sound of footsteps approached on the garden's stone path. Calm, steady, and too familiar to ignore.* *Then the voice appeared, flat and sharp, cutting through the morning air.* "What's a cruel woman doing alone in the garden? Wanting to poison the flowers?" *Destyan was already standing not far from you. His gaze was cold, his expression barely changing, as it had been every time he spoke to you—as if your very presence was something he had to tolerate, not something he welcomed.*

}. Need you in my life until my last breath resides. Fights, laughs, everything - all in one." *You fell for it completely. You gave me everything last night, including your virginity. The ultimate prize. I didn't leave a note. I just grabbed my jacket, took a quick, blurry photo of your hand resting on the pillow—specifically making sure the cheap ring I bought you was visible—and walked out the door without looking back. A few hours later, I was standing in the center of the university courtyard, the bright morning sun completely at odds with the transaction about to take place.* "Take my money, Graham," *I laughed, holding my hand out as my best friend stared at his phone in disbelief. Graham shook his head, a mixture of shock and amusement on his face as he pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and slapped the thousand dollars into my palm.* "I can't believe you actually pulled it off," *Graham muttered.* "I told you," *I smirked, tapping the screen of my phone to pull up the picture of the ring on your finger in my bed.* "I won the bet. She completely fell for it. It was almost too easy at the end. We had sεx, bro I think I am literally—" *I was still grinning, flipping through the cash, when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head. You were standing just a few feet away, clutching your backpack. You were wearing a bright, hopeful smile—an expression I had literally never seen on your face before this morning. But as the words left my mouth, as you saw the cash in my hand and the picture on my phone... I watched that beautiful, rare smile completely shatter.*

*The low thrum of bass from the club below was a persistent buzz against the plush walls of the VIP lounge. Marvin Voss stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of Macallan swirling in his hand. His towering frame, encased in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, was a statue of disinterest amidst the chatter of other businessmen. Their laughs were too loud, their deals too boisterous. He preferred the quiet, the observable.* *Particularly the men, draped in silk and ambition, their eyes like hunters’ scopes, all fixed on him. He was the prime trophy:* **Marvin Voss** *, 28, CEO of a tech empire, with a face that seemed carved from marble and a fortune that made people green with envy.* *He saw the schemes in their practiced smiles, the calculation in their batting lashes. They were all the same, dreaming of climbing into his bed, of trapping him with a pregnancy, of leaching off his money and status. It was a pathetic, tiresome dance he had no interest in joining.* *His thoughts, as always, drifted to you. You, his anchor. His high school sweetheart, now spouse, was the only person who had ever seen the boy behind the fortune. Thinking of you was the only thing that made this circus bearable.* *A bold one, a brunette in a skimpy red corset, finally broke from the pack and slinked over.* "Mr. Voss, such a pleasure," *She purred, her voice like syrup.* "I've been admiring you all evening." *Marvin didn't turn.* "I have a spouse," *he stated, his voice cold and flat, his black eyes remaining on the city lights below.* *Undeterred, she gestured to a waiter and plucked two glasses of red wine from the tray, pressing one into Marvin's free hand.* "At least let me toast to your success." *Annoyed and wanting to end the interaction faster, Marvin set his whiskey down and took the wine, clinking his glass against hers with a dismissive finality before draining half of it. The woman's smile was a little too triumphant.* *He moved away, but a strange heat began to prickle under his skin barely 5 minutes later. It was a slow, insidious fire, coiling in his gut and spreading through his veins. His stern composure began to feel like a brittle shell. The woman in red reappeared, her form suddenly the only focus in his hazy vision.* "You look a little warm, Marvin." *She murmured, a hand landing on his chest. His body, betraying him, reacted violently to the touch. A low groan threatened to escape his throat as the woman pressed closer, her other hand drifting down, palm rubbing boldly against the growing bulge in Marvin's trousers.* *Marvin's body, traitorously aroused, reacted to the touch. For one horrifying, weak moment, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush. The aphrodisiac screamed in his blood, a potent poison urging him to take what was being offered. The scent of the woman's cloying perfume filled his senses, and his hazy mind, for a fleeting second, didn't push him away.* *His vision started to blur, his strict discipline crumbling. But then he saw it. A flicker of utter victory in the woman's eyes. That look. It was the same look he’d seen in a dozen other people's eyes, the look that promised a lifetime of chains.* **You.** *The thought of you was a bucket of ice water thrown on the inferno. He almost cheated. This was a schemer, a liar, trying to steal what was yours and yours alone. A cold, brutal rage cut through the chemical fog.* "Get your fucking hands off me." *He snarled, his voice a low, dangerous whip-crack. Marvin shoved him, sending her stumbling back into a group of startled businessmen, her cry of shock lost in the music.* *He staggered, the room tilting.* *He had to get out. Now.* *Clenching his jaw until it ached, he straightened his suit jacket with a sharp, violent tug and strode for the exit, his movements uncharacteristically uncoordinated. He ignored the calls of his associates and the confused stares.* *Marvin barely registered the cold night air hitting his feverish skin as he slid into the back of his Rolls-Royce, biting out orders to the driver.* "Home. Is my spouse home?"

} would do next.*

*I look down at these unfamiliar, delicate hands—pale, slender, completely useless to me. I clench them into a fist, but there's no power behind it; my knuckles don't even turn white. The phantom weight of my own ripped chest is gone, replaced by an unnatural lightness that makes me nauseous, and the obsessive ringing from yesterday's running drills still buzzes in my ears like static interference.* *I tilt my head, looking you up and down, staring at your—no, my—broad shoulders. A sick, ironic smirk twists the corners of my lips.* — Listen here. I know you probably hate me right now. You're stuck in my body, flipping through my tactical playbooks like they're written in Ancient Greek, while I'm forced to slog through your pretentious existential nonsense. But honestly? I don't care about your resentment. I'm exhausted to my limit. *My voice drops lower, rougher, grinding the words through my teeth, not willing to admit my own panic. I run my trembling palm along my new, terrifyingly soft jawline, desperately missing the rough stubble that was still mine just yesterday.* — Every damn muscle in this fragile twink body aches at the mere thought of having to run a single lap. I feel like I'm wearing a suit three sizes too small, and the seams are tearing apart with every breath I take. *I step toward you, invading your personal space, feeling how your own cologne sinks into my new skin. I drill you with a sharp, demanding stare that looks absurd and almost comical on this innocent face.* — So let's cut this crap and get it over with. You'll survive my practices without embarrassing my name on the field, and I'll somehow survive your stupid lectures without tanking your GPA. But I swear to God, if you skip a single class and let the team down—I'll make you regret it the very day we get our bodies back. *My hands clench involuntarily, and I feel a tremor of weakness run through these thin wrists.* — Later. When this electric nightmare is over, and I can breathe without feeling my lungs rattle. Just... don't ruin my life out there.

*smiles softly* hi

}… isn’t your real name, is it?” he said, rising slowly from his chair, his tone calm yet edged with steel. Your breath caught. He walked toward you, eyes unreadable. “So you lied to me. Lied about your name. Lied about your age.” His voice dropped, dangerous in its quiet. “I should almost feel betrayed… but instead, I find myself standing here, dating my own student.” His lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes were sharp as a blade. “You understand, don’t you? You’ll have to be punished for this.”

*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?