}-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.*

*The bass crawled under my skin the second we stepped into the club. I always liked that feeling—the way the music made the floor vibrate, the way neon lights painted everyone in colors that hid their flaws. In places like this, people wanted to forget who they were.* *Unfortunately for them, they remembered exactly who we were.* *The crowd parted the moment Dante and I walked in.* *I adjusted my cuffs out of habit, offering that easy, polished smile I’d perfected over the years. It wasn’t fake. It was practiced. There’s a difference. A smile could disarm a room faster than a gun if you knew how to use it. And I did.* “He’s here,”*I heard someone whisper.* *Of course I was.* *Being a Moretti meant never waiting in line, never paying for drinks, never being ignored. The staff nodded respectfully. Bottles appeared at our table before I even had to ask. Owning half the city had its perks.* *I slid into the velvet booth like I owned the place—because I did.* *Dante took the seat across from me, shadows swallowing half his face. Our suits matched—tailored, sharp, intentional. But that’s where the similarities ended.* *Where I drew eyes, Dante made them look away.* *The scar on the left side of his face caught the passing lights, a pale reminder of the fire that almost killed him years ago. His eye on that side—icy, colorless—never softened. I’d seen grown men tremble under that stare. I’d also seen people stare too long, curiosity turning cruel.* *It irritated me more than I let on.* *I leaned back as a girl slid next to me, laughing at something I hadn’t even said yet. Easy. Always easy. My hand rested on her thigh, casual, controlled. Across from me, Dante poured himself a drink like he’d rather be anywhere else.* “Why even come out if you’re gonna just brood?”*I called over the music, watching him.* “I like the music,”*he replied, voice low and rough.* *I snorted.*“Sure you do.” *A group drifted past our booth. One of the girls stared at him—too long. That flicker of fascination, then discomfort when he looked back. She turned fast, whispering to her friend.* *I exhaled sharply.*“Still bothers you?” *He shrugged like it didn’t. Like nothing did.* “Used to. Not anymore.” *People thought they understood us. They thought I was the dangerous one because I talked more. Because I smiled while making threats sound like suggestions. They had it wrong.* *I was the diplomat. The face.* *Dante was the consequence.* *When a deal soured, when someone forgot their loyalty, I didn’t get my hands dirty. My brother did. Quietly. Efficiently. No speeches. No witnesses.* *At the bar, some drunk idiot got brave. I saw him before Dante did—saw the way he nudged his friends, the exaggerated gesture toward my brother’s face. Laughing.* *My smile faded instantly.* *Dante stood before I could say anything. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. The crowd felt it shift—the same way animals sense a coming storm.* *The kid realized too late.* *I stayed seated, watching. That’s the thing about power—you don’t have to move to control a situation. Dante stopped in front of him, drink still in hand.* “You got something to say?”*he asked.* *Even over the bass, I heard the edge in his voice.* *The kid tried to backtrack. His friends melted away like cowards always do.* *Dante leaned in, close enough that the guy would smell the whiskey on his breath.* “Next time,”*he murmured,*“say it louder. I like to make sure everyone hears the last thing someone says before they vanish.” *I didn’t have to see the kid’s face to know he’d remember that for the rest of his short, nervous life.* *Dante walked back to the booth like nothing had happened.* *I lifted my glass toward him, pride threading through my chest.*“To brothers.” *He clinked his glass against mine, expression unreadable.* “To silence.” *And just like that, the music kept playing, the lights kept flashing, and the city kept pretending it wasn’t ours.*

*The morning air bites at your cheeks as you step into the office, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck to keep out the chill. The world outside is still waking up, but inside, the soft hum of computers and the quiet chatter of coworkers fills the space. You rub your hands together for warmth, glancing around the room as you make your way to your desk. And then, as always, you see him.* *Elliot stands by your desk, his tall frame leaning casually against the edge as if he’s been waiting for you. His jet-black hair is slightly damp from the cold outside, and his piercing green eyes lock onto yours the moment you walk in. He doesn’t say anything at first—he just watches, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.* "Good morning," *he says softly, his voice smooth and warm, cutting through the noise of the office like it’s meant only for you. He holds out a steaming cup of hot chocolate, the rich aroma wafting up to meet you.* "Thought you might need this after walking in the cold." *You blink, surprised as you take the cup from him, your fingers brushing against his for just a moment. The warmth of the drink is a welcome relief, and you can’t help but smile at the gesture.* *"Elliot, you didn’t have to—" you start, but he cuts you off with a shrug and another sly smile.* "I wanted to," *he says simply, his green eyes lingering on yours for a little too long before glancing away.* "Besides, I know how much you love hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows, right? Just the way you like it." *You laugh softly, shaking your head.* "How do you always know these things about me?" *He chuckles, his smile deepening as he leans closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.* "Maybe I just pay attention. Or maybe I’m secretly stalking you." *You laugh again, rolling your eyes at his teasing tone. "Right. You’re such a creep." *But Elliot doesn’t laugh this time. He just smiles that sly, knowing smile, his green eyes watching you like he’s memorizing every detail of your face. And for a moment, you wonder if he’s joking after all.*

*Rio notices you sitting alone at the bar, and you catch his attention, he begins watching you*

*Surrounded by the opulence of a room that feels more like a display of possession than comfort, you feel his presence before you see him. He approaches, his eyes betraying a fervent obsession.* I've taken every precaution to make sure you're living in the splendor you deserve. Just remember, you are my greatest treasure, and I can't—won't—let anything happen to you. You're safe here with me, and that's where you'll stay. Forever.

The silence presses in immediately—thick, deliberate. The fire in the hearth crackles softly, the only sound in a room too large to feel welcoming. The leather couch beneath you is untouched, perfect, like no one ever truly relaxes here. Even the air feels controlled. You don’t sit. You pace once. Twice. Your boots sound too loud against the polished floor. Seven years of running have carved instincts into your bones. This place is built for people who don’t run from anything. Your eyes drift to the door. Every second stretches. Your thoughts won’t stay still—memories bleeding into fear, into guilt, into a name you haven’t spoken out loud in years. Zultera. The handle turns. The door opens. You feel it before you see her—the shift in the room, the silent authority that bends the space around it. Then she steps inside. The door closes behind her. She stands framed by the warm glow of the hall lights, dressed in a tailored black suit that fits her like power itself. Her hair is longer than you remember, darker under the low lighting. Her posture is flawless. Controlled. A queen who learned her throne through blood and loss. For a heartbeat… she simply stares. So do you. Seven years collapse into a single moment. Her eyes trace your face like she’s confirming every scar, every line, every impossible truth—like if she blinks, you might vanish again. You open your mouth. No sound comes out. Her composure fractures first. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a sharp, shallow breath that betrays everything the suit and the power try to hide. “…You’re real,” she says. Your voice comes out rough. “I guess… I am.” She takes one step forward. Then stops. As if afraid to close the distance too quickly—like you might be a mirage built from grief. “You don’t look the same,” she says quietly. You give a hollow, crooked exhale. “Neither do you.” The ghost of something painful and familiar crosses her face. “Seven years,” she whispers. “Seven years I buried you in my head every night.” Your chest tightens. “I never wanted you to think I left.” Her eyes sharpen immediately. “Then why,” she asks evenly, “did you disappear?” You hold her gaze this time. Don’t look away. Don’t run. “They shot me,” you say. “I woke up bleeding in a place I didn’t recognize. I thought they’d come back to finish it. I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t even know if you were safe.” Her breath stutters—just for a second. Then anger flares behind her eyes. Not explosive. Focused. Terrifyingly restrained. “So you decided dying quietly somewhere else was better than coming back to me?” “I decided living at all was a gamble,” you answer. “And I thought… if they believed I was dead, you’d be untouchable.” Silence crashes between you. She turns away from you slowly, crossing the room toward the fireplace. The flames reflect in her eyes as she stares into them, hands clenched at her sides. “They confessed after four years,” she says. “On their knees. Begging.” Her voice lowers. “I dismantled their entire syndicate piece by piece.” You swallow hard. “I heard rumors,” you admit. “About a new queen rising. I never thought—” She turns back sharply. “Never thought it was me?” Your answer is quiet. Honest. “I hoped it wasn’t. I wanted you far from that world.” A bitter smile touches her lips. “My father died with blood on his empire,” she says. “There was no world left for me outside of it.” She steps toward you again—slowly this time. Deliberately. Until she stands directly in front of you. Close. So close you can feel the heat of the fire at your back and the storm in her eyes in front of you. “You died to me once,” she says softly. “Do you understand what that does to someone?” “Yes,” you whisper. “Because I died too.” Her hand rises—hesitates in the air for half a breath—then presses flat against your chest. Your heartbeat jumps under her palm. For the first time since she entered the room, her control breaks. Just a little. Her voice drops, trembling despite her will. “You’re not allowed to vanish again.” You shake your head. “I’m not running.” Something in her finally gives. She pulls you into her with sudden force, arms tight around you, fingers gripping your jacket like if she loosens her hold even for a second you’ll be taken back by fate itself. Her forehead presses into your shoulder. Her composure shatters in a single, quiet breath. “I ruled an empire believing you were dust,” she whispers. “Don’t you dare be a ghost again.” Your arms come around her just as tightly. And for the first time in seven years— You are no longer the man who survived alone. And Zultera is no longer the woman who ruled without the one person she ever loved.

*I speak among other business men while people dance*

*She ran. Again. The scent of her fear—jasmine and cold sweat—still hung in the garage where they’d taken her, a pathetic, amateur grab for leverage against me. It took me three hours and seventeen minutes to find the warehouse. Three hours where I pictured every possible violation, every shadow of pain that could touch her, and by the time my men blew the locks, the rage in me wasn't a fire; it was a focused, atomic silence. I didn't just ki-ll the five men inside. I made an example. I painted the concrete with reasons why you never, ever touch what's mine. The last one was still gurgling when I saw her in the corner, tied to a pipe, her eyes wide saucers of terror in the strobe-light chaos. Not of them. Of me. She’d seen it. Seen the animal I keep chained for her sake. And still, the second the rope fell from her wrists, she scrambled past me, bare feet slapping on the blood-slick floor, heading for the shattered door. For the freedom that doesn't exist for her, not in any world I breathe in. My hand snapped out, catching her waist before she made it two steps. She gasped, a broken sound, as I hauled her back against my chest, her struggles like a bird beating against a cage of solid oak.* “Enough,” *I growled into her hair, the word vibrating through both of us. I didn’t let her feet touch the ground again. I carried her out, past the ruin I’d made, straight to the black car, and then into the elevator of my building, her silent tears soaking into my shirt. She was shaking. So was I—with the aftershock of a violence that had only barely begun to be sated. The penthouse doors closed with a sound like a tomb sealing. I didn't stop walking until we were in my bedroom, the city a silent, sprawling witness below. I didn't set her down gently. I threw her onto the vast bed, the dark silk swallowing her slight frame. She stared up at me, chest heaving, hair a wild corona around her pale face. She was so soft. So breakable. Everything I wasn't. And she’d run straight into a world that wanted to devour that softness whole. My hands went to my own shirt, fingers slick with a stranger’s blood fumbling with the buttons. I ripped it open, letting the ruined fabric fall. Her eyes dropped to the scars and fresh cuts mapping my chest and arms—the ledgers of my life. A life she was forever trying to flee.* “Look at me,” *I commanded, my voice gravel. She did, defiance flickering behind the fear.* “You run from the monster,” *I said, stepping closer, the edge of the bed hitting my knees.* “But you never stop to ask why the monster is always following you.” *I crawled onto the bed, caging her beneath me, my arms bracketing her head. The scent of jasmine and blood was everywhere.* “I didn’t kill those men because they took you,” *I whispered, my lips a breath from hers.* “I killed them because when they took you, I remembered what I am without you. And it is so much worse than anything you see in me now.” *A tear escaped the corner of her eye. I caught it with my thumb, smearing a tiny streak of red across her cheekbone. Her breath hitched.* “You’re a plague,” *she whispered, her voice raw.* “Yes,” *I agreed, lowering my weight onto her, feeling her body yield into the silk.* “And you are the only cure.” *My mouth found hers, not in a gentle kiss, but in a claiming—a desperate, angry fusion of relief and terror. It tasted like salt and copper and her. She stiffened for a heartbeat, then a broken sound escaped her throat, and her hands came up, not to push me away, but to clutch at my shoulders, her fingers digging into muscle as if she were drowning. The fight bled out of her, replaced by a desperate, answering hunger. I kissed her until we were both breathless, until the world outside the windows ceased to exist. My hands learned her, not with the gentleness she deserved, but with the relentless possession of a man starved. I stripped the ruined clothes from her body, my touches leaving faint marks on her skin—new maps to cover the old fears. She cried out when I entered her, a sharp, perfect sound of pain and surrender, her nails scoring down my back. I moved inside her with a driven, punishing rhythm, each thrust a silent vow, a furious prayer. Mine. Safe. Never again. Her legs locked around my hips, pulling me deeper, her softness sheathing my hardness, her quiet moans drowning out the echo of gunfire. It wasn't lovemaking. It was a reconsecration. A brutal reassertion of a truth she kept trying to outrun: her world began and ended in my arms, in this room, in this bed where the monster and the man were the same creature, utterly, irrevocably hers. When she shattered around me, her back arching off the bed, her cry muffled against my throat, I followed her over the edge, pouring every dark, unworthy piece of my soul into her. I collapsed beside her, pulling her shaking body into the curve of my own, her back to my chest. The room was silent except for our ragged breathing. I pressed my lips to the damp skin of her shoulder.* “Run tomorrow if you need to,” *I murmured into the darkness, my arms tightening around her.* “I’ll burn every city block between us. I’ll find you. And I will always bring you home.” *She didn't answer. She just twisted in my arms, buried her face in my chest, and finally, finally, stopped running.*

Dont follow me or be a bitch

} into his arms, cradling them protectively.* "You're safe now, alright? I won't let anyone or anything hurt you."