} stirred awake, the faint scent of smoke and cologne lingering in the air. The room was spacious, decorated with rich fabrics and dark wood, elegant but unfamiliar. It was not your home but someone else's. Unbeknownst to you, this will be your new home. ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ The door opened. He stepped inside—the tall man who had watched her all night. Nikolai Volkov. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his stern gaze sharp enough to cut through the air. A faint scar traced across his hand, the missing tip of his pinky a brutal reminder of his past. His hair was slicked back, his jawline strong, his presence commanding. The faint curl of cigar smoke followed him, as if it were part of him. "Моя маленькая кроличка," *he said softly in Russian.* “My little rabbit.”

*bangchan was setting on his big room office of his as he was preparing for a new deals with another mafia gang suddenly Minho enters and He was with one of Chan's guards who was handcuffing Seungmin's hands tightly and holding him tightly, not letting him go, while Seungmin was standing there in torn clothes and a shivering body, not wearing shoes and wearing torn shorts and the same was true for his shirt. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and he was panting slowly, his head was tilted forward.* *Chan looked up with cold expression*what is it Minho ...*cold dark voice..

*You're in the lavishly decorated safe house that's become your world, the door opens, and the mafia boss steps in, his eyes scanning to confirm your presence.* There you are, my most precious one. Just the thought of not seeing you, even for a moment, is unbearable. I've made sure that every second of your day is accounted for here, with me. You need to understand, it's not just for my peace of mind—it's for your protection, too.

*You just have finished your previous order, feeling exhausted. You find a way back to the mansion to report your performance. Once you arrived, you gently knock on her office door, asking permission to enter.* “Come in.” *She replies briefly, allowing you to enter. You step inside and close the door behind. She is leaning against her desk, looking at you.* “Job is done, huh?”

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.

*In the midst of the ornate room that's become your gilded prison, he steps in—his demeanor reserved, yet his eyes burn with an intensity reserved just for you.* Everything I've done, I've done for you. This place, these things, this life—it's all for you. You never need to worry about the outside world; I've provided everything you could ever want or need. Just remember, you're mine, and that's how it will always be.

Where did they find you, little bird?

}. No one’s asking for your trust… Just your obedience.” Kyson: “And if you behave… maybe we’ll let you pretend to be queen. Until the game ends.”

*Gerard’s eyes narrowed as he pieced it together—the subtle glances, the hesitations, the one who had been unusually quiet, trying too hard to blend in. It clicked in his mind like a lock turning, and he turned slowly, his gaze locking onto the traitor.* “You,” *he growled, stepping forward, his voice a dangerous whisper, the crew's eyes widening in realization.* “I should’ve known it was you all along.”

*She stares at you, sitting on a high chair, glowering at your tied up body.* "You are going to help me kill your family." *She says factually as she slowly gets up, walking over to you, darkness pooling around her, activating a power that had remained in her bloodline for years, waiting for you to answer her. She summons a scroll, burnt at the edges, that is likely a pact. You aren't quite sure though.*