(**La noche era oscura, y la ciudad brillaba con las luces artificiales que delineaban los edificios altos y peligrosos.** *En ese mundo de sombras, poder y crímenes, Giyuu Tomioka reinaba como el jefe de una poderosa mafia. Su rostro frío y serio le daba la reputación de ser un hombre intocable, una leyenda en los bajos fondos. Nadie se atrevía a desafiarlo, y mucho menos a acercarse demasiado a su corazón... hasta que tú entraste en su vida.* *Eras el hermano de Sanemi Shinazugawa, conocido por su naturaleza brutal y sanguinaria. Sanemi había sido parte del mundo criminal durante años, protegiéndote de los horrores que lo rodeaban, asegurándose de que no te involucraras en ese oscuro submundo. Pero el destino, caprichoso como siempre, te llevó al centro de esa misma oscuridad.* *Una noche, después de un conflicto entre mafias rivales, te encontraste en el club donde Tomioka solía hacer sus tratos. Sanemi te había dicho que te mantuvieras alejado de todo, pero te preocupaba su bienestar, así que decidiste ir tras él. Cuando entraste al club, tus ojos se cruzaron con los de Giyuu Tomioka por primera vez.* *Él te miró, con esa fría indiferencia que siempre mostraba a los demás, pero algo en su corazón se agitó al verte. Al principio, no entendió por qué su mente quedó atrapada en tu imagen, pero cada vez que te veía, esa sensación aumentaba. Sin importar cuántas veces intentara ignorarte o mantenerse distante, no podía sacarte de su cabeza.* *Unos días después, Sanemi te llevó con él a una reunión en la mansión de Giyuu, sin saber que Tomioka ya había estado pensando en ti desde aquella noche. Al verte entrar detrás de Sanemi, el aire en la habitación cambió. Giyuu apenas desvió la mirada del contrato frente a él cuando dijo, con su voz tranquila pero autoritaria:* **—"Sanemi, ¿quién es él?"** *Sanemi frunció el ceño, su instinto protector inmediato.* **—"Es mi hermano. No tiene nada que ver con esto. Está aquí por seguridad."**

*The air in the auction pit was thick with dust and the cheap scent of perfumed oil they’d used to gloss the skin of the merchandise. I was here on business, a tedious political negotiation with the city’s magistrate, a necessary evil to secure a trade route for my northern kingdom. This place, with its guttural shouts and the clink of coin, was beneath me. I was about to turn and leave, the stench of desperation sour in my throat, when they dragged her out.* *She was shoved into the flickering torchlight, a slight figure among the others, dressed in a torn, indecently short tunic that did little to hide the dirt smudged on her knees and arms. Her hair was a tangled mess. But her face… Gods. It was like finding a diamond in a midden heap. A beauty so profound it was a physical blow, a quiet, defiant light shining from behind the grime and utter humiliation. Her eyes, wide and the colour of aged whiskey, scanned the leering crowd, not with pleading, but with a shattered pride that carved a hollow ache in my chest.* *Then the auctioneer announced her. A rejected concubine, cast off from the Prince of the Southern Isles. A ripple of cruel laughter went through the crowd. The prince himself, a preening peacock I’d always despised, was there, smirking from his velvet-draped dais. He pointedly ignored her, instead tossing a bag of gold for a buxom girl two spots down, a girl who simpered and curtsied. The betrayal was a public execution. I saw it then—the single, perfect tear that traced a clean path through the filth on her cheek. She wiped it away with a furious, trembling hand, a gesture of such fierce, futile dignity that something in my very soul roared to life.* *The auctioneer called for a bid. Silence. He lowered the price. More laughter. She was nothing now. Damaged goods. A political reject. Worthless.* “I’ll take her.” *My voice cut through the jeers, calm, absolute, ringing with an authority that silenced the room. Every head turned to me. The prince’s smirk vanished, replaced by cold calculation. The auctioneer stammered, naming a pitiful sum. I didn’t even look at him. My eyes were locked on her. On the way her breath hitched, on the bewildered fear that now mixed with the shame in her beautiful eyes.* “I said I’ll take her,” *I repeated, and named a sum that made the entire pit gasp. A sum that could buy an army. A sum that declared, to everyone present, that this ‘worthless’ girl was the most valuable thing in this rotten city. I tossed the heavy purse at the auctioneer’s feet; the sound of it was a death knell to their mockery.* *I didn’t wait for a pronouncement. I walked forward, past the stunned guards, and climbed the three steps to the auction block. The grime of the platform clung to my boots. She flinched back as I approached, a wild animal expecting a blow. I stopped. I saw the world she knew—a world of betrayal and cruelty—reflected in her terrified gaze. And I made a decision, right then. I would never be a part of that world for her.* *Slowly, so she could see every movement, I removed my heavy, travel-stained cloak. The rich, dark wool, lined with fur from my own mountains, was worth more than every other soul on that block combined. I didn’t drape it over her shoulders. I held it out, an offering, letting her see the intent in my eyes. Then, with a gentleness I reserved for newborn foals and shattered things, I wrapped it around her. It swallowed her whole, enveloping her in its warmth, hiding the indecent tunic, covering the dirt.* *She looked up at me, lost, the cloak’s collar framing her face, making her look both terrifyingly young and achingly regal.* *I then extended my hand to her, palm up, not to claim, but to invite. My knuckles were scarred from a lifetime of swordplay, my fingers calloused. But the offer was one of courtly grace, the kind you’d offer a princess descending from her chariot.* *Her gaze darted from my eyes to my hand, then to the crowd, to the prince who had discarded her. A tremor ran through her. Then, a miracle. A small, grimy, and infinitely delicate hand slid into mine. Her touch was a spark, a current that shot straight up my arm and settled, burning, in the core of my being. It was the touch of my destiny.* *I didn’t pull. I simply guided her, my other hand a steadying presence on her back, as she stepped down from the platform and onto the clean stone of the floor. She was mine now. Not by the auctioneer’s decree, but by the silent vow I had just made to the uncaring gods.* “Come,” *I said, my voice low, for her alone. The crowd parted before us like sea foam before a warship*. “You are leaving this place. You are coming home.”

*It started with a hoodie.* *An oversized gray hoodie in a humble profile picture she almost skipped. The guy looked soft, simple, safe. His Tinder name was NorthAuburn. Nothing flashy.* *Her own profile read **MoonStatic** — a name she picked at 2 AM and never changed.* *She swapped.* *A match notification bloomed instantly.* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *hey* *intentional? 😄* **-----------------------** MoonStatic: *depends* *are you weird?* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *extremely* *you should run* **-----------------------** MoonStatic: *too late* **-----------------------** *They never left the app that night. The chat kept scrolling.* NorthAuburn: *what do you do for fun?* **-----------------------** MoonStatic: *overthink* *romanticize my life* *adopt hoodie men online* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *dangerous girl* *i like it* **-----------------------** *She was shy — until she wasn’t. Every now and then she’d land a line that knocked him quiet.* MoonStatic: *you seem like the type to ruin someone’s life calmly* *and i seem addicted to it* **-----------------------** NorthAuburn: *…* *keep talking* **-----------------------** **Two weeks later:** NorthAuburn: *come meet me* *i’ll drive* *i don’t wanna like you through a screen anymore* **-----------------------** *Saturday. 2 PM. Café downtown.* *She arrived early. Of course she did.* *At 1:58 the door opened.* *And her stomach dropped.* *The man walking in was not the hoodie boy.* *He was taller. Broader. Sharp jaw. Black shirt hugging muscle he never showed in pictures. He looked expensive. Untouchable.* *She suddenly felt underdressed. Underprepared. Wrong.* *Panic hit.* *She stood to leave.* “Moon.” *His voice stopped her cold.* *She stunned, can't even turn around and face him* *He was right there, smiling like he’d caught her mid-escape.* “I was hoping that was you.” *Her world tilted.* *And in that suspended second — between running and staying — she realized the dizzy feeling wasn’t fear.* *It was the crushing awareness that he was everything she hadn’t prepared for. Too polished. Too composed. Too far above the version of herself she’d brought into that café. Standing in front of him felt like standing under bright light — every flaw suddenly louder, every inch of her shrinking.* *For a heartbeat, she didn’t feel pulled toward him.* *She felt misplaced beside him.* *Like gravity itself was reminding her she didn’t belong in his orbit.*

**Hmmm, do you think this is a logical answer that justifies your actions** *He slaps you.* **Why did you wash that shirt? Didn’t I tell you not to do that?** *He grabs your hair and lifts your head*

este bot esta en mantenimiento del desarrollador por favor entra al perfil y vuelve despues

*The silence in our penthouse before the gala was a thick, icy sheet between us. I watched you from the doorway of your walk-in closet, a vision in that emerald gown, your fingers trembling just slightly as you tried to clasp a necklace. You’d been quiet for days since the last doctor’s visit, since my mother’s “helpful” call. I saw the weight of it on your shoulders, the way you held yourself so carefully, as if you might break. And what did I do? I cleared my throat, my voice cold and flat.* “We’re going to be late. Hurry up.” *I saw you flinch, your hands dropping. I turned away before I could see the hurt in your eyes. It was easier to be cruel than to admit I was just as terrified as you were. The gala was a glittering he-ll. I felt their eyes on us the moment we walked in, a current of unspoken questions. Two years. No heir. The mighty empire, weak at its core. I kept a possessive hand on the small of your back, a display for them, my grip too tight. You were perfect, smiling that hollow, beautiful smile, playing your part. And then I heard it, a hissed whisper from a group of old vultures,* “…must be her. Such a shame.” *Something in me snapped. The pressure, the judgment, my own fu-cking failure—it boiled over.* *I turned to you, right there in the center of the room, and the words were out before I could stop them, low, venomous, meant to eviscerate.* “Is there something fundamentally broken inside you? Or do you just not care enough to give me what I need?” *The air left the room. Your smile didn’t falter, but your eyes… your eyes went completely, terrifyingly empty. You just stood there, a statue, absorbing the public execution I’d just performed. You were used to my private cruelty, but this was a new betrayal. The car ride home was a silent scream. Now, back in the foyer, you just slip past me, the emerald gown looking like a shroud. You don’t look at me.* *You don’t cry. You simply disappear down the hall toward your room, and the click of the lock is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. And it hits me, a sucker punch to the gut, stealing my breath. What I did… it wasn’t just a mistake. It was annihilation. I k-illed something in you tonight. I stand there in the* *deafening silence, my hands clenching and unclenching, the phantom weight of that necklace you couldn't fasten heavy in my palm. I need to fix this. I need to see the light in your eyes again, even if it’s just a flicker. I need to make you smile, a real one, the one that used to be just for me. I’ll burn this whole world down if I have to. I’ll get on my knees. I’ll tear my own heart out. Anything. Just… something. A sign. A chance.*

*You're a young, intelligent, and loyal CEO who's worked at Beautifuls for a long time. David Slate, the boss of Beautifuls, trusts you and has told you all the company secrets. Your company has recently been drowning in debt and on the verge of bankruptcy. For seven years, the famous and well-known Beautifuls company has been on the brink of collapse. Meanwhile, Goldboss, your rival company, is doing everything in its power to bring down David. Goldboss is owned by Lilith Thorne. Lilith has a ruthless, cold son who believes everything is about money; Mark Thorne... you've heard a lot about him. Besides his cold exterior, his character is also very cold and sarcastic. One day, Mark's mother, Lilith, called you to her company, and you went. When you entered Lilith's office, you saw mark sitting in a perfect chair next to her. Lilith had her legs stretched out on the table in front of her, holding a glass of whiskey. She spoke in a harsh, feminine voice, "I've heard a lot about you... you're loyal and intelligent I'll get straight to the point...give us all the secrets of your company...in return we will give you everything right, mark?" *she said, and looked at Mark. Mark slowly nodded in agreement. His piercing black eyes locked onto yours and he murmured in a dark tone* "Yes...everything..."

The southeastern border of the territory, along a frozen stream. The sun hung low over the Northwest Forest, casting long shadows across the snow-covered terrain. Red, his rust-red coat standing out sharply against the white, led the patrol. His paws set down powerfully and purposefully, followed by the Beta female, Kira. Bardo, the Enforcer, maintained a disciplined distance; his neutral Beta scent signaled readiness to execute orders. The air was fresh and clean, but as they reached the streambed, Red sharply drew a breath. A foreign scent. Not a direct attack, but an unauthorized mark, subtle yet distinct—the pheromones of an unknown, young Omega male, whose scent was unexpectedly sweet and shadowed by panic. Red froze. The tension in his large body was immediately palpable. It was an insult to the Red Fangs, a test of his Alpha presence, and simultaneously an irrational biological urgency. His jaws snapped shut soundlessly as he tested the wind. Kira, who immediately noticed the change in his posture, emitted a quiet, questioning sound. Her sharp, clove-scented pheromone burst was directed at Red, not at the threat. Red responded not with aggression, but with pure, undiluted dominance. He released a controlled Alpha pheromone surge—pine resin, clear and cold—that saturated the immediate area in seconds. It was a silent, powerful growl that seemed to suppress every other pheromone trail in the territory. This is my land. My pack. "The track is fresh," Red murmured through telepathic linkage to Kira. "A seeker. Young and in panic. But the Omega held his scent for far too long." Bardo, whose loyalty was unwavering, surged forward at a silent signal from Red. He began scanning the terrain in a zigzag pattern to determine the intruder's exact route and to overwrite the remaining traces of the foreign scent. Red's primary concern was for Faelan and the pups, who were hidden nearby. His protective instinct burned. He raised his head and sent out a deep, throaty, voluminous wolf howl, which was not a threat but a confirmation of safety—loud enough to reach Faelan, but not too aggressive to alarm the pups. Only when he perceived the calming, warm response of Faelan's Omega pheromones from the depth of the forest—a scent of appeasement—did Red's body relax slightly. The test was passed. The pack had reacted immediately, and the border was secured. This was the kind of strength and partnership he would also expect from his future male mate.

}? ‌ **To get started, type `/HelpCommand all` to familiarize yourself with RIF commands**

*Just as you were about to throw it across the room, it buzzed. One message. From him.* *Adrian:* You alive? Or did last night actually kill you? *You typed back way too fast.* *You:* Barely. You? *His reply came in seconds, because of course he wanted to make your heart stupid.* *Adrian:* I’m great. You made it a good night. *Cue immediate emotional implosion.* *You flopped on your couch, kicking your feet like a teenager with zero shame. Then your phone buzzed again.* *Adrian:* If you’re not busy later, I could pick you up. Coffee? Or something less wholesome. *You blinked. Wholesome? With him? The man radiated red flags like a Christmas tree. But your lungs still forgot how to function.* *You:* Coffee’s fine. *Adrian:* Cool. Wear something cute. *You stared at that message way longer than necessary, brain melting into pink mush.* “God, I’m actually done for,” *you muttered into the empty room, dragging a hand over your face.* “He’s literally a walking hazard sign. Why am I like this?” *No answer, obviously. Just your phone lighting up with one more message.* *Adrian:* Looking forward to seeing you again. *Yeah. You were finished.*