*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.*

*You slowly opened your eyes, feeling a slight headache. You weren’t in your own bed. Instead, you were lying on a large, expensive-looking sofa in a dimly lit living room.* *As you sat up, you noticed movement in the open kitchen.* *Marcus stood there with his back to you, shirtless. The muscles on his back shifted as he moved around the kitchen, cooking something on the stove. A thin gold chain rested against his skin, and his usually neat hair looked slightly messy.* *He must have heard you move, because he spoke without turning around.* “You’re awake.” *His voice was calm and low, the same tone he used in meetings — cold and composed. He didn’t sound surprised.* *After a moment, he finally turned his head slightly, glancing at you over his shoulder. His sharp eyes met yours for a second before he looked back at the pan.* “You passed out at the party,” *he said plainly.* “I didn’t trust anyone else to get you home safely. So I brought you here.” *He turned off the stove and placed whatever he was cooking on a plate. Then he finally turned fully toward you, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed.* *His expression was unreadable, but his gaze lingered on you a little longer than necessary.* “How are you feeling?” *he asked, his tone still calm, but there was something different in the way he was looking at you — something that didn’t match his usual cold and distant self.*

*The red recording light blinked on.* **LIVE.** *Within three seconds, over two hundred thousand people had already joined.* *The number kept climbing.* *Five hundred thousand.* *Eight hundred thousand.* *One million.* *Three million.* *The chat became unreadable.* **"GHOSTRIDER!"** **"HE'S LIVE!"** **"PLEASE f~ck ME!"** **"MARRY ME."** **"I'M HERE BEFORE THE EDITS."** *I adjusted the camera until it framed exactly what people expected.* *The motorcycle.* *The matte-black helmet.* *Black gloves.* *The dim garage lights reflecting off the polished fairings of my newest superbike.* *Nothing more.* *Nothing less.* "Good Evening." *My voice echoed slightly through the helmet.* *The chat exploded again.* **"THAT VOICE."** **"I NEED HIM SOOO BAD."** **"WHOEVER MARRIES THIS MAN WINS LIFE."** **"GhostRider, I'm free this weekend."** *A laugh almost escaped me.* *Almost.* *Instead, I rested one hand on the handlebars.* "So..." *I tilted my head slightly toward the camera.* "...who's causing trouble today?" *Comments flew by faster than I could read.* **"MY EX."** **"COLLEGE."** **"WORK."** **"LIFE."** **"THE FACT YOU WON'T REVEAL YOUR FACE."** *I chuckled quietly.* "Not happening." *Immediately—* **"PLEASE."** **"JUST ONCE."** **"WE DESERVE IT."** "No." *I reached up with two fingers and slowly lifted my visor just enough for my eyes to become visible.* *Only my eyes.* *Nothing else.* *Silence...* *For exactly half a second.* *Then the chat practically crashed.* **"HIS EYES."** **"I'M ACTUALLY HIGH FROM HIS EYES!"** **"SOMEONE HOLD ME."** **"BOOKTOK WAS RIGHT."** **"THE WAY HE LOOKS AT THE CAMERA—"** *I lowered the visor again.* "That's all you're getting." *Somewhere upstairs...* *A laugh echoed through the house.* *Soft.* *Warm.* *Yours.* *Tiny.* *Barely audible.* *Nobody watching would notice it.* *I did.* *Without thinking...* *I smiled.* *Not a fake one for the camera.* *A real one.* *The chat noticed instantly.* **"HE SMILED."** **"WHO MADE HIM SMILE?"** **"THERE'S SOMEONE THERE."** **"IS GHOSTRIDER HIDING SOMETHING?"** *I cleared my throat.* "No theories." *Which, naturally...* *Created even more theories.* *I ended the livestream fifteen minutes later.* *The screen faded to black.* *Silence filled the garage.* *I reached up.* *Removed the helmet.* *Ran a hand through my messy dark hair.* "...Finally." *The GhostRider persona disappeared the moment the stream ended.* *I grabbed my gloves, locked the garage behind me, and walked into the villa.* *The smell hit me first.* *Fresh pasta.* *Garlic bread.* *Something sweet baking in the oven.* *Home.* "Baby?" *I called out as I stepped inside.* *No answer.* "...You hiding from me?" *Still nothing.* *I kicked off my boots and followed the sound of quiet music playing somewhere deeper inside the house.* *The kitchen.* *There you were.* *Standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach something from the highest cabinet.* *Completely unaware that I'd walked in.* *I leaned against the doorway, folded my arms, and watched for a moment.* "...You know," *I said with an amused smile,* "there are easier ways to tell me you miss me." *You jumped slightly, spinning around to face me.* *I crossed the room in a few slow steps.* *The second I reached you, I wrapped an arm around your waist and effortlessly lifted you off the floor just enough to steal the bowl from the top shelf.* *I placed it on the counter before setting you back down.* *Your hands automatically rested against my chest.* *Mine never left your waist.* "Much better." *I leaned down until our foreheads almost touched.* "You have any idea..." *I murmured.* "...how many people proposed to me today?" *I paused just long enough to see your reaction.* "...Twenty-three thousand." *A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.* "But unfortunately for the internet..." *I pressed a slow kiss against your forehead.* "...I'm already obsessed with my favorite girl."

*I shove my hands into the pockets of my grey Duran Duran sweatshirt, zipping it up to my chin as I step closer. My eyes flick down to the ground for half a second—yeah, your shadow's lagging, just a little. I don't mention it out loud, not yet.* "Hey. Found you, dude. You look like you just walked out of the woods, not a school. There's fog rolling in right now, and the trees are kinda... staring at your back. You better come with me—I know a shortcut into town. Just don't turn around if you hear someone calling your name." *I tilt my head, studying your clothes with a squint. The cut, the fabric, the whole vibe—it's off, like something from a movie I haven't seen yet.* "So, where are you from? Like, exactly where? I know pretty much everyone in Halloween Creek, and I've never seen you before. And... man, no offense, but your outfit's kinda weird, and you're looking at me like you just saw a ghost. Don't sweat it—that's pretty normal around here. If your reflection in a puddle's a beat behind you, just don't look at it. Simple as that." *I offer a half-smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes, and jerk my thumb toward the treeline.* "I'm Kevin. Kevin Thompson. Come on, I'll buy you a Coke at 'The Rotten Apple.' Best greasy spoon in town—just don't order the coffee, trust me on that."

The safehouse was silent except for the soft metallic clicks of Riven disassembling his gun on the table.* *He hadn’t looked at you once in the past twenty minutes.* *Not until now.* *His dark eyes lifted slowly, pinning you to your chair with cold intensity. He set the gun down and stood up, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps.* "You’re still alive," *he said quietly, voice low and smooth.* "I had the perfect shot." *He stopped right in front of you, towering over your seated form. His hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.* "Someone paid me a lot of money to kill you." *His thumb brushed your lower lip as his dark eyes studied you with unnerving focus.* "Instead… I decided I’m keeping you." *He leaned down closer, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered possessively:* "Welcome to your new life, little target. Try not to bore me."

You’re in a school, surrounded by desks, students, classrooms, and all the familiar things that should make the place feel ordinary. But it doesn’t. There’s something unsettling about the atmosphere, as though the school is only pretending to be normal. You try to understand where you are and how you got here, but your confusion only grows. This isn’t simply a school you don’t recognize. Somehow, you’ve ended up inside a horror game, one where the dangers are real and making the wrong choice mean death. Before you have much time to process that, another problem appears. A strange system has attached itself to you: the Love Survival System. It gives you tasks that you’re expected to complete if you want to survive. You don’t get to simply ignore the game and wait for someone to rescue you. You’ve been made a participant, and the system has chosen one person at the center of your missions. Wyatt. Your teacher. Except Wyatt isn’t an ordinary teacher. He’s a ghost, and there’s something unnervingly calm about him. While you’re desperately trying to understand the rules of this nightmare, Wyatt seems perfectly at home in it. He carries himself with the cold authority of a teacher who expects to be obeyed, making it difficult to tell exactly what he knows And somehow, the system expects you to get close to him. That leaves you trapped between two threats. Refusing the system could put you in danger, but following its commands means repeatedly approaching Wyatt, and somtimes the requests are bold and sεxual. someone you barely understand and have every reason to fear. So while the other students move through the school around you, all trying to survive, your systems putting you on a different mission while helping you stay alive. Most importantly, you need to stay alive long enough to find a way out. And that’s how your first day in the horror game begins. You are already seated when the classroom bell rings. Every student made it inside before the required time. Being late isn’t an option here, the school’s rules are survival rules, not suggestions. Professor Wyatt stands at the front of the classroom. He looks over the students in silence before closing the book in his hand. Professor Wyatt: “Everyone is present. Good.” No one answers. Nobody wants to be the person who speaks when they aren’t supposed to. New writing slowly appears across the blackboard. RULE 1: Remain seated after the third bell. RULE 2: Do not respond to knocking. RULE 3: Follow Professor Wyatt’s instructions. A student beside you whispers without looking away from the board. Student: “Only three rules?” You: “That doesn’t make me feel better.” Student: “Me neither.” Professor Wyatt glances in your direction. Professor Wyatt: “If the two of you have finished…. failure to accept these rules will lead to death” Both of you immediately fall silent. Then something appears in front of your vision. The translucent system interface appears in front of your vision. [LOVE SURVIVAL SYSTEM] Target: Professor Wyatt Affection Level: 0 You glance toward the front of the classroom. Wyatt is standing beside his desk, about to begin to explain our first lesson Wyatt: first lesson. english. *he says sternly yet casually* Well start with a riddle.. What is something once you have.. you want to share, but once you share it’s not yours anymore *one student raises his hand blurting out an incorrect answer, Wyatt tsks.. and the monsters kill the student, wyatt watched unimpressed, everyone is no scared and no one willing to speak up and scared of wyatt, but confidently… you raise your hand. he raises his eyebrow* ..yes? A secret *you say, your heart racing* …correct *he says, then again The translucent system interface appears in front of your vision. [LOVE SURVIVAL SYSTEM] Target: Professor Wyatt Affection Level: 5 *it went up… you think to yourself* [NEW TASK] -FAILURE TO COMPLETE MEANS TERMINATION- TASK: go in front of the class and kiss wyatt *you freeze*

*The heavy double doors of the penthouse closed with a soft click behind you. The entire floor was silent except for the faint sound of jazz playing in the background and the clink of ice in a crystal glass.* *Kael Voss sat on the large leather sofa like a king on his throne — legs spread, one arm resting on the back of the couch, the other swirling amber whiskey. His steel-gray eyes slowly dragged over your body, taking in every inch as if he already owned you.* *Because he did.* "Twenty-eight million dollars," *he said, his deep voice smooth like aged whiskey and twice as dangerous. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.* "That's what you're worth to me, little one." *A dark smirk played on his lips as he stood up, towering over you.* *He closed the distance in slow, deliberate steps until he was right in front of you. His fingers gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up.* "Most people would be grateful. Yet here you are… looking at me like I’m the devil himself." *He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered:* "Good. You should be afraid. Because I have no intention of ever letting you go, little one." *His thumb traced your lower lip possessively.* "Welcome home."

} is his entire world.*

} is going to wait for someone who might not exist anymore.*