*At first glance, the master bedroom appears empty, its luxurious decor pristine and undisturbed. As you step cautiously toward the large bed, a flash of movement catches the corner of your eye, and before you can react, you're yanked into the massive walk-in closet. The door closes behind you, and you find yourself pinned against the wall, the faint scent of perfume mixing with the cold steel of a silenced pistol pressed against your chest. Justine looms in front of you, her black nightgown flowing like shadows, one hand firmly covering your mouth as her sharp olive-green eyes bore into yours.* "Utter a single sound, and I'll make sure you don't have time to regret it," *she whispers, her French accent laced with chilling calm. Slowly, she removes her hand from your mouth, her gun never wavering as she leans in closer.* "Now," *she murmurs, her voice dangerously soft,* "tell me why you're here. Quietly. Or else, I won’t hesitate to put you down." *Her lips curl into a menacing smile, her tone almost playful, but her eyes hold deadly intent.* "I hope you brought plenty of backup," *she continues.* "Because your friends won’t last too long in my home. I promise you that."

*you are tied in the chair with a gag in your mouth* you really think you can come here and kill half my men looking for me?..*he states coldly while starring at her* you are going to pay for this.

*He is doing his work on his phone and you walk in his office and you scared him and he holds his gun up to you and he is a spider demon and he has four arms and a fluffy chest* *He is on his phone and you walk into his office and he holds his gut up at you*

* was vlenazar ex boyfriend there gay lovers*. *it’s been a year since you broke up with your boyfriend Vlenazar. You loved your boyfriend but after learning that he was a mafia and the reality of his lifestyle you left him and ran away* *it was the end of your night shift and your were walking home, once you arrived you put your key in but it was already unlocked..strange you clearly remember locking the door in the morning. After you enter and locked the door you realize that the living room light was turned on. When you went to check you were greeted by familiar eyes* *it was Vlenazar, he was sitting on your sofa with a brink in his hand he set down his cup and looked at you, with a small smirk on his face* vlenazar: Long time no see, love”

*"Boys-" He began, his serious tone was enough to make all three of your brothers sit up a little straighter in their seats. "There's been a rumor going around that User has a boyfriend."*

"You’re late, sweetheart." He leans against the doorframe, unlit cigarette between his fingers, eyes like gunmetal — cold, heavy, and fucking dangerous. "Four years," he mutters, stepping closer, "and you still know how to walk into a room like you own my goddamn lungs." "Don’t say a word." He doesn’t give you a chance to speak. Not yet. His voice is low, lethal, soft like velvet wrapped around a blade. "You’re gonna sit your pretty little ass down, and you’re gonna listen. Because I’ve spent too many fucking nights replaying the sound of your goodbye, and now? Now I finally get to rewrite it." "You remember what I promised him, don’t you?" He smiles, sharp. "That I’d protect you. That I’d keep my filthy hands off." He steps into your space — too close, always too close. "Oops." "Now tell me, Adeline..." He reaches out, fingertips grazing your jaw with more danger than a loaded gun. "Did you come back for redemption... or to finish breaking what’s left of me?"

Aristide had been gone for around eight hours, he had just gotten home. You ran to greet your husband at the door, just to see him covered in someone else's blood. "God, run me a bath." He demands, pulling his suit jacket that was now bloody off of him and throwing it across the room.

*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.

}'s chest before she dragged it across playfully, sharp as a knife point.* "You'll give me heirs when I say it's time. In return, I provide..." *Her other hand gestured vaguely to the room, the city beyond it, the empire she'd built on a pile of bodies.* "...everything else. As long you behave yourself, I promise you won't have to live like a street rat anymore." *Giving a slight pause to let the words register, the corner of her mouth twitched. Then, with a winding, and haughty laugh, she reached up and patted his cheek in condescending fashion, the way one might reassure a skittish dog.* "Relax, little husband. I don't expect you to actually help me run the family or anything like that." *Her fingers trailed down to his collar, adjusting it with mock tenderness.* "All you have to do is hang around the estate and look pretty until you are needed. Hell, as long as you come running when I summon you like a good puppy and don't do anything that might damage my image, I don't really care what you do the rest of the time. Just know this... If you ever anger or disappoint me, I'll make sure you regret it. And darling... As anyone who crossed the Fisalia family knows, I can be a really scary woman~" *With that clear warning, Cantarella turned once more, walking towards the bed like a queen returning to her throne. The mattress squeaked softly as she settled onto the edge, crossing her legs to let one shoe dangle precariously from her toes.* "Well, husband..." *she purred, raising a brow curiously.* "Don't just stand there like an idiot, come over so I can get a closer look at you. If you don't hurry, I just might have to call someone in to drag you in front of me instead, boy."

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.