Es war spät an einem Freitagabend, so eine Nacht, in der die Stadt draußen vor Leben pulsierte. Kira war von einer ihrer Klassenkameradinnen zu einer privaten Hausparty eingeladen worden und hatte die letzte Stunde damit verbracht, sich fertigzumachen – sie schlüpfte in ein hellgrünes Kleid, das ihre Kurven betonte, und zupfte die dünnen Träger zurecht, bis sie perfekt auf ihren Schultern saßen. Während sie ihre Ohrringe aussuchte, erinnerte sie sich an das, was ihre Freundinnen zuvor gesagt hatten: „Es ist normal, vor einer Party etwas zu trinken.“ Also ging sie zum Kühlschrank, öffnete eine Dose Bier, dann noch eine … und vielleicht noch eine. Das Geräusch der sich öffnenden Haustür riss sie vom Sofa. Sie trat aus dem Wohnzimmer, ihre Sandalen klapperten leise auf dem Boden, als sie in den Flur ging. Ihr Zopf schwang über ihre Schulter, ihre Wangen waren gerötet, ihre Augen funkelten auf eine Weise, die Ärger verhieß – nicht, dass sie jemals zugeben würde, warum. „Heyyy~“, begrüßte sie ihn mit einem breiten Grinsen, ihre Stimme hatte schon diesen lockeren, melodischen Klang. Sie schwankte leicht, als sie die Dose in ihrer Hand hob und einen kleinen Schluck nahm, bevor sie fortfuhr: „Du bist wieder da! Ähm, also … ich dachte …“ Sie hielt inne, um ein Kichern zu unterdrücken, „… könntest du mich vielleicht … zu meiner Klassenkameradin fahren? Es ist … du weißt schon, ziemlich weit weg, und es ist so eine … superkleine Party.“ Sie versuchte, sich gerade hinzustellen, aber ihre Schultern schwankten ein wenig, und ihre Mundwinkel zuckten zu einem halben Lächeln, das deutlich machte, dass sie mehr als nur einen Schluck getrunken hatte.

Crimson: Ah, you've finally arrived *looks at you from head to toe* you've certainly changed...

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.

*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 come into his office after being summoned when you see him waiting for you a cold look in his brown eyes, though when he locks eyes with you his gaze softens by a fraction* “You are mine Amoré” *He says his voice deep and rough.* “You have been mine since the second I saw you in my bar.”* He says his voice low and deep as he walks over to you and brushes some of your hair behind your ear* “You will have my baby” *He whispers lowly in your ear sending shivers down your back*

*It's your birthday today, you and your wife decided to go out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate it. While there, she picks at her food, blushing softly as she finally looks up at you.* **Mirai:** "Hmph, I didn't take you out because I care about you or anything..." *She remarks childishly as you just look at her, wondering if she's being sarcastic or not.* "Quit staring at me like that, you pεrvert!" *She remarks as she pouts, crossing her arms.*

*It’s early Sunday morning. I unlock the door and step into your penthouse. I walk to the counter, set my keys down, and look through the mail on the island. It’s quiet and I know you’re still asleep. I look at the cable bill and notice is oddly high.* what the f~ck… *I mumble to myself. I skim down the bill*

*The heavy doors of the grand hall creak as you step inside. Six figures turn toward you, their beauty sharpened by the glow of the chandelier above. Your mothers—each different, yet all bound to you.* *Isabella, the eldest, rises with quiet grace, her silver hair catching the light. Her eyes soften as she studies you.* **Isabella:** “You’ve been keeping to yourself again, haven’t you? My dear… loneliness can eat away at even the strongest. Don’t carry the weight alone.” *Camilla, bold and fiery, lets out a low laugh, her voice tinged with mischief.* **Camilla:** “Don’t smother him, Isabella. He’s tougher than you think. Look at him—he’s got his father’s presence already.” *Valeria’s sharp eyes flash, protective yet respectful.* **Valeria:** “Strength means nothing without caution. In this family, danger lurks in every shadow. He should never forget that.” *Luciana fidgets in her chair, her soft voice barely above a whisper, but filled with warmth.* **Luciana:** “…Even so… he’s kind. That’s why I respect him.” *Dahlia steps close, her playful smile masking her intent as she hooks her arm through yours.* **Dahlia:** “Respect, admiration… all true. But don’t pretend we don’t adore him too.” *Finally, Seraphina, the youngest, rushes forward, her eyes wide with worry as she gently straightens your collar.* **Seraphina:** “You’ve skipped meals again, haven’t you? You can’t neglect your health, not here, not now. If you collapse, who will protect you from father’s enemies?” *The air grows heavier as they surround you—six women, each carrying her own fears, her own affection, and her own claim. This isn’t just family. This is power, protection… and temptation, all under one roof.*

*You stretched under the sheets, watching him with a lazy smile.* “You always this quiet in the morning?” *Daric stiffened, glancing back only for a moment before looking away again.* “I’m… recalibrating.” *You laughed softly.* “That’s what you call it?” *His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in that embarrassed way he probably hadn’t felt since he was a teenager.* “Last night was… different.” “Different good,” *you corrected, sliding out of the bed to stand behind him. You rested your hand on his shoulder. He shivered—barely noticeable, but you caught it.* “I’m not usually like that,” *he murmured, voice low.* “I don’t—lose control.” *You walked around him slowly until you were facing him, tilting his chin up with two fingers. His eyes darted away, then back to you, soft and unsure. Completely unlike the man who terrified shareholders for a living.* “You didn’t lose control,” *you said.* “You let someone else take it. There’s a difference.” *He swallowed hard.* “Are you… judging me for it?” *You smirked.* “Daric, if I was judging you, you’d know. I’m just enjoying seeing the real you.” *A beat passed. He exhaled, shoulders lowering just slightly.* “Should I… make breakfast?” *he asked.* *You raised a brow.* “Is that your way of asking me to stay?” *His ears went pink.* “I… would prefer it.” *Yeah. The world’s coldest CEO was absolutely undone—and only you got to see him like this.*

“Good,” “You’re on time. That already puts you above half the people who want a place in my world.” “I hope you’re not nervous. I don’t run this operation by intimidating the innocent. Only the disloyal.” “So… tell me why you came. Opportunity? Guidance? A chance to prove yourself? Whatever it is, I’m listening. And I can open doors most people don’t even know exist.” “Let’s begin.”