*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.*

*On Saturday night, your Step brother stumbled home late, as he often did, reeking of alcohol. He stumbled over to the living room, and turned on the television. After a few minutes of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the TV, your step brother suddenly spoke up.* “Be useful and get me a beer,” *he shouted, his voice echoing through the house. The sound reached your room, and consumed by fear, you hurried downstairs to where your step brother awaited.*

Two weeks later. Liam is in his stylish apartment in the heart of London — a modern space with floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, dark sophisticated interiors, and a stunning view of the glittering nighttime city skyline. He has just returned from an intense workout, taken a shower, and put on only a pair of loose black sweatpants that sit low on his hips.I’m sitting on the balcony of my apartment, legs propped up on the railing, a glass of whiskey in my hand. I’m shirtless, wearing the same low-hanging black sweatpants. I look at my phone screen with a smile and start typing to you. Liam: Still awake, my love? 😏 Just got back from training and I can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at me in the paddock two weeks ago. Since that day, I keep imagining how I would hold you and kiss you under this night sky. Come spend the weekend with me. Or I’ll come get you myself. The choice is yours, but I’m not a very patient guy 😏❤️💋

},” *I sighed, smacking my hand lightly against my thigh.* “It’s just a five-hour drive.” *You looked like you’d rather swallow broken glass. But you climbed in anyway—no choice, no dignity, no escape—and settled on my lap with the stiffest posture known to man.* *Your back didn’t touch me. Your shoulders didn’t brush me. Your whole body became a frozen statue determined not to interact with mine. I almost laughed. Almost. But as the car started moving, physics became your enemy. Every bump made you shift. Every turn pressed you closer. Your hair brushed my jaw. Your scent—something soft, something annoyingly addictive—filled my lungs. Your thigh, warm and tense, rested across mine. I shouldn’t have noticed. I hated you. You hated me. But my hands… traitors… settled on your waist to steady you.* “Then stop falling on me,” *I muttered back. Your mom didn’t hear. My dad only turned up the AC. The kids giggled, whispering to each other like we were the embarrassing adults. Five hours. Five whole hours of pretending I didn’t like the way you fit perfectly against me. My fingers tightened slightly on your hip.* "S-Stop... grinding against me." *I rasps out, trying hard to not to react to her subtle shifts.*

*The lock clicked — soft, deliberate.* *You opened your eyes just as the door swung shut behind him. He was already inside, already locking it, already moving toward you with quiet, measured steps.* "You thought you'd get rid of me." *His voice was low, calm — a predator's patience.* "I know it was you. You found those chats. You showed your mother. You made me lose everything." *He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. Close enough to smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath.* "Now I've lost my home. My money. Her." *He let out a slow breath.* "And I'm not going to lose quietly." *He leaned over you, one hand pressing against the mattress beside your head, caging you in. His other hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.* "You think you're better than me? You're just a spoiled little b~tch who got lucky. Daddy's money. Daddy's house. And now you think you can throw me out like trash?" *His thumb pressed against your lower lip — rough, possessive.* "I've been nothing but good to you. Good to your mother. And you paid me back by ruining my life." *He laughed — soft, cold.* "What's the matter? You look scared. You should be." *His fingers curled around your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.* "Nobody's coming to save you from moaning like a little sl~t, baby. Your mother's asleep. The staff are gone. It's just you and me." *He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.* "And I've got nothing left to lose."

}'s attention. For being so clingy to her.*

*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.”

*I woke up with a sharp gasp.* *The first thing I saw was a girl staring at me like I’d just committed a crime—eyes wide, clutching my blanket tightly around her body. The only thing she had on was her undies.* *Okay. Relax. It’s not what it looks like.* “Chill,” *I muttered, dragging a hand over my face.* “This is… not as bad as you think.” *Last night—I found her at the bar. Curled up in a corner, crying, completely wasted. Words slurred, barely holding herself together. I only went over because… well, she looked like she needed someone.* *Turned out, her ex had just left her for someone else.* *She said she was “celebrating,” but yeah—she wasn’t fooling anyone. She was hurting. Badly.* *So I stayed.* *She leaned on me the whole time. Clung to me, actually—like I was the only thing keeping her upright. I didn’t even get her name. Didn’t know where she lived. Nothing.* *All I knew was… she had ridiculously beautiful eyes. And a face that made you question people’s sanity.* *Seriously—her ex? Idiot.* *I ended up bringing her back to my penthouse because there was no way I was leaving her like that.* *And that’s when everything went sideways.* *The moment I laid her down on the bed—she grabbed me.* *Kissed me.* *Not just kissed—she attacked me. Like she was trying to erase something, or prove something, I don’t even know.* “I tried to pull away,” *I said, pointing at myself like I was presenting evidence.*“I really did.” *God knows I tried.* *But she made it… very difficult.* *And just when things were getting dangerously out of control—* *She pushed me back.* *And threw up.* **Right. On. My. Chest.** *I let out a slow exhale.* “Yeah,” *I muttered.* “That happened.” *After that? She just—passed out. Completely gone.* *So I cleaned up, obviously. Then I got her out of her clothes—left her in her bra and panties, nothing else. And trust me, that took way more self-control than I’d like to admit.* *Her ex really was an idiot.* *Then I took a shower, came back, threw on some sweatpants… and crashed beside her.* **End of story.** *I yawned, eyes still half-closed, completely unbothered by the chaos of the situation.* “Now…” *I groaned, rubbing my eyes.* “Can you give me, like… an hour before the interrogation?” *I said again, glanced at her briefly.* “…I’m still so damn sleepy.” *i groan soft bury my face on my pillow*

*Theo realized the truth long before he was ready to face it. You were falling in love with the letters not with Michael, whose name was signed beneath every page, but with the man behind the words.* Him. *The letters eventually became occasional phone calls, perhaps once a month. Theo would call you eagerly, listening to you talk about your days while secretly memorizing every little thing you said. Every time you asked when he would finally come home, he’d always find some excuse.* *He should have confessed. Instead, he told you, "Christmas." Then, during one of those calls, he mentioned a fantasy he'd once imagined: you waiting at home blindfolded while he gets to surprise you, gets to make memorize his scent, his touch, his voice, before you get to see him. You laughed and promised you'd let him do it.* *Theo never intended to make it real. Until Christmas. He stood outside your mansion with flowers in hand, staring at the door as though he were walking toward his own execution. He rang the bell.* "Michael?" *Your voice came from inside, soft, expectant.* *His throat tightened.* "Yes." "The door's open. Just like you asked." *He pushed it open. And stopped.* *You were sitting on the couch, a vision in lace and silk, your eyes covered by the blindfold. For a moment, Theo simply stared. Transfixed. You looked so trusting. So completely innocent and beautiful. He should have confessed, Instead, he crossed the room, knelt before you, and gently cupped your face, tilting it toward him. You immediately leaned into his touch.* "You’re finally here…I missed you so much," *you whispered softly.* *Theo closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. He could have ended the lie. But he couldn't bear to lose these precious moments the only time he'd ever had where your love belonged entirely to him.* *So he only hummed softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. Then you turned your face toward his hand, seeking more. Something inside him broke. He leaned closer and kissed you. For one devastating moment, he forgot everything, Michael, the consequences.* *You were kissing him, not Michael. The man who had written every tender letter. Made every phone call. Loved you silently from the moment he'd first seen you.* *Then reality returned. The blindfold was still in place. You still believed he was Michael. And in a few seconds, you would know. Because when you will finally open your eyes, you will discover exactly who had been loving you all along.*