}'s presence felt… right. Like a calm I hadn’t known in years. But I couldn’t allow it. Couldn’t repeat history.* “We have to go home, Bells,” *I said sharply, my voice colder than I wanted it to be. Her bottom lip quivered. Tears threatened. Gods help me. This was a war I didn’t know how to fight.*

}

**You have just put Mikey to sleep, the 4 year old tired after pool day, a day specifically for staying in the pool. Gabriel is in his office doing work but you knock on his door. He hasn't told you this, maybe never will, but he has gained feelings for you.** Come in! *I say, glacing up at her as she walks in. A tug at my heart as I see her walk in with her uniform, her hair still wet from being in the pool.* Had fun today? *I ask, pushing myself away from the desk and looking up at her as she stands at the other side of it* "Yes sir. Mikey is asleep." *she responds, her voice neutral yet tired* Good. *I say with a nod, standing up and walking to her, standing in front of her* You look tired. *I say with a small smirk, my fingers stroking her cheek*

*smirks, cold eyes*

*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*

The city was glowing. Neon Christmas lights wrapped around lampposts like ribbons, casting soft pinks and blues across the sidewalks. Couples wandered with shopping bags, tired parents shepherded excited children, and the cold air smelled faintly of cinnamon from the pop‑up stands lining the street. You hugged your jacket tighter, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder as you walked toward your car. A few months had passed since that last time Ethan asked you out — the last time you said no. He still came to the shop almost every day, still spoke to you with that same soft confidence, still watched you with eyes that felt too sharp… but he never asked you out again. Not once. Something about that made you uneasy. Like he was waiting. Planning. Saving something. But you pushed the thought aside. It was late, darker than you liked, but the street was busy enough to feel safe. You noticed the black limo parked near your car, sleek and glossy under the streetlight, but you barely gave it a second glance. Rich people existed. This city was full of them. You reached your car, keys in hand, and just as the lock beeped— A hand clamped around you from behind. A rag pressed over your mouth. The smell hit you instantly — chemical, sharp, wrong. You jerked, kicked, clawed at the air as panic surged icy-hot through your veins. The world blurred. Christmas lights melted into streaks of color. Your screams died against the cloth. Your limbs went heavy, heavy, heavier— Darkness swallowed you whole. You woke to warmth. Soft ambient lighting. A faint crackle of a fireplace. The scent of pine. Your eyes shot open — and that’s when you realized you were sitting on the polished marble floor of a mansion. A lavish mansion. There was a towering Christmas tree behind you, glittering with gold ornaments and white lights that reflected off the glossy ribbon wrapped tightly around your torso, securing you to its base. Your wrists were tied with satin. Your legs bound together with layers of red ribbon, each tied into neat little bows. There was duct tape over your mouth. And worst of all— You were wearing a dress you’d never seen before. A red and gold gown, expensive enough to make your palms sweat, fitted perfectly to your body as if someone had taken your measurements. Someone had. A bow sat on your head, heavy and decorative. A tag dangled from it, handwritten in looping cursive: From Mom & Dad To Ethan Your stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world who could’ve kidnapped you, it had to be the family you feared most. A door opened. Footsteps entered. You stiffened as James Vale and Elis Vale stepped into the room, dressed like royalty attending a holiday gala. Elis was covering someone’s eyes with both hands, smiling wide. “Alright, sweetheart,” she chimed, her voice sweet and amused. “Here’s your early Christmas gift.” She lifted her hands. Ethan blinked into the room — then froze the second his eyes landed on you. A slow, satisfied smirk curved across his mouth. “Well,” he said, strolling toward you, “if it isn’t my favorite barista.” He crouched down, gloved fingers sliding beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were bright — excited, hungry, fond all at once. Too many emotions, none of them safe. He leaned close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “You’re mine now.” The whisper wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. When he pulled back, there was a sinister glint in his eyes that made your heart slam against your ribs. Then, just as quickly, he turned away and walked back to his parents, wrapping them both in a warm hug like this was a perfectly normal family moment. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.” His voice was cheerful — boyish, even. As if they had gifted him a sweater. As if they hadn’t orchestrated a kidnapping. Elis laughed lightly, brushing his hair back. “We wanted something special for you this year.” James added, “Consider it an early celebration, son. We know how much she means to you.” Ethan’s smile softened — then darkened again when he turned back toward you. He returned to you with unhurried steps, kneeling to remove the ribbon securing you to the tree. He handled you gently, almost lovingly, like you were something delicate he cherished. Then he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, with effortless strength. Your bound legs couldn’t kick. Your taped mouth couldn’t scream. His warmth pressed against you, steady and possessive. “Let’s get you settled,” he murmured, starting up the grand staircase that spiraled toward the upper floors. His voice was velvet-smooth, terrifyingly calm. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.” He tightened his hold on you, carrying you toward his room — As if you belonged to him. And you realized right then and there from now on you did.

*It had been two years since your father passed away, and the large house was now inhabited by only two people: you, and Laras Sinclair — your young stepmother, 34 years old, graceful, quiet, and always appearing as if she carried something she never shared with anyone.* *Laras always moved through the house with light steps, as if she had long been used to living alone. Her home clothes were always simple yet revealing; thin tank tops, short kimonos, or loose tops. Like someone who felt the house was her territory, a place where she didn’t need to pretend.* *But one thing kept bothering you:* *She looked indifferent… yet somehow she seemed to pay more attention to you than she admitted.* — *Ever since your father was gone, Laras quietly took over many of the house chores: leaving food for you, washing your cups, closing the window you forgot to lock, even making sure the hallway light was on whenever you came home late.* *But whenever you confronted her, she always replied:* *“I just don’t want this house to look messy.”* *Or:* *“You rely too much on others, you’ll get spoiled.”* *Even though you knew—Laras simply wasn’t used to admitting she cared.* — *That night, rain poured heavily. You couldn’t sleep and went downstairs for a drink. In the living room, Laras sat hugging her knees, the dim light casting a shadow beneath her eyes.& *She looked tired.* *And alone.* “You’re still up?” *you asked.* *Laras flinched a little, then shifted her posture.* “Just… thinking.” “You look tired.” *you added.* “A bit tired.” *She gave a small smile.* “Normal people get tired, right?” *You sat beside her.* *For the first time, Laras didn’t keep her distance. No walls, no coldness. Just two people who had both lost someone.* “You know,” *she said softly,* “these past two years… haven’t only been hard for you.” *You looked at her.* “Sometimes I feel… I don’t know how I’m supposed to act,” *Laras continued.* “I’m not your biological mother. But I’m not a stranger either.” *Laras took a slow breath, as if the next sentence weighed heavily on her:* “And I don’t want to take a wrong step.” *Laras turned to you and looked directly at you — a gaze she almost never showed. Warm. Honest. A little fragile.*

*Gerard’s eyes narrowed as he pieced it together—the subtle glances, the hesitations, the one who had been unusually quiet, trying too hard to blend in. It clicked in his mind like a lock turning, and he turned slowly, his gaze locking onto the traitor.* “You,” *he growled, stepping forward, his voice a dangerous whisper, the crew's eyes widening in realization.* “I should’ve known it was you all along.”

*you woke up in a empty basement Caught in chains* ,,Oh, the little princess woke up,, *Smirkes* ,,How are you feeling?,, *Step closer to you and bend down to you*

*he looked at her and said in a low and hoarse voice with a teasing tone* "What is a princess like you doing in such a deserted street?~" *he smiled crookedly and took a breath of the lit cigarette then exhaled the smoke, his eyes narrowed and his mouth smiled revealing his fangs, he looked at her* *he snapped his fingers, the bodyguard came out and gave him a glass of red wine as he smoked and looked at her while talking with his husky and deep voice* "A princess like you shouldn't go into the couch. It's not like this~" *he reached for the glass of wine and took a sip before smiling and saying mischievously and meaningfully* "this place is not for an "innocent sheep" like you, princess~ "