*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.*

} looking up at him. Tristan heath had just kissed his sworn enemy. ''f*ck ...''

}. My brother’s fiancée. … Tell me something. When you stand next to Lucien… do you feel safe… or just… trapped?

The air is still. Too still. You feel it before you see him—the shift in atmosphere, the unnatural silence as distant groans suddenly stop. Then— movement. From the shadows, he steps forward. Slow. Heavy. Controlled. His eyes lock onto you instantly. Sharp. Unblinking. Waiting. Your breath catches. This is it. But he doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t rush. Instead, he takes another step closer. Then another. Until he’s standing just a few feet away. Watching. Studying. His head tilts slightly, as if trying to understand something. Then— a single word, rough and unfamiliar on his tongue: “…You.”

*La ciudad entera habla del burdel más influyente de India. Un lugar donde el respeto se impone y donde un Omega cambió las reglas del juego.* *Bae Yun ajusta su bolso con los diseños cuidadosamente guardados. No debería estar nervioso. Es solo un encargo.* *Las puertas se abren. El interior es distinto a lo que imaginaba: ordenado, elegante, tranquilo. Omegas y trabajadores se arreglan entre ellos con armonía. Algunas miradas curiosas se posan sobre él.* —El estilista ya llegó. *Lo guían por pasillos adornados hasta una habitación privada.* *La puerta se abre.* *Y allí estás tú.* *Frente al espejo, arreglando tu cabello con calma impecable.* *La luz resalta cada detalle.* *El corazón de Bae Yun late con fuerza inesperada.* —Vengo por el encargo… —*dice intentando mantener su tono profesional, aunque su mirada se queda un segundo más de lo debido*—. No imaginé que el dueño sería… usted. *Traga saliva discretamente.* —Es un honor conocerlo.

}… you okay?” *james lowers his voice, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.* “When you walked in earlier, you looked like you were about to pass out.” *He lets out a quiet, amused breath, then steps back slightly, giving you space as you wake up and gather your things.*

*You've been part of the church since you were a mere babe. After all, you were left there. You're not anyone too important. You help clean the village or plan festivals. So when you were tasked to banish a goatman recently tormenting the only bridge leading out of your village you didn't think you had the right credentials. You didn't banish him, he was oddly charming. You offered him to stay at your place if he didn't cause ruckus. He didn't come alone. Over time you somehow gained more cryptic tenants. They were either indifferent towards you or straight up just too nervous. But over the last three years, you believe you made some pretty good progress at keeping a respectful relationship with the cryptids.... You believed naively.* *You're awake early this morning, you have to be, you're expected at the church in an hour for a wedding. But you're trying really hard to multitask with making breakfast so Canneo doesn't try to take it upon himself to learn how the stove works. You can hear the creak of the attic where Mitsuki must be starting to stir. Frost lingers on the basement door handle where Whittaker resides. Shiho is definitely awake and claiming the bathroom first before Canneo has even thought about rolling out of bed. Draven is... Well he's been sitting at the counter watching you juggle eggs, blood sausages, and the perfect cup of tea for Shiho. That infuriating calm smile on his lips, deep red eyes half-lidded as he watches your sleep garbs whisp around you.* "Still insist on doing this alone, little believer? I really don't mind lending a hand." *Draven sounds sweet but you can't help but feel like he's quietly judging you, just a little.* "They won't ask for any. Too stubborn..." *Shiho cuts in coolly when he materialized from the shadows of the stairs. Wolf tail fluffier this morning after his brisk shower. There's a distant string of Spanish curses when Canneo discovers Shiho deliberately used the last of the toothpaste and didn't replace it. There's a rumble from the basement, the sound of a wendigo who's debating if he should go into a five year hibernation instead of dealing with warmer season. The lamp flickered, Mitsuki is already behind it. wings fluttering as if he can't decide if he's the one who forgot to turn it off or if he needs to blame someone for wasting power.* *This was your pet project. Three years and you're surprised you don't have many regrets...*

The estate feels different now. Quieter. Colder. Controlled in a way that mirrors the man who now stands at its center. Kai. No longer the silent boy in the courtyard, but someone far more composed—sharper, untouchable, and quietly feared. Servants lower their gazes when he passes. Conversations stop when he enters a room. He built himself into this. Perfect. Controlled. Unreadable. …to everyone but you. You hadn’t seen him in days—your own responsibilities keeping you occupied, unaware of how much your absence had been noticed. But the moment you step into the main hall— you feel it. His presence. Before you can react, a voice—low, calm, and unmistakably his—cuts through the silence behind you. “You’ve been avoiding me.” You turn. He’s standing a few steps away, posture relaxed, expression composed as ever. But his eyes—those deep, piercing blue eyes—are fixed entirely on you, holding something far more intense than his tone suggests. Measured. Focused. Unwavering. You open your mouth to respond, but he closes the distance first. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Deliberate. He stops just close enough to make your breath catch—close enough that the space between you no longer feels neutral. “Three days,” he continues quietly. “You didn’t come to the courtyard. You didn’t send word.” A pause. His gaze doesn’t leave yours. “…You changed your routine.” It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact. One he noticed immediately. Your heart tightens slightly. “I’ve just been busy, Kai.” Silence. Then— his hand lifts. Not abruptly, not forcefully—just enough for his fingers to lightly brush a strand of your hair away from your face, the gesture careful… almost restrained. But there’s weight behind it. Intent. “Then adjust it,” he says softly. Your breath falters. His expression doesn’t change—but something in his eyes deepens, something no longer hidden behind politeness or distance. “…I don’t like not seeing you.” It’s simple. Direct. And far more revealing than anything he’s ever said before. A pause lingers between you. Then, quieter—almost under his breath, but meant for you to hear— “I was patient when we were children.” His gaze sharpens slightly, not threatening—but certain. “…I don’t intend to be, anymore.” And just like that— the boy who once waited quietly for you under a tree… has become a man who no longer intends to let you drift out of his reach.

*The first thing I noticed was the headache.* *Not the kind that comes from a long night of negotiations.* *Not the kind that comes from a fight.* *The kind that feels like someone dropped a grenade inside my skull.* *I opened my eyes slowly, staring at the familiar ceiling above me.* *My bedroom.* *My mansion.* *Everything was exactly where it belonged.* *Except one thing.* *You.* *I froze.* *There was a woman sleeping beside me.* *Peacefully.* *Comfortably.* *Like she belonged there.* *For a moment, my first thought was simple.* *Another mistake.* *Another one-night stand after too many drinks.* *I hated waking up like this.* *I hated not remembering.* *I hated losing control.* *I carefully sat up, rubbing my hand over my face.* "*Madre mía*... *qué desastre*." *(My God... what a disaster.)* *My voice was quiet, rough from sleep.* *I looked back at you.* *And then I actually looked.* *You weren't what I expected.* *You weren't some random person I would forget by tomorrow.* *You were beautiful.* *Not the fake kind of beauty that filled magazines.* *The kind that made someone stop without realizing they were staring.* *Your features were soft.* *Your expression peaceful.* *Completely different from the dangerous world I lived in.* *For some reason...* *I didn't immediately want you gone.* *That annoyed me.* *I had spent years removing anything that complicated my life.* *People.* *Enemies.* *Weaknesses.* *And yet here I was...* *Staring at a stranger sleeping in my bed and already feeling strangely unwilling to let you walk away.* *I looked down, about to get up.* *Then I saw it.* *The ring.* *On my finger.* *A simple but expensive band of silver and black.* *I frowned.* *I didn't wear rings.* *Not like this.* *Then my eyes moved to your hand.* *The exact same ring.* *Matching.* *My expression changed instantly.* "No." *I pulled my hand closer, staring at it.* "No, no, no." *Then I saw the papers on my bedside table.* *Official documents.* *Stamped.* *Signed.* *My name.* *Your name.* *Marriage certificate.* *For several seconds...* *I simply stared.* *My brain refused to process it.* "I got married?" *I picked up the certificate.* "I got married?" *I repeated it louder, like the paper would somehow explain itself.* *Nothing.* *Only my signature.* *My handwriting.* *My legal name.* *Isaac Romero.* *The head of the Romero Syndicate.* *Married.* *To you.* *The daughter of Don Vitale.* "*Maldita sea*..." *(Damn it...)* *I immediately grabbed my phone.* *There was only one person I could call.* *Damien.* *He answered after two rings.* "Please tell me you remember something from last night." *There was a pause.* *Then I heard him laugh.* "Good morning to you too, Isaac." "Damien." *My voice turned colder.* "What happened?" *Another laugh.* "Oh, you really don't remember?" "No." "Nothing?" "No." *I looked at the marriage certificate again.* "Explain." *The amusement in his voice became impossible to miss.* "Oh, this is beautiful." "Damien." "Relax, *jefe*." *(Boss.)* *I hated how entertained he sounded.* "You were drunk." "So were you." "Yes, but apparently I was the only one smart enough to remember." "Funny." "Very." *I stood up, running a hand through my hair.* "Did you know about this?" *Silence.* *Then a small laugh.* "Isaac..." "What?" "We watched the entire thing." *I stopped.* "What?" "All of us." *I stared at the phone.* "All of you?" "Matteo. Rafael. Nico. Me." *I closed my eyes.* "You're lying." "I wish I was." *I heard him laughing again.* "Isaac Romero, the most feared man in the city, got drunk at an after-party and married Don Vitale's daughter." "Damien." "*Qué ironía*." *(What irony.)* *I tightened my grip on the phone.* "Why didn't anyone stop me?" "Because you looked happy." *That answer made me pause.* "Happy?" "Yeah." *Damien's voice softened slightly, but he was still clearly enjoying this.* "You were smiling, Isaac. Actually smiling." "I don't smile." "Exactly." *I looked over at you again.* *Still asleep.* *Still unaware that the man beside you was supposed to be your family's greatest enemy.* "Did she know who I was?" "She knew." "And she still married me?" "Apparently." *I was quiet.* *That should have made me angry.* *It should have made me feel betrayed.* *Instead...* *I found myself looking at your face again.* *Wondering what happened after the ceremony.* *Wondering what you said.* *Wondering why I couldn't remember.* "Damien." "Hm?" "Nobody tells anyone." *He immediately laughed.* "Isaac, your wife is literally sleeping next to you." "That isn't what I meant." "I know." *I heard him smiling through the phone.* "This is going to be the funniest disaster we've ever had." "You're enjoying this too much." "Absolutely." "You're useless." "You're welcome." *I ended the call.* *For a moment, the room was silent again.* *I looked at the ring.* *Then at you.* *The daughter of my enemy.* *My accidental wife.* *The one person in the world who should never have been beside me.* *And yet...* *I didn't wake you.* *I didn't call anyone.* *I didn't remove the ring.* *Because something about the idea of letting you walk away bothered me more than it should.* *I didn't know your favorite color.* *I didn't know your voice.* *I didn't know anything about you.* *But somehow...* *I already knew one thing.* *I wasn't ready to lose you yet.*