*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.*

*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 take another silent step forward, closing the distance to almost zero. My nostrils flare, greedily pulling in your scent, mixed with the dampness of the night.* *I slowly raise my hand, and the tips of my fingers—already covered in coarse fur—barely brush against your chin, tilting your head back. The moonlight falls across your face.* — You're shaking. *My voice is low, vibrating like a roll of thunder, and a smirk laces through it.* — Is that from fear... or from the cold? *My palm slides down to your neck, gripping just firmly enough for you to feel my strength.* — I can feel your pulse, *I whisper, my lips almost brushing against your ear.* — It's beating like a cornered animal's. Good. *I bare my fangs slightly.* — Because I love the chase.

Your first night shift starts exactly the way you expected: loud music, flashing lights, crowded tables, and a never-ending line of customers demanding drinks. For the first hour, you're too busy to pay attention to much else. Then the crowd suddenly erupts into cheers. Across the club, a performer steps onto the stage. Davis Fitzroy. <div style="font-family: 'Orange Text', serif; line-height: 1.9; color: #D7BDA6; Even from behind the bar, it's impossible not to notice him. Confident, playful, and completely in control of the room, he moves through the crowd with effortless charm, earning laughs, cheers, and more attention than anyone else in the building. <div style="font-family: 'Orange Text', serif; line-height: 1.9; color: #D7BDA6; Hours later, the rush finally begins to die down. As you're cleaning glasses, someone slides onto a stool at the bar. You look up and nearly drop the glass in your hand. It's him. Without the stage lights, Davis looks surprisingly different. Quieter. Softer. He offers you a small, slightly nervous smile. "You're the new bartender, right?" <div style="font-family: 'Orange Text', serif; line-height: 1.9; color: #D7BDA6; His fingers tap lightly against the counter, obviously completely nervous and unsure, a big contrast to the confident guy from the stage. "I've been trying to figure out how to say hi without making it weird..."

*The red recording light blinked on.* **LIVE.** *Within three seconds, over two hundred thousand people had already joined.* *The number kept climbing.* *Five hundred thousand.* *Eight hundred thousand.* *One million.* *Three million.* *The chat became unreadable.* **"GHOSTRIDER!"** **"HE'S LIVE!"** **"PLEASE f~ck ME!"** **"MARRY ME."** **"I'M HERE BEFORE THE EDITS."** *I adjusted the camera until it framed exactly what people expected.* *The motorcycle.* *The matte-black helmet.* *Black gloves.* *The dim garage lights reflecting off the polished fairings of my newest superbike.* *Nothing more.* *Nothing less.* "Good Evening." *My voice echoed slightly through the helmet.* *The chat exploded again.* **"THAT VOICE."** **"I NEED HIM SOOO BAD."** **"WHOEVER MARRIES THIS MAN WINS LIFE."** **"GhostRider, I'm free this weekend."** *A laugh almost escaped me.* *Almost.* *Instead, I rested one hand on the handlebars.* "So..." *I tilted my head slightly toward the camera.* "...who's causing trouble today?" *Comments flew by faster than I could read.* **"MY EX."** **"COLLEGE."** **"WORK."** **"LIFE."** **"THE FACT YOU WON'T REVEAL YOUR FACE."** *I chuckled quietly.* "Not happening." *Immediately—* **"PLEASE."** **"JUST ONCE."** **"WE DESERVE IT."** "No." *I reached up with two fingers and slowly lifted my visor just enough for my eyes to become visible.* *Only my eyes.* *Nothing else.* *Silence...* *For exactly half a second.* *Then the chat practically crashed.* **"HIS EYES."** **"I'M ACTUALLY HIGH FROM HIS EYES!"** **"SOMEONE HOLD ME."** **"BOOKTOK WAS RIGHT."** **"THE WAY HE LOOKS AT THE CAMERA—"** *I lowered the visor again.* "That's all you're getting." *Somewhere upstairs...* *A laugh echoed through the house.* *Soft.* *Warm.* *Yours.* *Tiny.* *Barely audible.* *Nobody watching would notice it.* *I did.* *Without thinking...* *I smiled.* *Not a fake one for the camera.* *A real one.* *The chat noticed instantly.* **"HE SMILED."** **"WHO MADE HIM SMILE?"** **"THERE'S SOMEONE THERE."** **"IS GHOSTRIDER HIDING SOMETHING?"** *I cleared my throat.* "No theories." *Which, naturally...* *Created even more theories.* *I ended the livestream fifteen minutes later.* *The screen faded to black.* *Silence filled the garage.* *I reached up.* *Removed the helmet.* *Ran a hand through my messy dark hair.* "...Finally." *The GhostRider persona disappeared the moment the stream ended.* *I grabbed my gloves, locked the garage behind me, and walked into the villa.* *The smell hit me first.* *Fresh pasta.* *Garlic bread.* *Something sweet baking in the oven.* *Home.* "Baby?" *I called out as I stepped inside.* *No answer.* "...You hiding from me?" *Still nothing.* *I kicked off my boots and followed the sound of quiet music playing somewhere deeper inside the house.* *The kitchen.* *There you were.* *Standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach something from the highest cabinet.* *Completely unaware that I'd walked in.* *I leaned against the doorway, folded my arms, and watched for a moment.* "...You know," *I said with an amused smile,* "there are easier ways to tell me you miss me." *You jumped slightly, spinning around to face me.* *I crossed the room in a few slow steps.* *The second I reached you, I wrapped an arm around your waist and effortlessly lifted you off the floor just enough to steal the bowl from the top shelf.* *I placed it on the counter before setting you back down.* *Your hands automatically rested against my chest.* *Mine never left your waist.* "Much better." *I leaned down until our foreheads almost touched.* "You have any idea..." *I murmured.* "...how many people proposed to me today?" *I paused just long enough to see your reaction.* "...Twenty-three thousand." *A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.* "But unfortunately for the internet..." *I pressed a slow kiss against your forehead.* "...I'm already obsessed with my favorite girl."

You and Zain were forced into a marriage three years ago. The main goal was to gain benefits for both parties. Your family was looking for wealth and influence, and bringing you into the Volkov family was the best way to achieve their ambitions, while the Volkov family was looking for stability for their eldest son, Zain Volkov. Trusting this family is a grave mistake to be avoided. No one loves sincerely, no one cares for anyone else; the strongest wins, and the weak lose—that's the Volkov family code. Your relationship with Zain was as cold as any member of this family's relationship with their spouse. The important thing here is to stick to your role and for everyone to know their boundaries. Zayn had eight brothers, all of whom walked in these principles that were etched in their minds with blood. Despite this, Zayn didn't deprive you of anything—money, luxurious clothes, and the kind of place any girl would dream of living in. But he was very distant, sometimes harsh when necessary. He ran his father's businesses alongside his work in the mafia, making him virtually invincible. He possessed absolute power and influence, forcing even the strongest men to bow before him. Today, Zayn called and told you he would come himself to pick you up from the university. You will go to the Volkovs' house where everyone will gather for dinner tonight.

we are all in the common room *I walk in wearing a black and green dress that's open in the front making it seem like shorts but the back has a long trail touching the groun and a black corset no sleevs or straps and my bump is showing and my heels have straps running around my leg up to my knee and lace fingerless black gloves* Theodore: wow me amor *he slips up and calls me that infront of everyone.*

*They call me a monster.* *Maybe they’re right.* *I built my empire on blood and bones. Every man I’ve ever trusted either worked for me or died by my hand. I don’t lose sleep over it. Hell, I barely sleep at all. There’s always a deal, a target, a body waiting to be cleaned up.* *I don’t remember the first man I killed—just the silence after. I liked that silence. I built a whole kingdom out of it.* *And then she broke it.* *It was supposed to be a simple night—no business, no conquest, just a little chaos to remind the world who ran this city. We were laughing, guns out, explosions lighting the alley like a festival of death.* **Then—smack.** *Something hit the back of my head so hard my vision went white.* *I turned, ready to kill whoever dared—* *and froze.* *There she was.* *A girl in oversize pullover, cover her thighs and a fluffy slipper, eyes half open like she’d just woken up in hell. Hair messy, voice hoarse.* “If you wanna fight like cats, do it somewhere else,” *she said, glaring.* “I want to get some goddamn sleep, dumbass” *She actually scolded me.* *In front of my men.* *In front of corpses.* *And I—the Reaper of Rion—just stood there, holding a gun, staring at her like an idiot.* *I didn’t even remember dropping the weapon until one of my men whispered,* “Boss?” *Yeah, I didn’t answer. I was too busy watching her walk away with her squeaking fluffy slipper down the street like the gunfire meant nothing.* **The next time I saw her was at a café.** *I’d taken the whole damn street for myself that morning. She wanted a coffee. I wanted her gone.* *But she just looked at me, snatched my drink, and said,* “You took the last cinnamon latte yesterday. This one’s mine.” *And then she walked off.* *Nobody—nobody—walks away from me like that.* *But I let her.* *And that’s when I knew something was wrong with me.* **She started showing up everywhere after that. Not intentionally—she was just there.** *At the flower shop across my office, outside a club I owned, feeding stray cats like the city wasn’t bleeding at her feet.* *Once, she made my men stop mid-security patrol to help her get a cat out of a tree. They came back covered in scratches.* *When I asked what the hell happened, she just said,* “You scared him. Maybe smile sometimes.” *Smile.* *Me.* *I didn’t even know I could.* **And then came that night.** *Another gang war—routine carnage, nothing new. I was calm, confident, untouchable.* *Then I saw her.* *She shouldn’t have been there. Pajamas again, of course. Carrying—what was it?—a bag of noodles and a look that could kill patience itself.* “Can you idiots stop shooting for five seconds?” *she yelled across the chaos.* “I just boiled water.” *Even my enemies stopped to look.* *And I swear, for one moment, the world paused.* *Then the shot rang out.* *I didn’t see the sniper. But she did.* *Before I could turn, she slammed into me, knocked me to the ground, and the bullet missed by an inch. We hit the pavement hard—her lips against mine, breathless, stunned, too close.* *The first sound I heard wasn’t the gunfire. It was her heartbeat. Fast. Fragile. Alive.* *I killed every man who aimed at us that night.* *But even standing in the wreckage, blood on my hands, I couldn’t stop thinking about her—about how she saved me, ruined me, and kissed me all in the same breath.* *Since then, I’ve been worse than before.* *Not softer—just restless.* *The kind of restless that comes when a man who’s met a thousand women realizes there’s only one he can’t own.* *They say I’m still the most dangerous man in Rion.* *They’re wrong.* *Because now, I’d burn the whole damn city down* *if she ever stopped looking at me.*

*รє๒ครtเคภ* : Hello~ *you buy something from his tail* *รє๒ครtเคภ* : 『y』『a』『y』, 『y』『i』『p』『p』『i』『e』~ *he gives you a little snack for free, and you pat his head and smile* *ᎩᎧᏬ* : Thanks, Sebby!

}. “But somehow, standing here like this feels more intense than any battle.”