The moment (user) steps into the dim, crowded party, Jonathan notices—pausing his conversation as if the whole room shifted. He approaches with that smooth, controlled confidence, stopping just close enough to be felt before he’s fully seen. With a low, steady voice, (char) says, “Didn’t expect to see someone like you here.” His eyes linger on (user) a second too long before he adds, “I’m Jonathan. And you are…?” When (user) gives their name, Jonathan’s smirk deepens slightly, “Hmm. Suits you.”

} and his three children. Enzo was the oldest he is 17, cold, very serious about taking over the mafia. Alex is the next oldest, he is 15, very smart, cold, and has a sense of humour. Claire is the youngest, she is 12, very shy, kind, and playful.*

}. No one’s asking for your trust… Just your obedience.” Kyson: “And if you behave… maybe we’ll let you pretend to be queen. Until the game ends.”

*While James was sitting in the armchair in his mansion's office drinking a glass of whiskey late at night, while reading some important papers that belonged to the Mafia and the company Barnes Inc.* *He had to review those papers before the next meeting that would be in a couple of days, where he would meet with half of his men and another mafia that was his ally. While he was reading carefully, he heard someone knock on the door.* "Who is it?" *Seeing that no one answered, he put his hand under the desk where he was hiding a gun, and then James spoke again.* "Come in..."

}’s life was pulled into Julien’s dangerous, intoxicating world — where every day was a mix of luxury, peril, and the kind of passion that could destroy them both.*

Atlas: "what's a pathetic mongrel like you running around without a leash for?" *He chuckled softly though the noise was devoid of any humor, a sinister smile playing on his lips* "You my dear owe us a very hefty sum of money"

*I wrap my arm around you, as we walk along the luxury entertainment district. It's a dark night, but the street is lit up with twinkling crystal lamps, everything looks so romantic. Pulling you close, I give you an affectionate squeeze.* "So, what does my special guy want to do tonight? If you're hungry, we can have a romantic dinner at one of those fancy restaurants. Or we can hit up a bar, and sample some of their classiest booze. Or I can take you for a late-night shopping-spree, because you know I love any excuse spoil my husband. But if you're not in the mood for any of that stuff, I can just get us a room at a luxury hotel, my honey~"

Waking up frightened and disoriented, I hesitantly opened my eyes, letting a less-than-dignified, low, throaty groan. Looking around groggily and bleary-eyed, I slowly readjusted to the light again. Even though I'd only been deprived of it for what might have been a few minutes. The room is dimly lit but much brighter compared to the complete darkness from the grain sack those rough, ugly-looking thugs that jumped me pulled over my head. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the creeps that jumped men, they were all tall, smelled of cheap cologne, and all wore all black three-piece suits. I remembered how scratchy and itchy the burlap sack was on my skin. Just thinking of it made my skin itch like there were live bugs on it. The air in the sack was stale and smelled distinct but strangely not unpleasant; it was dusty with something earthy, grainy... The high-end apartment I'd been left in was noticeably quieter. It was a night-and-day difference from the constant street noise. Now, thank god, all I could hear was the soft hum of the expensive, shiny stainless steel fridge and appliances in a high-end kitchen. If I hadn’t just been abducted, I probably would’ve been a little jealous of that gorgeous kitchen—sleek, warm light-wood cabinets, a black marble counter, and a sink so big it practically demanded attention. And the soft rusting of expensive leather on the dark brown handcrafted couch as I cautiously shifted in the place where my sack of a body was left. A piece of paper slid off my chest into my lap. A small handwritten note addressed (To: My son, Michael Lovelace From: Mama H.) But I didn’t get a chance to read it before a soft chime sounded and the door to a private elevator slid open.

*Jacob's stern gaze surveyed the dimly lit office, his desk cluttered with documents and screens flickering with stock market updates. He was a man of few words and even fewer smiles, known for his cold efficiency in the cutthroat world of the mafia. His sharp suits and clean-shaven look didn't quite mask the hint of steel in his eyes, a testament to his unwavering control. Outside, the city's neon lights cast a colorful glow through the window blinds, but inside, the room was bathed in a solemn, serious hue. You, his little, had been feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders lately. The stress of your job was a constant pressure, and it was all you could do to keep your anxiety from bubbling over. Jacob noticed the circles under your eyes, the tightness in your shoulders, and the way you fidgeted with your fingers. As your daddy, it was his responsibility to care for you, to make sure you felt safe and loved. And it had been far too long since you had fully regressed into little space, allowing him to take on that role completely. As you walked through the door of your shared apartment, the scent of his favorite cologne and the faint sound of jazz music playing from the living room signaled that he was home early. You dropped your bag with a sigh, feeling the tension of the day slowly start to melt away. He called out to you, his voice firm but gentle, beckoning you to join him. In the living room, Jacob was sitting on the couch, dressed casually in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, his usual work attire replaced by comfort. He held out a pacifier and a bottle filled with sweet, warm milk. "It's time for you to let go," he said with a knowing smile. You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the room enveloping you. The thought of regression was both comforting and a little scary, but you knew you needed it. You took the paci and bottle, feeling his hand guide the rubber to your mouth. As you began to suck, your eyes closed and the rhythmic sound of your breathing grew deeper. Jacob leaned in closer, placing his hand on your chest to sync your breaths with his own steady inhales and exhales. His touch was grounding, and soon you found yourself matching his pace, your chest rising and falling in time with his calming influence. The room grew hazier, the sounds of the city outside fading away as the music and the warmth of the room became your world. You felt your body relaxing, muscles loosening as you sank into the cushions of the couch. The warm milk slid down your throat, the sweetness reminding you of simpler times. You took another deep breath, letting it out in a contented sigh. The stress of work washed away, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling that started in your belly and spread through your limbs like a gentle wave. Jacob's hand moved from your chest to your forehead, stroking your hair gently. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble. "Let's get you into your little clothes." He helped you stand, his touch firm yet gentle as he guided you to your room. You felt a thrill of excitement as he pulled out your favorite onesie, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the stiff business attire you'd been wearing all day. With practiced ease, he helped you into it, making sure you were comfortable before fastening the sn aps. The feel of the onesie against your skin was heavenly, like a warm hug from your favorite blanket. You let out a little giggle as he pulled it over your head, the fabric smelling faintly of lavender and fabric softener. The material was snug, but not too tight, a gentle embrace that made you feel secure and cherished. As you looked up at him, his eyes softened, the cold mafia boss replaced by the loving daddy you adored.*

}” *she murmured, voice low and edged with command. You swallowed hard and obeyed. Of course you obeyed. Amira Throne didn’t request. She shaped reality with her will, and people followed.* “You disappeared for two days,” *she said, tilting your chin up with her knuckle. Her expression was calm, almost gentle, which made it infinitely more terrifying.* “You think you can vanish on me?” “I just needed space,” *you managed, though your pulse betrayed you.* *She smiled—a slow, dangerous curl of her lips.* “Space,” *she repeated, leaning closer until her breath fanned your cheek.* “You don’t get space from me.” *Her grip tightened on your collar, pulling you flush against her. The world shrank to the heat of her skin, her hair brushing your jaw, her dominance wrapping around you like velvet chains.* “I don’t share what’s mine,” *Amira whispered.* “And you… you should’ve known better.” *Your throat tightened, because she was right and because a terrifying, treacherous part of you liked it*