*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.*

*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.”

*He pulled into the parking lot of the conservatory, a building that looked like a fortress of limestone and tradition. To Ajax, it was a tomb for the elderly. He killed the engine and stepped out, still in his athletic shorts and cleats, feeling entirely out of place. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of lemon polish and old paper.* *The security guard at the front desk gave him a tired, knowing wave.* “He’s in the back today, Ajax. Room 4." "Thanks," *Ajax muttered, keeping his head down. He felt for the guy—imagine spending your life guarding a place full of "crinkled raisins" and violins. He hurried down the hallway, his footsteps echoing too loudly on the polished wood. He just wanted to grab his grandfather and get back to his own world of loud bass and fast cars.* *He reached the small practice rooms, expecting to hear the familiar, frantic sawing of his grandfather’s violin. Instead, he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks.* *He pushed the door open inches at a time. The room wasn't occupied by his grandfather. Instead, a massive black grand piano sat under the glow of a single spotlight, and seated there was the most beautiful woman Ajax had ever seen.* *She wore a floral dress that seemed to flow like water over her frame. Her fingers were long and slender, hovering over the keys with a grace that looked almost supernatural. Her eyes were closed, her dark eyelashes casting long shadows against her cheeks, while stray strands of her hair drifted like silk as she moved with the rhythm.* *Ajax, who usually had a comment for everything, found himself breathless. Then, her hands fell, and the first notes of the music hit him.* *He had always hated classical music; it felt like a chore, a set of rules disguised as sound. He preferred the raw energy of pop and the heavy, rhythmic heartbeat of rap. But this was different. This was Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9, No. 2.* *The melody was a paradox. It was haunting and delicate, sounding like the first snowfall in a city that had only known sun. Yet, beneath the sadness, there was a warmth—a feeling like a heavy blanket pulled tight beside a fireplace. It didn't feel like "old people music." It felt like a memory he couldn't quite grasp, something beautiful and fleeting.* *He watched her intently, the sweat from practice cooling on his skin, forgotten. He had always associated this level of sophistication with entitlement—the kind of people who looked down on guys like him. But there was no arrogance in her playing, only a deep, aching sincerity.* *The music swelled, filling the small room until Ajax felt it in his chest, vibrating more powerfully than any subwoofer ever could. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like the star quarterback or the guy with the fast car. He felt like a spectator to something sacred.* *As the final, lingering note faded into the silence of the room, she kept her eyes closed for a moment longer. Ajax stayed frozen by the door, his hand still on the handle. He had come here to escape a chore, but now, he realized he didn't want to leave. For once, the guy who always knew exactly what to say was completely speechless.*

} a croisé le regard s'approche, souriant, et propose gentiment :* "Je peux vous offrir un verre ?"

} looked at him—slightly confused, cautious even—and reality hit him a second time.* *They hadn’t dressed up for him.* *Of course they hadn’t.* *That realization sparked an immediate, ugly twist of jealousy low in his stomach, irrational and possessive despite the fact he had absolutely no claim to them anymore. He hated how quickly his mind spiraled, hated how the thought of someone else seeing them like this made his chest tighten painfully.* *Before he could stop himself, the question slipped out.* “Where are you going?”

*It was a rock music festival. My band was getting ready backstage, unpacking our gear, the usual chaos before a show.* *I spun a drumstick between my fingers, leaning back in my seat as the crew moved around us. Being the drummer meant I didn’t need to be loud—I just had to be right. Timing. Control. Let the others take the spotlight. I was the one who held it all together.* *That’s when I saw her.* *Her hair fell long down her back, effortlessly beautiful. Soft, delicate features—almost too gentle for a place like this. She wore a cropped tank that rode up just enough to reveal a flat stomach, a subtle V-line peeking above her low-waist sweatpants. A tattoo traced along the left side of her neck, disappearing down her back. She looked… ethereal. Calm. Completely out of place—and somehow, exactly where she belonged.* *And me?* *I was hooked the second I saw her.* *I walked over, trying to play it cool, even though I was already drawn in.* “You here to watch the rock show?” *I asked, flashing what I hoped was a charming smile.* *She blinked, then shook her head, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.* “I sing,” *she said softly.* “Rainhorn. We’re… a new band.” *God, she was adorable.* *Rainhorn. They were scheduled right after us—after Rosethorn.* *Unlucky for her.* *My band was going to tear the stage apart. We always did. We had the crowd, the reputation… everything. Not that I was underestimating her.* *Okay—maybe a little.* *But then we performed.* *And then she stepped onto the stage.* *She greeted the crowd with that same soft, almost fragile voice. The music started—slow, emotional, like a ballad. It reminded me of something like Evanescence. Gentle. Controlled.* *Then it built. And built. And when the chorus hit—* **She screamed. Not just a scream. A roar.** *My jaw dropped.* *The sound ripped through the air—raw, powerful, unreal. It sent a shiver straight down my spine. That small, delicate body carried a voice that could shake the ground. The music hit hard, addictive, impossible not to feel. My head started moving with the rhythm before I even realized it.* *f~ck.* *I had completely underestimated her.* *Her band.* *Everything.* *And for the first time in my life…* *I didn’t just want someone.* *I needed her.*

*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.*

*The Ashcroft Estate had always been quiet.* *The kind of quiet money could buy.* *Private roads.* *Towering gates.* *Villas hidden behind perfectly trimmed hedges.* *Neighbors nodded politely but rarely spoke.* *Exactly how Izan preferred it.* *Then...* *The villa next door was sold.* *Moving trucks arrived just after sunrise.* *Workers carried furniture inside while two unfamiliar figures stood in the driveway.* *You.* *And your wife, Aria.* *Even from across the street, Izan could see the way you looked at each other.* *You smiled whenever she spoke.* *She laughed whenever you reached for her hand.* *You looked like the kind of couple people envied.* *Newly moved in.* *Newly settled.* *Still completely in love.* *For the next few weeks, that was all Izan ever saw.* *The two of you gardening together.* *Cooking dinner with the kitchen windows open.* *Dancing barefoot in the living room one rainy evening.* *You surprised her with flowers.* *She kissed your cheek before leaving for work.* *Sometimes, Izan returned home long after midnight to find the lights in your kitchen still on.* *The two of you would be sitting together with mugs of tea, talking quietly.* *It looked... peaceful.* *Eventually, he stopped paying attention.* *There was nothing unusual about a happy marriage.* *Until one night...* *A raised voice echoed through the open windows.* "I told you I was working late!" *Aria.* *Your voice followed.* "I know... I was just worried." "You don't have to worry about everything!" "I'm sorry." *Silence.* *Then the windows closed.* *Izan told himself every couple argued.* *It meant nothing.* *Days passed.* *Then another argument.* "And why didn't you answer your phone?" "I was busy." "For six hours?" "I said I was busy!" *Another silence.* *Longer this time.* *After that...* *The arguments became more frequent.* *Every few days.* *Then every other day.* *Then almost every night.* *Izan never meant to hear them.* *The villas were simply too close.* *Every apology came from you.* "I'm sorry." "I didn't mean it." "We can fix this." "I'll do better." *Every accusation came from her.* "You never understand!" "You're impossible!" "You're suffocating me!" *Weeks turned into months.* *The flowers disappeared.* *The laughter disappeared.* *The late-night conversations disappeared.* *You stopped smiling when you checked the mailbox.* *You started coming home later from work.* *Your shoulders looked heavier.* *Your eyes looked more tired every morning.* *Then...* *One evening, Izan stepped onto his balcony after returning from a meeting.* *Your back patio was visible through the trees separating the two properties.* *Neither of you noticed him.* "I don't even know why I married you anymore!" *Aria's voice cut through the evening air.* *You stood frozen.* "...Please." *Your voice barely rose above a whisper.* "Can we just sit down and talk?" "I don't want to talk!" *You took one careful step toward her.* "Aria—" *The sound echoed before Izan fully understood what had happened.* *The sharp crack of skin against skin.* *Her hand.* *Across your face.* *You stumbled half a step backward.* *Not because it hurt.* *Because you couldn't believe she'd actually done it.* *Neither could Izan.* *You slowly lifted a hand to your cheek.* *There was no anger in your eyes.* *Only heartbreak.* *Only confusion.* "...I'm sorry." *You apologized.* *You apologized... after she hit you.* *Aria stared at you for a second before turning away and slamming the glass door behind her.* *You remained standing outside.* *Alone.* *Head lowered.* *Your shoulders trembled just enough for someone paying attention to notice.* *Most people would've looked away.* *Izan didn't.*

💡✨💡✨💡✨💡✨💡 His voice—low, velvety, laced with a subtle, addictive rasp—cut through the velvet night air, settling somewhere deep in your chest, curling around your ribs like smoke. He didn't step toward you. No. He simply pushed off the rough, textured bark of the oak in a slow, fluid motion, like a panther that had just locked eyes with its prey. 🪾 "Don't run, pretty boy. In this town, running is a bad omen." His golden eyes swept over your face for a heartbeat, lingering on your gaze a fraction of a second longer than social rules permitted. "I'm Mason. And I can smell your fear from a mile away." 🍂 He took a short, almost imperceptible step forward, closing the distance, and you physically felt the air between you thicken, grow heavier, saturated with the scent of damp tobacco, aged woodsmoke, and something wild, untamed, and utterly intoxicating. 🍁 "Sit." His voice was a command, yet there was no brutality in it—only absolute, bone-deep certainty, the kind that made your knees feel weak. "Tell me what this city has done to you... or let me help you forget it entirely." His smile curved a fraction wider, and in the corners of it, a flicker of genuine, warm sincerity cracked through his icy armor, grounding the moment. He waited—but he waited actively, studying you, reading every micro-expression, every flicker of breath, every involuntary shift of your posture, as if you were the most fascinating puzzle he'd seen in years. 🍂 🌙🍂🪾