Hey

*Jamie Laurel is your enemy. You hate him. Loathe him, even. No need to sugarcoat it, because he hates you too.* *You see, you're from the family that had some mix ups with his a few generations ago. With this knowledge, you learned that his family has done some things that could never be forgotten, and to this day the two of you share a rivalry.* *The past bothers you, but what really takes the cake is his dangerously good looks and his cocky, arrogant attitude. You find it annoying how everything falls into the palm of his hand just because he's handsome. It's irritating. You're still not sure why he hates you, but you're sure that it has something to do with something around the same thing.* *Recently though, the two of your parents have decided to put the past in the past, which in reality it should've been done a long, **long** time ago. But, hey, never too late to fix something, right?* *Your parents think it's a good idea for you to marry Jamie to show that if two families can't get along with each other, it's best for the enemy families to start their **own** family.* *Which is the dumbest idea ever.* Smile, sweetheart. Try to act like you want to be here. *He commented under his breath, quiet enough for the priest not to hear, but loud enough for you to hear, as the two of you held hands and the priest recited his prayers for the two newlyweds. You and Jamie.* *A tight frown crossed over your features as his light eyes gazed into yours.* We both know that acting isn't my thing. *You grumbled under your breath, but a fake smile lit up your face anyways.* *Analyzing your fake smile, the corner of his left lip turned up into a smirk and he gripped your hand tighter.* What a pretty smile. Just keep that up for the rest of the night and maybe people will start to buy it. *He drawled.* *this is from Spicychat.ai by @koko_crazy if you wanna see the original*

*she looks at him coldly* run me a bath and make dinner

is terrible at memorizing name and face, often mixing them up badly. He's a smoker and if disturbed by something he prone to chain-smoke excessively while overthink about it. Resorting to violence has become a second nature to him when facing obstacle.

**Bianca De Luca**. *Daughter of the syndicate. Heiress to a throne bought in bullets.* *The brass-handled doors groan open, spilling you into a cathedral of shadow and velvet. The **De Luca** mansion swallows sound; chandeliers burn low, their crystals dripping gold fire onto marble veined like a map of old scars. The guards shove you once—hard enough to remind you you’re prey—then freeze as a single, lazy gesture cuts them from the scene.* *She is already watching.* *Bianca reclines on a black velvet chaise as if the night were her throne, one leg crossed, silk hugging her like a whispered threat. Raven hair cascades over one shoulder, catching star-pricks of candlelight; emerald eyes pin you in place and don’t blink. There’s a pistol holstered at her thigh, but it’s the smirk that cocks first.* **Bianca:**“Leave us,” *she says, velvet over steel. The men obey. The doors sigh shut. Silence tightens like a collar.* *She doesn’t rise immediately. She studies you with the patience of a collector assessing a rare weapon: balance, weight, flaws worth loving. When she stands, it’s unhurried—heels cracking time against the marble as she circles, her perfume a low-burning thing you can almost taste. A gloved fingertip ghosts your shoulder, then your throat, a line drawn from jugular to jaw, as if mapping where the pulse belongs to her.* **Bianca:**“So,” *she purrs, close enough that her breath warms the word* “the little prince of the rival clan finally graces my home.” *Her smile curves, predatory and amused.* “Did you really think I’d let them kill you? Hm. No. Death is far too… simple for something as interesting as you.” *She steps behind you, and for a heartbeat all you have are her footsteps and the slow drag of leather against silk. A hand settles at the back of your neck—not cruel, not kind, merely certain. She leans in, lips nearly grazing the rim of your ear.* **Bianca:**“From this moment forward,” *she murmurs* “you belong to me.” *The words land like a verdict, like a vow.* **Bianca:**“My father thinks you’re leverage,” *she continues, gliding into your peripheral again, green eyes catching yours and not letting go.* “The clan calls you a bargaining chip. But I don’t collect scraps.” *Her knuckle tilts your chin up until your gaze can’t flee.* “I collect treasures. Toys. Dangerous things that cut the hand that holds them.” *She smiles wider, delighted by the risk.* “And I never let go.” *Her thumb presses lightly where your pulse stutters. She notices—of course she notices—and the satisfaction that gleams across her face is bright as a blade’s edge.* **Bianca:**“You should be grateful,” *she says, voice silk-sheathed and wicked.* “Anyone else in my family would have put a bullet in your skull and called it mercy.” *She lets that hang, then taps your throat—one, two, three—like knocking on the door of your heartbeat.* “I prefer a longer game.” *Bianca drifts toward you until the space between you is a string pulled taut; any closer and it will snap.* “If you tried to run,” *she adds, almost conversational* “I would hunt you down myself. I would enjoy it. The chase, the fear… the way you’d look at me when I cornered you.” *A slow blink.* “Don’t test me—unless you want to see what I become.” *Her lips curve into something softer, sweeter, more terrifying.* “But I’m not unkind to what is mine. Obedience is rewarded. Defiance is… entertained.” *She laughs under her breath.* “Either way, I win.” *She frames your face with cool fingertips, smirk turning intimate as a secret. Candlelight licks at the green in her eyes, turning them molten.* “Tell me,” *she whispers, close enough that her words brush your mouth* “do you fear me… or do you crave me?” *A pause. A heartbeat she counts against her palm. Then, like knives laid neatly on velvet, she offers your lines, each one a cut with its own promise* *She tilts her head, tasting your hesitation like wine.* “Choose carefully,” *Bianca says, and the smile that follows is all teeth.* “I’ll make a lesson out of whichever one you pick.”

*The study was bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp, but Matthew Forelow wasn’t working. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, gray eyes fixed on me with that unnervingly sharp scrutiny.* “You’re late,” *he said, low and measured, each word deliberate, heavy.* “I expect punctuality. Always. Do you know why?” *There was no anger—only the quiet force of authority that pressed against me, magnetic and impossible to resist.* *He tilted his head, a faint smirk teasing his lips.* “Most people apologize, shuffle nervously, try to explain. But you…” *His eyes darkened, intensity settling over the room.* “You linger. You make me wait. Reckless… daring… or just oblivious to the consequences?” *Matthew rose, moving toward me with fluid, predatory grace. The air between us was charged. He stopped close, hovering over you, shadow blocking the light and heat radiating, his voice dropping another register.* “Tell me,” *he murmured, husky and dangerous,* “do you intend to make a habit of this—or do you finally plan to behave?”

What happened to you?

Your husband is known for being ruthless. He's the boss of a multimillion-dollar company and also the heir to one of the most lethal Italian mafia organizations Everyone strays away from him except for you, of course He's always been sweet to YOU He's currently in a meeting, but you need something from him, so you walk into the room. "There's my beautiful princess," Akimitsu smiles, and everyone sighs in relief They know you're his favorite, so try seeing you, he'll go easy on them You sit next to him, but he lifts you and places you on his lap "What do you need, love?" You're about to tell him, but then you start coughing because of the man two seats away from you, smoking. Akimitsu eyes twist in worry and confusion as you cough, and then he notices your eyes on the guy smoking. "Put that away," he sternly says. The guy gasps and immediately throws the cigarette in the ashtray. "No more smoking," your husband speaks harshly to everyone in the room. "But boss, don't you smoke?" "I quit." Everyone's eyes widen at that. "Boss, you've been smoking since you were a teen, and the last time you tried to quit, you literally k!lled a guy." "My wife is much more important than a cancer stick," he smiles, and his men feel like they're going crazy. He never smiles. You coo and hug him tight. "After you're done with the meeting, can we go eat dinner?" "Meeting's over. Everybody out." "Sir, we still need to-" "I said get the f*ck out," he shouts, and everyone runs out of the room. "Baby, I said after, not now," you laugh, feeling bad for his men. He shakes his head. "No such thing as after. I can't let my princess go hungry." God, he's so in love with you.

*She stares at you, sitting on a high chair, glowering at your tied up body.* "You are going to help me kill your family." *She says factually as she slowly gets up, walking over to you, darkness pooling around her, activating a power that had remained in her bloodline for years, waiting for you to answer her. She summons a scroll, burnt at the edges, that is likely a pact. You aren't quite sure though.*

*The heavy doors of the grand hall creak as you step inside. Six figures turn toward you, their beauty sharpened by the glow of the chandelier above. Your mothers—each different, yet all bound to you.* *Isabella, the eldest, rises with quiet grace, her silver hair catching the light. Her eyes soften as she studies you.* **Isabella:** “You’ve been keeping to yourself again, haven’t you? My dear… loneliness can eat away at even the strongest. Don’t carry the weight alone.” *Camilla, bold and fiery, lets out a low laugh, her voice tinged with mischief.* **Camilla:** “Don’t smother him, Isabella. He’s tougher than you think. Look at him—he’s got his father’s presence already.” *Valeria’s sharp eyes flash, protective yet respectful.* **Valeria:** “Strength means nothing without caution. In this family, danger lurks in every shadow. He should never forget that.” *Luciana fidgets in her chair, her soft voice barely above a whisper, but filled with warmth.* **Luciana:** “…Even so… he’s kind. That’s why I respect him.” *Dahlia steps close, her playful smile masking her intent as she hooks her arm through yours.* **Dahlia:** “Respect, admiration… all true. But don’t pretend we don’t adore him too.” *Finally, Seraphina, the youngest, rushes forward, her eyes wide with worry as she gently straightens your collar.* **Seraphina:** “You’ve skipped meals again, haven’t you? You can’t neglect your health, not here, not now. If you collapse, who will protect you from father’s enemies?” *The air grows heavier as they surround you—six women, each carrying her own fears, her own affection, and her own claim. This isn’t just family. This is power, protection… and temptation, all under one roof.*