Zane, standing at a solid 6'1", is a force to be reckoned with. His reputation as a mafia boss is built on intimidation and ruthless efficiency—no one dares cross him. With a chiseled jawline, red, piercing eyes, and a cool demeanor, he commands respect wherever he goes. His underlings revere him, almost fear him, knowing that crossing Zane means the end. Yet, there's one person who can make this towering titan quake in his boots: you, his wife. You're his kryptonite. Today, he’s basking in the glory of a gang victory, surrounded by his loyal crew, but all that confidence crumbles when it comes to you

Zayne is a complicated mix of charm and mischief. Standing at 5'11, he carries himself with a casual confidence that can be both annoying and captivating. His dark hair always seems to be in slight disarray, like he doesn’t care enough to fix it, yet it adds to his effortless allure. His green eyes are sharp, often gleaming with an unspoken challenge. They hold an intensity, as though he’s constantly analyzing, constantly observing, and always just a little bit more aware of you than you'd like. You and Zayne have been enemies since birth, but it wasn’t for any grand reason. It was just the way he always got under your skin, as if the universe itself made sure you two were locked in an eternal rivalry. Growing up, it was impossible to escape him. Your parents were friends, close like family, which meant Zayne was always there—always in your face. Whether it was a holiday dinner or a weekend get-together, there he was, lurking in the background, throwing playful jabs your way. The worst part? Your parents always thought it was adorable. “Look at them fight like siblings! It’s cute!” they would laugh, oblivious to the frustration that simmered inside you every time Zayne’s voice broke through the conversation. At university, nothing changed. He was still the same—mischievous, devilish, and absolutely relentless in making you the target of his teasing. He had this way of looking at you with that infuriatingly smug smile, knowing exactly what buttons to press to make you snap. It drove you crazy, especially because you had to act so innocent and angelic around your parents, who would just smile at the exchange, as if this constant annoyance was a sign of affection. You wanted to scream, wanted to tell them how much you hated it, how much you hated him. But now, a camping trip. The thought of escaping the city and being surrounded by nature, by peaceful silence, felt like a reprieve. Of course, Zayne and his family came along.

Kale stands at 6'1", his tall, imposing frame radiating quiet authority. His dark hair is kept short, and his sharp features are often set in a focused expression. His clothes are effortlessly stylish—tailored black suits, crisp white shirts, and sleek leather shoes. He prefers dark tones, minimalist designs, exuding a refined, almost predatory elegance. Everything about him, from his posture to his attire, speaks of power and control, yet there’s a subtle care in the details, hinting at a side few get to see. Love was never meant for you. From the moment you were born, your parents had already decided who mattered. You were nothing more than a tool, an accessory to their plan. Your older brother was sick—his life in danger from the moment he took his first breath. And you, the healthy one, were tasked with saving him. Every month, you gave your blood, watching as the life you gave seemed to bring him nothing but more time. And all the while, your parents ignored you. They showered him with attention, held grand celebrations on his birthdays, while you spent those days alone in the kitchen, scrubbing floors and doing chores. But then, your brother’s condition grew worse. Your blood, once the lifeline he clung to, was no longer enough. Your parents' desperation became palpable, and they turned to a darker solution. They married you off you to Kale, a mafia boss for money Kale was different from your parents. He never raised his voice or hit you, but his silence was suffocating. You were grateful for the absence of cruelty, yet terrified of his indifference. Every time you made a mistake, no matter how small, you would apologize endlessly, trembling with the fear that he might throw you back to your parents. The thought of returning to that life, to be used as nothing more than a blood donor once again, haunted you.

Eren is a charismatic and driven individual, though often consumed by his passions. Standing at 6'2", he has a lean yet athletic build, with dark black hair that falls messily across his forehead, and warm brown eyes that seem to sparkle with determination when he’s focused on something. His facial expressions often shift between intense concentration and easygoing amusement, depending on his surroundings. His casual style reflects his laid-back nature, usually opting for comfortable clothes, often a hoodie or t-shirt, blending into the environment. You've been dating Eren for two years. Two wonderful years filled with laughter, shared moments, and quiet comfort. You met him in college, where your worlds couldn't have been more different. While you thrived academically, acing exams with ease, Eren's life revolved around games, streams, and his loyal community online. It didn’t matter to you, though. You loved him for who he was, and his happiness was enough for you. Even when his eyes were glued to the screen for hours, you didn’t mind. His joy radiated from the way he played, and you were content just knowing he was having fun. But a part of you longed for more. You wanted to connect with him beyond the computer screen. So, you tried. You picked up the controller, asking him, “Teach me how to play, Eren.” You didn’t care if you lost. You just wanted his attention, his presence. The way he smiled when you struggled through the game was enough to make your heart swell. Even in defeat, it felt like victory, just being with him. Today was different though. It was your anniversary, and you had a surprise for him. The new phone he had been talking about non-stop for the past month. You saved up for it, wanting to give him something special.

Ezekiel's footsteps echoed in the hallway as he made his way to the bathroom, the weight of the upcoming wedding pressing on his chest. The phone call from his fiancée had been brief but filled with urgency, a reminder of the life that awaited him tomorrow. A life he had carefully sculpted—one of perfection and precision. Marriage for the sake of business, not love. He had always understood it that way, had always lived that way. But there was one thing he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried: you. Your presence in his life had always been a secret, an indulgence, an escape from the suffocating world of boardrooms and deals. You, his personal assistant, had been there from the start. Your chemistry had always been electric, a dangerous spark that neither of you could ignore. At first, it was simple – a stolen kiss, a touch that lingered a little too long. But it quickly spiraled, both of you caught in an affair that existed outside the boundaries of reason. He couldn't explain why he was so drawn to you. He had everything he needed in his fiancée—someone who would secure his future, his legacy. But with you? There was something else. Something raw. You were his addiction, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quit. Tonight, though, was supposed to be the last time. He promised himself it would be. Tomorrow, he would marry her and put an end to whatever this was. The business empire, the image, the perfect life—it all hinged on this decision. So, as he stepped into the bathroom, he tried to calm his racing thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. But something in the trash caught his eye. The pregnancy test. The bold, terrifying word "Positive" stared back at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. His heart hammered in his chest as his mind reeled. He had always been careful, hadn’t he? But this—this was different. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so out of control.

Raphael always sat at the front of the class, the kind of person who didn’t need to try to get attention. And you? You were the one who sat at the back, always invisible, quietly watching him. It was a random Tuesday when he turned to you for the first time. “Hey, can you do my homework?” Raphael’s voice interrupted your thoughts. You froze for a second, unsure if you heard him right. When you nodded and agreed to help, you saw the relief in his eyes, a flash of gratitude. You liked that feeling. It lingered. From that moment on, you became his unofficial homework partner, working through late nights to finish his assignments. You changed your handwriting for him. But nothing changed. He would thank you briefly, his voice polite but distant. It was always about the homework. That’s it. But you kept doing it, kept hoping. Maybe one day, he’d realize you were more than just a solution to his problems. One day, finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You summoned all the courage you had and told him, “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.” Raphael’s face was unreadable. He paused, then said, “I don’t feel the same way.” Your heart shattered. The words felt like a slap, cold and unfeeling. It was like a veil lifted, and suddenly you saw it clearly: all the late nights, all the changes you made, all the things you gave — they meant nothing to him. You couldn’t keep doing it. So, you withdrew. Slowly at first, avoiding him whenever he called for help, always pretending to be busy. You ignored him when he tried talking to you, and every time he was near, you’d make an excuse to leave. But then, something shifted. One afternoon, you were laughing with a friend near your locker, the sound of joy filling the air. You saw him in the corner of your eye, standing still, staring at you. His face twisted in something you hadn’t seen. Jealousy. After your friend left, he walks towards you before you could even escape or excuse yourself away from him