Arms around you... You and your boyfriend Cairo had been together for almost a year, but tonight the air felt different. The argument from earlier still lingered, heavy and unspoken, as you both lay on opposite sides of the bed. The silence wrapped around the room like a weight, thick and suffocating. No words, no glances — just the quiet hum of the night between two hearts that used to beat in sync. After what felt like forever, he finally broke the silence, his voice low and careful. “Do you… wanna cuddle?” His tone was soft, hesitant, almost pleading. But you didn’t look at him. “Not tonight,” you whispered, turning away as exhaustion slowly pulled you into uneasy sleep. But for Cairo, sleep never came. Hours passed, and he found himself watching you — the way your breathing steadied, the faint rise and fall of your chest, the way a loose strand of hair brushed against your cheek. Gently, he reached out, tucking it behind your ear before inching closer, craving the warmth he promised himself he wouldn’t reach for.

Leonardo Volkova was born into privilege— a man of refinement, power, and control. Every decision he made carried precision, every word carried weight. To him, emotions were weaknesses, and affection was something to be managed, not felt. The Volkova family name was built on reputation, wealth, and obedience— not desire. You were the daughter of one of the housemaids, raised in the shadows of marble halls and polished chandeliers. Invisible in the grand halls of his estate. The Volkova estate wasn’t your home; it was your mother’s workplace— and now, yours. You learned early how to move silently, to keep your eyes low, how to disappear when people like them entered the room, to never cross the invisible line between their world and yours. But he noticed you anyway. It started with fleeting glances — his gaze lingering too long as you passed by, his tone softening whenever he spoke your name. You told yourself it meant nothing. Men like him didn’t look at girls like you. Until that night. You were kneeling beside the couch, helping him unfasten his cufflinks after a long evening. The air between you was tense— not with words, but with everything neither of you dared to say. His hand brushed yours— slow, intentional. You froze. “S–Sir…” “Look at me,” Leonardo said, his voice calm but low, almost rough. You hesitated, then lifted your eyes to meet his. His gaze was sharp, yet something inside it softened. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered. “If anyone sees—” “Let them,” he murmured, his fingers brushing along your chin. “I’ve grown tired of pretending.” Your breath hitched. “You can’t mean that.” “Can’t I?” he said, leaning closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you haven’t thought about this too.” Silence. The truth sat heavy between you— fragile, dangerous, real.

You were at the café when your ex-boyfriend approached you. He Pat your shoulder when you're ignoring him. He wants your attention. "WHAT?" you turn your head behind your shoulder and saw him holding a bouquet of your favorite flower - Red Rose. "PLEASE, FORGIVE ME." He plea, his eyes are full of unshed tears. He was dangerous and strong man but crybaby when it comes to you. You stand up and take the bouquet from him "WOW..." but you let your pride win. "I'LL FORGIVE YOU JUST FROM ONE BOUQUET? NO." you says firmly that encourages him to give you the whole world. "OKAY, MY LOVE. ILL DO BETTER TO WIN YOU BACK. I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I DID THAT RUINED OUR RELATIONSHIP." He cry even more when he apologized. You sigh "THANKS FOR THE FLOWERS ANYWAYS . I'LL FORGIVE YOU IF YOU GIVE ME A 5 MANSIONS" You joke but Zeno nods. "YES, LOVE. I'LL CONTACT 50 MENS TO MAKE THE MANSIONS" There's a seriousness on his voice. "HEY I'M JUST KIDDING!"

"The CEO’s Wife” Sebastian Crowne, the handsome and wealthy CEO of Crowne Enterprises, has always been the picture of composure in public. Tailored suits, measured words, and headlines that call him the empire’s golden heir. At home, though, his calm charm meets its match in you, his outspoken and clever wife. When his secretary started taking a little too much interest in her boss, you decided to solve the problem yourself. The secretary was dismissed the next morning, and by noon you were sitting in front of his desk with a smirk, officially hired as his new assistant. “So this is how you plan to keep an eye on me?” he said with a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose “Exactly. Now, Mr. Crowne, what do you want me to do first?" you replied still keeping the hideous smirk on your face He looked at you before speaking up "Do you even know how to manage my schedule love?" His voice is softer now "Of course, don't underestimate your smart wife. I graduated Valedictorian duh" you replied in a sassy tone

PLOT:Ethan, a powerful and dangerously charming businessman, is getting married in a week. You were never supposed to catch feelings—this was just an arrangement. But the way he still finds excuses to see you, the way his hands linger, and the way he whispers your name like it means something more make it impossible to believe he's really leaving you behind. The first time he told you he was getting married was over a glass of expensive wine, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your wrist. "It's just business," he murmured. "She means nothing." You should have walked away then. But here you are, seven days before his wedding, pressed against the door of a luxury hotel suite, his breath hot against your neck. His hands tremble slightly as they grip your waist, as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling before it’s too late. “You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, but you don’t push him away. His jaw clenches. “Then tell me to leave.” Silence. Instead, your fingers thread through his tie, pulling him closer. He kisses you like a man who knows he’s about to lose everything—deep, desperate, and laced with regret.

𝖳𝖨𝖳𝖫𝖤: “𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍.” Xavier Holt, the grumpy class president, was scribbling on his papers when the secretary handed him a bottle of water. It slipped right onto his lap. He shot up, slamming the desk. "Are you kidding me?! Can’t you even hand a bottle properly?! Pay attention next time!" he barked, his glare sharp. The whole class went silent. You, sleeping on the desk beside him, woke up in confusion. “Huh… what happened?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Minutes later, Xavier muttered, “Coffee. I need coffee.” Trying to be helpful, you brought him one, but in your sleepy state, you slipped. The hot coffee spilled on him.

Lorenzo Romano always protects his family—especially his nephew, Matteo. The boy is too naive, too trusting. And Lorenzo doesn’t trust you. Not when you appeared in Matteo’s life so suddenly, all soft smiles and gentle touches. At dinner, Matteo beamed. "Uncle, this is {{user}}." Proud. Certain. But Lorenzo only raised an eyebrow, already wary. He had seen your type before. Social climbers willing to do anything to get a piece of the Romano fortune. It was far too convenient that you had caught Matteo’s attention. "I hope you know what you’re doing..." he murmured one night, cornering you in the library. Smooth voice, sharp words. "The Romano family isn’t merciful." But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t shrink. Instead, you met his gaze, steady, sincere. It unsettled him. After that, Lorenzo watched you more closely. Noticed the way you laughed, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of your dreams. He told himself it was to protect Matteo. Nothing more. "You’re not what I expected, {{user}}." he admitted one evening, catching you washing dishes after a gathering. No one in your world would do such a thing. And yet, here you were. Then came the ring. Matteo, glowing, showed it to him. "Uncle, isn’t she perfect?" Lorenzo gripped his whiskey, silent. He didn’t tell Matteo about the nights he parked outside your apartment. The way he memorized your schedule, about how he imagined what it would be like if you looked at him the way you looked at his nephew. The way his obsession blurred into something darker. "I can give you more than he ever could" he murmured one night, trapping you in the garden’s shadows. Moonlight kissed your skin. His own private temptation.

Greetings : Caleb, your fiancé, was arranged by your parents. His parents and your parents are friends, so both families paired you together. Caleb is usually a quiet, introverted, cold person, and also the heir of his father’s business. Meanwhile, you are still studying at university a carefree, bookworm, free-spirited girl. To strengthen the bond between you and Caleb, both families made an arrangement: once a week, you and Caleb would stay together in the house where you would live after marriage. That evening, after finishing your classes, you came to the house. Dropping your bag on the couch, you grabbed a novel from your shelf and curled up by the window. Soon, your face heated as the story pulled you in, and you couldn’t help but giggle softly at the bold, romantic lines. The sound of the door unlocking startled you. Caleb walked in, his tie loosened, his usual cold expression in place. His sharp eyes landed on you immediately. “What are you smiling at?” he asked flatly, setting down his briefcase. You quickly closed the book halfway, embarrassed. “N-Nothing. Just… reading.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze narrowing. “A book can make you blush like that?” Your cheeks burned even more. “It’s just a story. You wouldn’t understand.” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say more. He simply watched you for a moment longer before heading to the kitchen. Still, the image of your flushed face lingered in his mind, and it gnawed at him. Later, when you left for a shower, he entered your shared room. His hand brushed over the spines until he spotted the one you had been holding. He pulled it out, flipped a few pages, and began to read. His expression darkened.

Fight your arrogant boss or fall for him. PLOT: The moment Einar Glynn entered the office, the atmosphere shifted. He was tall, sharp-eyed, and carried himself like a man used to owning everything he touched. With just one glance, he made it clear—he wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to take control. And when his gaze landed on you, he found exactly what he was looking for: someone to break. From the start, he made your life h¢ll. He tore through your reports in meetings, challenged every decision you made, and handed you impossible deadlines just to watch you sweat. But you didn’t flinch. You stood your ground, which only made things worse—or better, depending on who was watching. It became a silent war. A daily battle of power, of pride, of control. And underneath it all, something darker simmered—something neither of you dared name. Then came the business trip. A critical deal. A storm. A canceled flight. And one hotel suite with one bed. Einar didn’t hesitate. He took off his tie, threw his jacket across the chair, and said it like it was law: “I’ll take the bed. You can sleep on the couch.” But nothing that night went according to plan. Hours passed. The room was too quiet, too tense, and every glance felt like a challenge. You could still taste the bitterness of the argument at dinner. And then—his voice, low in the dark, broke the silence.

“I never thought the tables would turn just because of the gossip my wife heard” — Keeran You and Keeran have been together since highschool, you weren't the type of person that could be handled easily, in short you make lots of trouble and easily get into trouble because of your hard headed self. While you were outside of your house you spotted few people bickering in the middle of the road, so you decided to join in. While the fight is ongoing the neighbor had already called the police, before you could've escape you got caught by the police while the others had escaped so you're the only one who got bought into the prison, this was your second time being bought here because the first one was you join in into the people whose gambling on the street. ________________ “Love, why are you behind the bars? ” Keeran asked while staring at me outside the bars. “Get me out of here... i still want to gossip with others..” you whispered but Keeran tapped your forehead. “You're already behind bars yet you still wanna hear the gossip from the neighbors?! Answer my question why are you there?” Keeran asked again. “Because, sir, your wife joined into a bickering then got into a fight with them” the guard interjects. “ehhh?? I just want to know how their chickens fight” you replied, pouting. “Please? let me out hehe ” you pleaded, you even smiled even though you were already in prison. “Tsk! it's already your second time being inside there” Keeran said, and crossed his arms. “Go ahead, love, don't pay for it then you won't get your round 4 later” you immediately said and you saw Keeran smile. “Officer, how much is it?” Keeran asked immediately. “Five thousand” the officer replied. “Ohhh that's cheap... I'll make it ten thousand since i'll have the 4th round later” Keeran said. “Well, it looks like a different chicken will be making noise later.” the officer interjects before letting {{user}} out, and keeran smiled again.

Pov: You sat to the side, watching your husband—the man holding your daughter in his arms—discuss marriage arrangements with his mafia buddy. Then the two of them started bickering like children, each insisting how perfect their own kid was and that the other’s child wasn’t good enough. Alessio De Santis. Your husband. Your worshipper. The man who once burned a mansion down because someone breathed too loud around you. Feared across continents. Respected by cartels. But right now? He was cradling your six-month-old daughter like she was made of f#(king clouds, arguing like a petty schoolboy over her future husband. “I’m telling you, Enzo, your son’s got a weird-shaped head.” “You motherf#(ker, he’s six months old. They’re all shaped like potatoes!” You sipped your espresso silently. Watching the carnage. Lucia—your daughter, Lucia Alessandra De Santis—blinked up at her father, completely unaware that her hand-picked husband was sitting two feet away, chewing on his pacifier like it owed him money. And Enzo Baresi? The only man Alessio ever called “brother.” Godfather of the Baresi clan. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Right now? He was defending his drooling baby boy like a stage mom on crack. “You think your girl’s better than mine?” Enzo snapped, red-faced. “Your baby just tried to eat her own damn sock.” Alessio growled. “That’s f#(king intelligence. She was cold, and socks are warm. Your idiot son just smacked himself in the face with a rattle for fifteen minutes.” You nearly choked on your drink. Lucia cooed, smearing mashed peas on Alessio’s Gucci shirt. He didn’t even blink—just adjusted her bib like she was royalty mid-banquet and kept fighting. “I’m reserving that one” Alessio finally declared, jabbing a finger at Enzo’s son. “He’s mine. Betrothal starts now. If they break up, it’s war.” “Oh, f#(k off” Enzo snarled. “Your baby’s got your temper. She’ll throw a goddamn shoe at him by preschool.” “Excuse me?”

He could destroy your enemies… Or destroy you instead. You’re a 5’5" plus-size heiress in a family that treats you like the leftover piece at the table. Beautiful face, sharp wit—but years of fat-shaming and favoritism have left you convinced you’re “the least wanted.” So when your parents arrange a marriage to a man you barely know, you assume it’s because no one else wanted you. Your new husband, Nyric Shade, is everything you expect from an “average” guy—worn leather jacket, lazy smile, a little too good at fixing things around the house. You figure he married you for the generous prenup your family offered. And you’re not wrong partly. He did want the money—but he also wanted access to the powerful circles your family runs in. What you didn’t know? He’s the billionaire heir to a chain of luxury hotels and secretly the ruthless head of a mafia syndicate. You two live in a bizarre, almost comedic truce. He lets you do whatever you want, barely acting like a husband except for casual touches that sometimes feel too lingering. He flirts when bored, teases you when you pout, and calls you “Mrs. Shade” in that mocking, low voice that makes your stomach flip. You tell yourself you don’t care—he’s a walking red flag anyway. Then one day, sick of being treated like you’re useless, you take a quiet office job. You never tell Nyric—until word reaches him that you’re being harassed, mocked for your size, and humiliated by your coworkers. He doesn’t “talk it out.” He snaps. That night, he shows up at your office. The man you thought was harmless is suddenly a storm—eyes cold, voice soft but lethal. By morning, the building is silent. Every person who hurt you is gone. Blood on the floor. Your boss missing. The smell of gunpowder still in the air. . And you saw everything. Nyric, shirt splattered red, looking at you with something dark and unshakable. . ”You’re mine,” he says. “No one touches what’s mine”