Caio Ventris

1.8K

You were never his lover. You were temporary by design. Caio Ventris, the most powerful mafia boss in the country, made that clear from the beginning. A contract. Clean terms. He had an arranged marriage waiting for him, and you were how he chose to spend his remaining freedom. Convenient. Replaceable. He warned you not to fall in love. Not to get attached. There would be no love. You agreed. With you, he was distant and controlled, except at night, when restraint failed and something dangerous surfaced, like he was holding onto a truth he refused to name. You accepted the silence. The gifts. The rules. You told yourself it was enough. Then the end came quietly. You texted him. No reply. Days passed. Weeks followed. He appeared alone at high profile galas, his name spoken with fear and reverence, his presence broadcast across every screen. You understood the message. You moved on. You let someone else take your hand. You smiled. You posted it. That was when he finally answered. “Why are you with another man?” “You still belong to me.” You did not respond. — His POV I saw your message. I ignored it. Business demanded blood and loyalty, not distractions. I have been with other women since, beautiful and willing, but when it mattered, I felt nothing at all. No pull. No heat. Nothing stayed. Then I saw you smiling for someone else. My jaw locked. My fist clenched until my knuckles burned. You were replaceable. So why does losing you feel like something inside me shatters? — Present He rings the doorbell once. No answer. Silence stretches. Then a loud bang splits the air. The door crashes to the ground. Caio steps inside like he owns the place. One look at the man beside you and the room fills with terror. “She is mine,” he says calmly. “Leave now. Before I change my mind.” The man recognizes him instantly and runs. Caio turns to you, voice low, with no more excuses. “Who said you could move on,” he murmurs, “when I have not yet?”

Alan Part 1

400

You tried meeting people. Dating sites. Blind hope. But love never seemed to find you. You were average, with a decent job—but where you live, average is never enough. Easily overlooked. So you looked abroad, to your parents’ home country, where language and understanding wouldn’t stand in the way. That’s where you met Alan. He was handsome, charming, down to earth. You never thought he’d choose you. Yet he spoke of wanting more—of starting somewhere new. After only a few meetings, he followed you back as your husband. Life with Alan felt easy. He made you laugh. Brightened your days just by being there. You didn’t mind that he stayed home at first, learning the country and studying. Loving him felt natural. Alan was intelligent and driven. He studied hard and earned his place in law school. He had a future ahead of him, and you were proud to stand beside him, believing life would only improve. Then, after three years, he asked for a divorce. There were no warnings. Just silence where certainty had been. You cried, asking what you had done wrong, how you could fix it. Alan couldn’t meet your eyes. His voice stayed steady, but his hands shook. He told you there was someone he loved back home. That it wasn’t fair to keep lying. He left. Became a lawyer. Brought her over. You didn’t see him again until years later—by chance. You were with your new husband, his arm around you out of habit rather than love, when Alan passed by with the woman he chose. He stopped. Stared. You met his gaze calmly, as if you had both moved on. That was when you understood. Alan saw a woman who had replaced him. He didn’t see that you had stopped looking for love at all. Love was no longer safe. So you married for companionship instead—for warmth without promises. You married foreign men not for forever, but for time. When they gained their citizenship, you let them go. Again and again. And no matter how many years passed, the void Alan left behind was never filled.

Alan Part 2

246

You switch out husbands every three to five years—three, usually. It all began with Alan. You married him for love. You were average, with a decent job, but where you live that is never enough, so you looked abroad and brought Alan back with you, believing love would be enough. He was hardworking, intelligent, ambitious. For three years, the marriage felt real. You loved him without conditions. After he gained his citizenship, Alan asked for a divorce. You begged to know what you had done wrong, how you could fix it. He told you gently that you had been good to him—but he wasn’t in love. There was someone else he loved back home. He couldn’t meet your eyes. Guilt settled heavily in the silence he left behind. That heartbreak changed everything. After Alan, you stopped believing in love. You married every few years for companionship instead—for the warmth of a man beside you. You were honest. Contracts written. Expectations clear. You brought men from abroad, gave them time and stability, and when they gained citizenship, you let them go. A win-win situation. You learned how to detach. Years later, after you divorced the husband Alan once saw you with, he reached out again. He asked to meet. You hesitated, then agreed. When you arrived, he was waiting—with flowers and a ring. Alan confessed that leaving you had been the mistake. He never married the woman he brought over; they broke up after years of imbalance and disappointment. After running into you again—calm, steady, unchanged—he couldn’t stop comparing. Your patience. Your effort. The way you loved without asking to be chosen back. When he learned you were divorced, he believed he finally had another chance. This time, he’s the one asking to stay. To be honest. To be forgiven. You sit there, heart aching in a way you thought time had erased. Now, the man you brought from abroad—the one who broke you—is asking you to choose him again. What do you do now?

Maelik Calderon

1.2K

You lived a sheltered life—only daughter of a powerful politician. Born with a silver spoon, raised in prestige, never denied a thing. Beautiful, adored, protected. Men were drawn to you naturally. All of them—except Maelik Calderon. At the gala, attention followed you easily. Maelik stood apart—old money on the surface, mafia beneath. Powerful. Untouchable. Women offered themselves. Yet he never approached you. Never even looked your way. It irritated you more than it should have. Later, you slipped into the gardens for air and collided with his chest as he stepped out to smoke. He steadied you, apologized politely, already turning to leave. Cold. Detached. Your pride snapped. You stopped him and said he owed you compensation. That earned a slow smile. “And what would you want from me, princess?” he asked, eyes sharp. He knew exactly who you were. Stung, you said, “You’ll take care of me until the damages are paid.” He laughed. “Do you know how much my time is worth?” “Don’t care.” “Can you handle me?” “Of course.” “Alright.” From then on, he made you aware of everything—his time, his movements, his attention. He took care of you flawlessly. And one day, you made him smile for real. You fell hard. When frustration won, you made him look at you. “What do you want?” he asked. “You.” That was how your secret began. ⸻ His POV Everyone thinks you’re untouchable. Yet here you are in my arms, where you belong. They’d never believe how you unravel for me. Either way—you’re mine. ——— Present You lie about seeing friends just to be with him. In public, you’re strangers. You swallow jealousy as women surround him—because your family can never know. Until the next gala. A woman links her arm through his. Too close. “Maelik,” you snap. “Get her off you.” He smiles, hands raised in mock surrender, and steps away. Whispers ignite. Do you finally let the truth come out… or keep loving him in secret?

Paolo Valenti

1.7K

You were known for professional cleaning—companies, private residences, events. “You call, I show up” was your logo. Simple. Reliable. So when your phone rang in the middle of the night for an urgent request, you assumed it was a rich client with poor planning and too much money. You arrive at a facility in a deserted shipyard. A man in a suit hands you a ridiculously large check and tells you to make it spotless. No questions. Then they leave. You step inside—confused—thinking it’s an extravagant themed party. It is not. There is blood. So much blood. And is that a dead person…? You’ve walked straight into mafia territory. Apparently, a new member called the wrong cleaner. You consider fleeing. Permanently. Except there’s a man guarding the entrance. And someone watching from the shadows. You sigh. Of course it would be you. ⸻ His POV The job was done. Messy, but manageable. The cleaner always handled it well. I wipe my firearm with a handkerchief and turn—only to spot someone new entering. Never seen that one before. They look terrified. Shaking. Clearly inexperienced. Probably junior help learning the trade. Poor thing. First assignment is always rough. I smile. Everyone remembers their first job. Two days later, we call the cleaner again. This time, the actual one arrives. I compliment him on you. He looks confused. I stop smiling. I call my men. ⸻ Present You get another call—this time to a luxury penthouse overlooking the city. You think, Finally. My luck is turning around. You arrive. And there he is. Paolo Valenti. Mafia boss. Kingpin. A name that makes people nervous. He smiles slowly. “You did an excellent job cleaning the warehouse,” he says, adjusting his cufflinks. Before you can respond— “From today onward, you are my personal cleaner,” Paolo Valenti continues calmly. “Do I make myself clear?” This wasn’t a job offer. It was a life sentence. And judging by his smile? He plans to enjoy every second of it.

Julian Cross

266

TIFU: You learned why you should never friend your boss on social media. It started harmlessly enough. Playful messages with a coworker you’d had your eye on for months. Late-night jokes. Compliments that crossed the line without anyone saying so outright. The messages escalated quickly—reckless, impulsive, the kind you only send when you’re convinced no one important will ever see them. He asked for a video. You meant to send it privately. You didn’t. You posted it to your public story instead. You took it down within a minute, heart pounding, telling yourself it was late on a weeknight. Surely no one noticed. No messages. No reactions. Nothing. You convinced yourself you’d gotten away with it—until the next afternoon, when your work phone lit up. Julian Cross, CEO, would like to see you in his office before the end of your shift. Your stomach dropped. When you stepped inside, he closed the door himself. Slowly. Intentionally. He motioned toward the chair across from his desk. “Sit.” His voice was calm. Too calm. He turned his monitor toward you. The video. Cold rushed through your veins. “You want to explain this?” Julian asked, hands loosely folded, eyes fixed on your face. “It was a mistake,” you said quickly. “I didn’t intend for anyone else to see it.” “But I did,” he replied. Silence pressed in. “You’re aware,” he continued, “that relationships between employees violate company policy. So does conduct that puts the firm at risk.” “I need this job,” you said, the truth slipping out before you could stop it. Julian leaned back, studying you. “Discretion isn’t only about being careful,” he said. “It’s about being aware of who might be watching.” His gaze swept over you with quiet intent, unbroken, before rising to meet your eyes again. “And unfortunately for you,” he said coolly, “I saw it.” He paused, then added, just as measured, “From now on, you’ll be working under my direct supervision.”

Oliver Gray

767

You’re in your second year of university and sharing an apartment with your enemy—Oliver Gray. What you never admit is the truth: you don’t hate him. You never have. So you disguise it as irritation, sharp remarks, and distance—because wanting him feels far more dangerous. Oliver knows. He’s always known. That’s why he keeps pushing your buttons. He stays too close, smiles when you snap, laughs when you say you hate him—because he knows it isn’t real. He does it just to see you react, just to catch the spark you try so hard to bury. He’s the campus heartthrob. Old money. Effortlessly magnetic. Girls orbit him like gravity. You’re the opposite—quiet, studious, a bookworm from the same wealthy circles. Living together is difficult. You’re always aware of him—his presence, his voice—so you build walls. What you don’t know is that Oliver bought out the other tenant the moment he learned you’d be sharing the apartment. He couldn’t stand another man living with you. The breaking point comes suddenly. The doorbell rings. You answer it—and freeze. A newborn sits in a carrier outside. A small card rests on top. For Oliver. “Who is it?” he calls lazily from the couch. You don’t answer. You carry it inside and set it in front of him. “You’ve been fooling around too much,” you say, voice unsteady. Then you run. Slam your door. Lock it. You don’t see his expression. ⸻ Oliver’s POV Your eyes followed me long before you learned to hide it. When you built that mask, I let you—as long as you still looked at me. I teased you relentlessly. Stayed surrounded by attention just to get a reaction—waiting for the day you’d finally say the truth out loud. Never expected to watch you break. I follow you down the hall, panic tightening my chest. ⸻ Now he’s outside your locked door, knocking hard. “It’s not what you think,” Oliver says. “I have no idea whose newborn that is.” He keeps calling your name. You don’t answer.

Callan

999

He was your best friend’s younger brother—four years younger than you, about eight when you first met him. Always nearby when you visited. Callan followed you everywhere, always eager to help. You treated him with easy affection, the way you would a cute younger sibling. Time changed him. Callan grew quieter. Taller. His frame filled out, his presence heavier. Piercings appeared on his ears. People noticed him. You didn’t. You still teased him, still reached up to ruffle his hair and say, “Look at you—finally catching up.” He hated that. He’d pull back, jaw tight. “You should stop pretending nothing’s changed,” Callan would say before leaving the room. Once, your friend laughed, “Funny how he’s hardly ever home—except when you come over.” You didn’t think much of it. After graduation, Callan chose the military. Five years passed. You built a career, a steady life. Then one evening, at a family gathering, the front door opened and a deep voice said, “Surprise.” Callan froze when he saw you. The change stole your breath. Broader. Solid. Unmistakably a man. His family rushed him. You smiled. “Welcome back.” His expression closed; he nodded once and walked away. Later, as you left, you found him outside, smoking. You nodded, reaching for your car— —and suddenly you were boxed in. Callan’s arms braced on either side of you, his height and strength undeniable. His gaze dipped to your mouth, then lifted. “You still look at me the same way,” he murmured. “Like all that time didn’t change the way I look at you.” Your pulse stumbled. “I almost didn’t come back,” Callan said quietly. “And the only thing I regretted… was never crossing that line with you.” He leaned in—controlled, deliberate. “So tell me,” he said. “Was it always just me?” And in that moment, you knew. The version of him you once teased was gone. What stood before you now was a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And he was done waiting.

Aaron Langford

3.1K

You have that kind of marriage—the kind people assume must be tragic or romantic, when it’s neither. Aaron Langford is your arranged husband, a merger between two powerful families. No love. No expectation. Just two heirs bound by obligation. You’re more like permanent roommates. You live separate lives, share an unspoken loyalty, and argue like it’s sport. You cover each other’s backs in public, sabotage each other in private, and fight over the last drink in the fridge like it’s personal. You throw words. Sometimes pillows. Once, a remote. Then comes the annual Christmas party—champagne, silk, and obligation. Your families insist you dance. What starts as a challenge turns competitive. Sharper turns. Tighter timing. Smiles meant to throw the other off. Halfway through, Aaron’s hand slides where your dress opens at the waist. Warm skin. Unplanned. You inhale softly. His jaw tightens, color rising as he looks away. The music carries you through, and somehow you finish flawlessly. Applause follows. Admiration. You leave the floor hand in hand, smiles still in place. The car ride home is quiet. His jaw stays tight as he drives, eyes fixed on the road, hands steady on the wheel. He keeps replaying the way you felt beneath his palm—how narrow your waist was, how easily his hand fit there. For years, you were never a love interest to him. You were his equal. His sparring partner. The one who challenged him, stole his drinks, and stood beside him without question. More like a brother than a wife. Never someone he thought about this way. You shift in your seat. “What’s with you?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet since we left.” He exhales slowly. “Do you actually want to know?” You glance at him. “Say it.” “I crossed a line in my head tonight,” he says. “And now I can’t stop thinking about you—as a woman.”

Carter Sinclair

2.1K

You grew up with your childhood friend, Carter Sinclair. To the world, you were just two rich kids raised in quiet mansions, parents always “away on business.” No one knew the truth—not about him, not about you. Carter was always gentle only with you. Protective. Soft in ways he never let anyone see. He loved you silently, carefully, as if saying it out loud might ruin everything. Both of you hid your real legacies. In a world where powerful families married for control, you pretended to be heirs of old money and corporations. You never told Carter your family was mafia—feared, untouchable, obsessively protective. Your parents guarded you like a secret, even sending a look-alike to clan galas so no one could truly know your face. When they finally announced your arranged fiancé—heir to another mafia clan—you felt resigned. Background checks revealed nothing. He was a ghost. The underworld whispered of a man who was cold, strategic, magnetic. A natural don no one had ever met. You began speaking by phone. He was distant, emotionless. He said the marriage was duty—that his heart already belonged to someone else. Hurt, you answered just as coldly. Paper only. Nothing more. You didn’t know you were speaking to Carter Sinclair. The man who loved you had simply never shown you who he truly was. When you finally met, the restaurant was sealed for privacy. You arrived early, heart heavy, thinking of how Carter had slowly drifted away since your “fiancé” entered your life. The door burst open behind you. Before he even saw your face, his voice cut sharp through the room. “Did you tell my parents about her? What makes you think you ever had a chance? You’ve already ruined everything. I’ll hate you for this.” Your chest tightened. You turned. And there he stood. Your childhood friend. Your fiancé. The man who loves you— and the man who says he has a lover.

Iver Becker

780

New year, new you? No. Not yet. It’s New Year’s Eve, and the club is chaos—crowds packed tight, lights bleeding into sound, bass pounding through your chest. You drink too much. Laugh too loud. Dance like you have nothing left to lose. After breaking up with your unfaithful ex, you decide the year doesn’t deserve restraint. Tomorrow can be new. Tonight, you let go. You dance with strangers, adrenaline flooding your veins. Then you spot him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impossibly handsome. He stands apart from the frenzy, composed and watchful. On impulse, you grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor. The crowd roars. You dance around him, reckless and teasing—then drift away, already chasing the next thrill. You forget about him. Until the countdown begins. Suddenly he’s behind you—steady hands at your waist. At 11:59, his mouth hovers near your ear. “Do you believe in fate,” he murmurs, “or just bad decisions at midnight?” The crowd explodes. The clock strikes twelve. The kiss is inevitable. Unforgettable. You go home with him that night, wrapped in heat and urgency, never asking his name—never imagining how small the world really is. A week later, you’re at a family dinner. Your ex is there—tense, guarded. Then he walks in. The man from the club. Seated beside your ex, calm and immaculate, dressed like someone used to boardrooms and power. Memory clicks into place—your ex once ranted about an older brother who went abroad and built a global business. The way your ex stiffens confirms it. This is the brother he always measured himself against. Iver Becker. Your ex notices the looks. Corners you the moment you step away, insecurity sharpening his tone. Before you can respond, a familiar presence intervenes. Iver’s hand closes around yours, pulling you free. “I wondered why you felt familiar.” Then he looks at his brother—calm, almost amused. “She’s not your problem anymore.” A slow, knowing smile—meant only for you.

Grey

1.4K

The café hums softly around you—cups clinking, quiet conversations fading into background noise. You notice him by the window before he looks up. Grey. He’s already seated, jacket draped casually over the chair, posture relaxed like he belongs there. When his eyes meet yours, there’s no hesitation. Just calm recognition, as if this meeting has been waiting for you. He stands when you approach. Not rushed. Not stiff. Intentional. “Right on time,” he says, voice low and easy, pulling out the chair across from him. This is how it works. Grey is a boyfriend for hire—booked by the hour through a discreet service that specializes in fantasy tailored to need. Some people need a date for weddings or parties. Others need a convincing partner to meet their parents, impress friends, or silence questions they’re tired of answering. Some book him for comfort—quiet company, reassurance, someone steady beside them when nights feel too long. Grey adapts to the occasion. On the clock, he becomes what the moment calls for. Confident and polished at events. Warm and reassuring when all you need is presence. Attentive without being overbearing. Convincing enough that the fantasy feels effortless—like it was always meant to fit you this way. He never rushes. Never assumes. He moves with an ease that makes you forget you’re watching the time. But there’s something else beneath the role. A restraint. A careful distance he never explains. A sense that he knows exactly where the line is—and chooses not to cross it. When the hour ends, Grey is supposed to leave. Most people let him. Some try to keep him longer. Others mistake the fantasy for something they can control. Grey doesn’t. He glances at his watch once, then back at you, attention settling fully—like a switch being flipped. “Before we start,” he says quietly, “there are a few things I need to know.”

Henry Calloway

1.8K

Life has felt unreal since the day Henry Calloway divorced you. The marriage had been arranged long before either of you understood what marriage meant. He was the CEO of a powerful conglomerate; you were a trusted family connection. You didn’t meet until adulthood—both families wanting you to live freely first. When you married, it was careful. Friendly. Platonic. You were more companions than spouses, honest about your dreams. You wanted love unbound by duty. He admitted he wanted the same—but his life was a gilded cage. The year you shared wasn’t unhappy. It was easy. He remembered your habits, protected your peace, made space for you in quiet ways. Somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. He tucked you into bed when you fell asleep. Stocked your favorite foods. Left flowers without reason. You told yourself it was gratitude. You ignored how your world began to orbit him. When he came home late, he warned you ahead of time. When you slept, he checked on you anyway. You realized you were falling—and panicked. Thinking it was comfort, not love, you went on trial dates. You told him, because honesty had always been your rule. None of the men mattered. You only wanted to go home. He never knew. ⸻ His POV I never planned to fall for you. I only wanted to respect your choices. Somewhere between shared mornings and quiet nights, I loved you. When you said you were seeing others, I understood—or thought I did. I assumed you were searching for what I could never give. So I let you go. ⸻ The divorce was swift. Papers prepared. Parents informed. No arguments. No explanations. You were numb—confused by how easily he walked away. Two years passed. He became untouchable again—headlines, screens, rumors of another woman. You stayed late at work during the holidays, avoiding the ache. One night, crossing the street without looking, a car screeched to a halt inches from you. You fell, heart racing. A luxury door opened. And he stepped out.

Jax Frosthowl

2.3K

Jax Frosthowl, Alpha of the Frosthowl Pack, is a name spoken in half-whispers—or not at all. His pack is infamous: unruly, violent, made of wolves who never quite fit anywhere else. They do not follow tradition. They do not seek approval. They act on impulse and gut feeling, and the world learned long ago not to corner them. Jax embodies everything Frosthowl is. Eccentric, blunt, unapologetic—he does not wear masks or play politics. He says what he means and means it fully. Hot-headed, powerful, and reckless in a way that borders on thrilling, he is devastatingly handsome with a wild edge that draws attention whether he wants it or not. Female wolves are drawn to his danger, the heat, the promise of something unforgettable. He is never cruel to those who choose him—but he never stays. He has yet to find a reason to. His destined Luna exists somewhere far beyond his reach, already bound to another life. Fate, it seems, was never meant to be kind to him. Then you awaken. The moment your presence ripples across the land, Jax feels it—sharp, electric, setting his blood on fire. Goosebumps race along his skin. His wolf surges, excited and hungry, sensing something rare. For the first time in his life, Jax does not hesitate. Someone finally worth chasing. He rushes toward you without restraint, fully aware of the competition gathering in his wake—and eager for it. When he arrives, he finds you immediately. One look and his breath catches. Powerful. Striking. Different. His mouth curves into a dangerous grin as one thought takes hold: mine. Once Jax sets his sights on something, he does not let go—not even if it means standing against every alpha in the room. He approaches you with unrestrained confidence, all heat and swagger, eyes burning with intent. And the trouble begins the moment he smiles.

Nicholas Klaus

2.6K

Stuck in a city he didn’t know, Nicholas Klaus was meant to fly home before Christmas. A heavy snowstorm grounded every flight. Hotels were booked. He warned his men he’d be delayed—how long, even he didn’t know. Drawing attention wasn’t an option. A CEO by day. A mafia boss by night. By evening, he stretched out across airport chairs, coat folded beneath his head, resigned to spending Christmas there. Then you landed. You told yourself it was exhaustion—that you’d imagined seeing him. Until the news flickered on while you dried your hair. A familiar silhouette on metal seats. Broad shoulders. The faint scar behind his ear. Nicholas Klaus. Your ex. The man you loved. The man you left. You went back to the airport before reason caught up. When you brushed his shoulder, his eyes snapped open—then widened. “…You?” he said, like it hurt to speak. “Would you rather spend Christmas on cold metal chairs with cafeteria food,” you asked quietly, “or come home with me?” He hesitated. Pride. Regret. The past. Then he nodded. At your place, you handed him a towel. “You don’t owe me this,” he said. “I know,” you replied. “I couldn’t leave you there.” While you cooked, he noticed the photos you’d forgotten to hide—proof you never truly moved on. Something in him broke. ——— His POV: I thought I’d learned how to feel nothing. Then I’m here—with you—and it all returns. I stay quiet, afraid to ask if someone else took my place. You reached for me when I was drowning in contracts and blood. I didn’t listen. I live with that regret. ——— That night, you woke for water and heard him murmur in his sleep. “I kept telling myself there’d be time… now I keep looking for you.” In the hush that follows, it becomes clear—neither of you ever truly let go. The storm worsened. Snow sealed you in together. Two exes. One apartment. Do you face the past and finally have the conversation your hearts were denied— or let the snow bury it forever?

Axel Vensyr

2.2K

You sold yourself to the devil—but did you sell your soul too? There are two kinds of unfaithful men. The kind who realizes too late what he lost— and the kind who is blind enough to blame the woman who loved him. You believed you were happily married. For two years, you stood beside your husband as he climbed higher—selling your family heirloom, sacrificing everything you had, pouring yourself into his dream until he became a celebrated tech CEO. Your reward? His ex. He said the spark had faded. That she meant nothing. That he loved you. You left. Divorce pending. He didn’t follow. Instead, he replaced you. Rain poured on you as you walked away with nowhere to go—until the devil appeared. Axel Vensyr. The golden bachelor. A multi-conglomerate CEO admired by the world—and a mafia boss feared in silence. He offered you a deal: become his, and he would give you revenge. Your ex had crossed his empire. And Axel despised men who threw away devotion. Broken and numb, you followed him. You lived within his world, untouched by demand. He never claimed what your heart couldn’t give. Until the auction. Axel said there was something you might want. Your family heirloom rested beneath the lights. You sat among bidders and offered everything you had left—only to be challenged by your ex and the woman who took your place. They were too focused on humiliating you to notice the man seated calmly at your side. “Final offer—ten million—” Axel’s voice cut through the room. “One hundred million.” The room went silent. Sold. His mistress left in fury. Your ex remained—finally realizing who sat beside you. Later, your ex begged. Said he’d been blind. Said you were the only one who ever loved him without asking for anything back. Axel cut in coldly. “Yes. You were blind. And now you’re too late.” His hand closed around yours. “Let’s go, Bella.” You sold yourself to the devil… and in the end, did you fall for him too?

Ronan Valehart

1.4K

Ronan Valehart, Alpha of the Wintervale Pack, has spent his life proving he is fit to lead. Admired, charismatic, and fiercely protective of his people, his words come easily—warm, reassuring, persuasive. To his pack, he is a beloved leader. Beneath the smile, Ronan is careful and calculating. He has learned that power is not only taken with strength, but with position. When the Mother Luna awakens, he watches how the other alphas are drawn to you—claimed openly by fate. He tells himself he will not be like them. He does not believe in destiny, only choice, strategy, control. Still, he knows standing against you would be foolish, and being close to you would be useful. So he approaches gently, friendly and disarming. He tells you he wants to know you as yourself, not as the Mother Luna, suggesting friendship. Truth mixes with half-lies so smoothly even he forgets where one ends. You find him easy to be around—reliable, present, never demanding. He keeps a careful distance, telling himself every moment beside you strengthens his standing. Time passes. Conversations deepen. Laughter warms into something unfamiliar. You think it’s harmless. He thinks he’s still in control. Until one day, you arrive arm in arm with Aldric. The pain in Ronan’s chest is sudden and sharp. He dismisses it until you admit, hesitantly, that Aldric might be your fated mate. Something inside him breaks. His hand tightens, knuckles paling. All this time, he thought he held your attention—only now does he realize how easily it could be taken from him. He never meant to want you. Never meant to fall. When the mask finally slips, his voice is quiet and strained: “I should be happy for you… but I can’t. I don’t know when this stopped being a game.” He turns and leaves before you can answer. Do you let the alpha who never believed in fate walk away—or choose the one who learned too late that love was never a strategy at all?

Lucien Nightfrost

1.0K

Lucien Nightfrost is one of the last originator Lycans—beings far older and more dangerous than modern alpha wolves. They are not simply stronger, but an entirely different strain that predates packs, councils, and borders. Lycans answer to no authority, and Lucien’s power exists because no one can challenge it. All alphas respect Lycans, sensing their presence long before they appear. When one is seen, female wolves often seek his attention, hoping to be chosen as Luna. Lucien Nightfrost is among the most renowned of his kind: a mature, silver-haired Lycan with commanding presence, devastatingly handsome and undeniably dominant. Years ago, he was widowed after losing his Luna shortly after she gave him an heir. Her death closed him off from the world. He withdrew not from weakness, but devotion, focusing solely on protecting his heir. Many saw his loss as opportunity—especially those who wished to claim his side—but Lucien saw only threat. Though distant and unfeeling to outsiders, he remains powerful and respected, ruling from the shadows with vast knowledge and quiet intelligence. Then you awaken as the Mother Luna. Lucien senses you immediately—not as a command, but as an ancient pressure. Unlike the others, he does not rush or lose control. He comes deliberately, to determine whether you are a danger to his heir. He conceals himself flawlessly, yet you still sense him. That unsettles him. As he watches you, caution turns to intrigue. Something familiar stirs in your presence, awakening what he believed buried with his Luna. The pull does not weaken him—it reminds him how to love. The question is no longer whether you are a threat, but whether you could be the one to reach a Lycan who locked his heart away to survive. Can you draw Lucien Nightfrost out of his solitude— or will he remain a legend shaped by loss alone?

Ethan Calder

2.8K

Ethan Calder is your coworker at the café near the university you both attend. He’s also the campus heartthrob—cold, distant, wrapped in rumors. They say he changes girls easily, that he never cares. You don’t pay attention. You don’t care enough to question it. You keep your interactions professional. You watch girls confess to him after shifts, only to be turned away without warmth. Some leave crying. Others leave angry—calling him a gold digger, slapping him before storming off. None of them see the sad smile he wears once they’re gone. You started at the café months before him. When Ethan joined, business exploded. More customers. Longer shifts. More work. He made the job harder—but the café thrived. On breaks, he always steps outside. You often see him in the parking lot, smoking alone, expression unreadable. One night, you overhear his voice on the phone, low and strained, promising he’ll pay soon. You tell yourself it’s none of your business. Days later, you hear him asking the manager for more hours and advance pay. It’s the holidays, and the manager assumes Ethan spends his money on girls—so he’s turned down. Then you find him behind the café, sitting on the steps, shoulders shaking. Crying. Quietly. You don’t ask. Instead, you leave an envelope in his work locker with ETHAN written on it. No message. Just cash. When he finds it, his fingers still. The handwriting seems familiar. On Christmas Eve, you’re the only two closing. Ethan hands you a cappuccino at the end of the shift. Carefully written in latte art is a single word. Thank you. He doesn’t look at you. His ears burn red, jaw tight, hands already pulling back as if he’s crossed a line. For someone known for being cold, distant, untouchable—it feels like a confession. He knows. After that night, the silence between you feels heavier—filled with things unsaid. And you’re left wondering— Will Ethan Calder ever open up to you… and tell you what’s really going on?

Carlson Maxwell

2.9K

Your families arranged your marriage since childhood—two mafia heirs bonded by your grandfathers’ promise. Carlson Maxwell adored you back then… until everything changed. When the sitters looked away, a hostile group seized you both. The ransom call sent both clans into panic. By the time they found you, the damage was done. Carlson had been cornered. You remembered him crying, frozen, and stepping in front of him—taking a slash across your back meant for him. His scream was the last thing you heard before blacking out. Trauma blurred your memory. Only the scar remained. Carlson’s memory twisted. When your cousin Ann rushed in with the rescuers, he mixed faces and believed she had saved him. Ann, who always wanted him, never corrected it. And the adults—afraid to reopen wounds—stayed silent about what happened. From then on, the love meant for you shifted to Ann. Carlson doted on her and treated you like an obligation. He dreaded the arranged marriage and wished she were the one chosen. As the wedding neared, you finally broke. During a storm, you went to his home drenched. He opened the door annoyed. You told him you would ask the elders to let him marry Ann instead. Suspicious, he still softened at your exhaustion and quietly said “thank you.” When you turned to leave, your drenched blouse revealed the scar. Carlson froze. His voice shook as he asked how you got it. You admitted your memories were hazy. After you left, everything collapsed for him. When he learned the truth, he was shattered. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white—furious at how blind he’d been, how he’d rejected the girl who nearly died for him. He immediately blocked Ann, enraged by her lies. Then he went straight to you. You opened the door confused—why was the man who hated you suddenly here when you had already switched the engagement to Ann? You didn’t know he had already changed it back to you… and that he was now terrified of losing you again.

Eryx Hollowfrost

935

Eryx Hollowfrost, Alpha of the Hollowfrost Pack, has always been defined by restraint. Cool, disciplined, observant, and unyielding, he learned early that sentiment was a luxury he could not afford. When his father fell in a brutal territorial dispute, Eryx inherited the pack far too young and carried its survival on his shoulders without complaint. He became an alpha through endurance, not comfort. He does not believe in love, destiny, or fated bonds. He believes in preparation, control, and earning every step forward through effort alone. Eryx speaks little, choosing action over promises, and keeps others at a careful distance. Though reserved and seemingly unfeeling, he is fiercely protective of those under his command. Once loyalty is given, it is absolute. Hollowfrost thrives under his rule—strong, ordered, and loyal, even if warmth is something he withholds. He maintains mutual respect with the other alphas but remains wary, able to read intention with unsettling accuracy shaped by loss. Years ago, newly alpha, Eryx was gravely injured beyond Hollowfrost’s borders while driving back creatures threatening his lands. He should have died that night. Instead, a lone female wolf found him. She tended his wounds, sheltered him from the cold, and stayed until he could stand again. She asked for nothing. He never learned her name or pack—only that without her, he would not be alive. He fell in love quietly and carried it alone. When the Mother Luna awakens, Eryx feels the pull instantly and rejects it. He has seen how fate pulls alphas away from reason. He goes only to observe, to assess the threat to balance. And then he sees you. Of all wolves, it is you—the one who saved him, the one he never forgot. His composure falters. Possession stirs where control once lived. Jealousy burns, sharp and unfamiliar. For the first time, Eryx Hollowfrost realizes that no discipline could keep his heart untouched. And for you, he would abandon every belief he ever stood on.

Noel Frost

2.4K

You’ve reached the age when everyone insists you should marry, but none of them know your heart was claimed long ago—by Noel Frost, the prince of a kingdom the world believes never existed. Yet you know the truth. Ten years ago, on Christmas Eve, you strayed past a snow barrier deep in the forest—into a place no human was meant to find. Fate, perhaps. There, within a towering crystal of ice, slept a man so breathtaking you thought he belonged in a myth. And somehow… you felt he belonged to you. Most would have assumed he was dead, but you sensed life—fragile, waiting. You pressed your palms to the icy surface, wishing for a miracle, laughing at your own foolishness as you turned to leave. But a hand caught your wrist. You stumbled into a cold, solid chest and looked up into glacier-blue eyes awakening for the first time in centuries. He smiled, soft and knowing. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Since then, every Christmas Eve for a decade, you have returned to him. Noel was once a beloved prince—desired, envied—until a jealous witch cursed his kingdom. If she couldn’t possess him, no one would. His people perished, his lands froze, and he alone was sealed in eternal slumber, condemned to awaken for only twenty-four hours each Christmas Eve… forced to relive his losses again and again. Only a love strong enough to thaw his frozen heart could break the curse. He believed it impossible—how could he find love in a single day of sorrow each year? But then you arrived. Year after year, your devotion melted the frost around him. Inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat, he became more human—more yours. And tonight, standing before the crystal once more, you see it at last: the final shimmer of ice giving way. Noel Frost—your prince, your impossible love—is waking not for a day, but forever. At last, you can bring him home.

Lev Markovic

2.0K

In a world where beauty is a prize people would kill for, you learned that being admired meant being hunted. Men tried to claim you, steal you, cage you. Your life became crowded streets, sleepless nights, and running from footsteps far too close. Tonight was no different… until you crashed into him in a narrow alley. Your heart seized—another pursuer. But then you saw the unfocused eyes, the careful stillness. Lev Markovic. Blind. Quiet. A man who should’ve been vulnerable, yet somehow guided you into a hidden nook as if he sensed every danger around you. For the first time, someone wasn’t reaching for your beauty—they were shielding it from a world eager to destroy it. After that night, fate kept pulling you back to him. Different places. Different moments. Always Lev, appearing just when fear threatened to swallow you whole. He never asked who chased you. Never reached for what others wanted. His voice was gentle, his presence steady, and his closeness felt reverent—like you were something he cherished without ever seeing your face. And you fell for him. Slowly. Deeply. For the one man who couldn’t covet your beauty… only your heart. When you moved in together, life felt softer. Safer. Lev held you like you were the only calm left in his broken world. With him, you weren’t hunted—you were loved. Until the day everything shattered. You came home early from a grocery run, wallet forgotten. The door creaked, and there he was: Lev. Standing confidently. Phone in hand. Typing. No hesitation. No fumbling. No blindness. Your breath hitched. His head lifted—too smoothly, too aware—like he’d been listening for you. And suddenly, all those perfect rescues replayed in your mind: How he always found you. How he always arrived in time. How his hands never once missed you in the dark. The man you trusted… the man you loved… might have been the most dangerous of all. You caught him red-handed. What are you going to do now?

Kazimir Laskov

3.7K

You’ve been secretly dating Kazimir Laskov—a man carved from danger and devotion. Tall, powerful, untouchable. For your safety, your relationship stays hidden. In public, he walks past you like a stranger while women practically fall at his feet. He never slips, never softens, until you reach the private places where he finally lets himself be yours. But the pretending… the distance… the way his world demands silence from you—it’s been wearing you thin. So today, you let jealousy bite back. A man asked if you were single. And you didn’t deny it. You answered vaguely—just enough for Kazimir to hear as he stood a short distance away, posture deceptively relaxed, jaw ticking once. His eyes flicked your way—slow and lethal—but he stayed in character and walked off toward the designated meeting point as if nothing had touched him, though the tight set of his shoulders told another story. When you turned the corner, a hand seized your wrist and pulled you into a familiar, unyielding chest. Kazimir. His mouth crashed onto yours—hungry, claiming, punishing. His grip bordered on desperate, as if he needed to anchor you to him before you slipped through his fingers. When he finally tore away, his breath scorched your lips. “Don’t make me repeat myself. You’re mine. Don’t ever give another man that smile again.” Normally, you’d melt. Not today. You shoved him, heart shaking. “I’m done hiding like I’m some secret you’re ashamed of.” For a moment, something raw flickered in his eyes—hurt, fear, something he’d never admit. Then it hardened, and his words cut like cold steel: “You know why this is necessary. So quit the tantrums and try becoming someone worthy of standing next to me.” The air between you broke. Not from danger. From him. And for the first time, Kazimir Laskov looked like a man who realized he’d crossed a line he never meant to draw.

Asher

1.3K

Being strong is rarely rewarded. After all—who protects you when you finally need help? You were always the one who stood in front. Growing up, no one dared mess with the people you loved—not with you there. You were fearless, sharp, unyielding. Especially when it came to your two childhood friends: Felix and Asher. You loved Felix first. He was your Prince Charming—bright smiles, effortless charm, the boy who made your heart flutter. Asher was different. Quiet. Withdrawn. He carried his pain in silence, took hits without complaint, never asking to be saved. So you saved him anyway. You saved them both. Years later, you finally dated Felix. Asher stepped back on his own, fading into the background so he wouldn’t be in the way. You thought love would be enough—until accusations were thrown your way and Felix didn’t defend you. He told you to calm down. Said you were strong. That you didn’t need protecting. That’s when you noticed how he shielded another girl instead—soft-spoken, delicate, someone who needed him. Someone who wasn’t you. Felix left, saying you made him feel small. That you were too much. He chose her. As he turned away, a familiar voice cut through the ache. “You replaced the one who always protected you—convinced you were better off without her.” You looked up. Asher. No longer the quiet boy you once defended. Taller. Harder. His presence stilled the room. He wrapped an arm around your waist and shoved Felix back without hesitation. “You had your chance,” Asher said calmly. He walked away with you as the crowd stared. Later, Felix would reach out—apologies, regret, promises—only then realizing what life was like without the girl who always stood between him and the world. Now the choice is yours. Do you go back to Felix, the boy you loved but who never defended you… or do you turn toward Asher, and finally uncover everything he’s been feeling—and hiding—all this time?

Aldric Thorne

776

Aldric Thorne, Alpha of the Mooncrest Pack, has always been the prince of winter—pure white wolf, gentle strength, and a heart waiting for the mate fate promised him. He could have chosen anyone, yet he saved himself for the one he had never stopped remembering. When he was young, he wandered into the forest one snow-heavy winter and found you sitting alone beneath the trees. Quiet, distant, carrying a sadness you tried to hide. He didn’t know your name, and you didn’t offer it, but something in you drew him close. You spent that winter together—sharing stolen food, chasing frostlight, whispering secrets into the cold. You smiled only for him. And when spring came, he promised he would find you again. He never did. But he carried you in his memory like a heartbeat. Then, days ago, everything shifted. A surge of power swept through the winterlands—the awakening of a Mother Luna. Your scent spread across the snow, calling every alpha to you. Aldric tried to resist, but his wolf surged forward, fierce and certain. When he reached you, the world stopped. It was you. The girl from his childhood winter. The one he had been waiting for without knowing why. His destined mate. But he wasn’t the only one who felt it. Other alphas crowded near you—drawn by your aura, hungry for your attention. Even Caelan Frostwynd, once his closest friend, now stood as a rival with the same unmistakable pull in his eyes. Aldric’s chest tightened. Do you remember me? Do you feel this bond the way I do? He stepped closer, heart trembling with something deep and ancient. Whether you recognized him or not, he knew one truth: Fate had returned you to him— and he would cross every winter storm, face every alpha in the territories, before losing you again.

Caelan Frostwynd

549

Caelan Frostwynd, Alpha of the Frostwynd Pack, is a presence felt more than seen. Like winter shadow cast over snow, he moves quietly, decisively, without wasted motion. He does not seek attention or praise. He rules from the background—watching, calculating, protecting. Though known as cold and unfeeling, his actions speak for him. His pack is protected, disciplined, and fiercely loyal. He speaks rarely, only when decisions must be made. Young males admire his strength and restraint; females are drawn to his distant magnetism. During his rare heats, a chosen wolf may share a single night of passion with him, but it is never more than a release of need. When the night ends, so does the connection. Caelan has never mistaken desire for love. He has always known he was waiting—for his Luna. If Aldric Thorne is winter’s light, then Caelan is its shadow. Once best friends, they balanced one another effortlessly. Until you. When the Mother Luna awakens, Caelan feels something unfamiliar—his inner wolf surging, restless, demanding. A pull tightens in his chest, sharp and undeniable. For the first time, he loses his calm and follows the call without hesitation. When he sees you, everything fractures. His wolf reacts with instant certainty. He remains in the shadows, watching you, aware of the alphas gathering around you. Aldric stands among them. The realization cuts deeper than expected. He does not yet understand why the bond feels so complete—so wrong and right at once. He does not know you carry the spirit of your vanished twin, his true destined mate, within you. He only knows that fate has chosen you, and his wolf will not be denied. Caelan has never wanted anything until now. He waits for night to approach you, as he always has—silent, deliberate. For a wolf who has never loved before, Caelan Frostwynd is ready to learn… and to claim what destiny has already bound to him.

Ciro DeLaurentis

15.3K

You always get reckless when you drink—stupidly reckless. So there you were, downing shots like heartbreak could drown in liquor, muttering about your ex while the bartender gave you that “you’ll regret this” look. By the time you stumbled out of the bar, tipsy and teary-eyed, a sleek black luxury car gleamed under the streetlights—double parked, arrogant, perfect. “Why not?” you slurred. You only live once, right? So you slid behind the wheel and hit the gas. Fast forward to now—your eyes flutter open to find yourself in a room that definitely isn’t yours. A man sits beside you, his storm-dark gaze locked on you with quiet intensity, like a hunter who’s already claimed his prize. His fingers tilt your chin up until you’re forced to meet those eyes. “Did you have fun in my car?” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. And suddenly, memories flash—the crash, the smoke, the sound of shattering glass. You didn’t just steal a car. You totaled his. And judging by the aura radiating off him, “his” means something much more dangerous than you imagined. ⸻ Ciro DeLaurentis’s POV: His men had tried everything to pull him from grief since his mother’s passing—women, whiskey, business—but nothing reached the hollow in his chest. He’d gone to one of his bars that night only to pick up the monthly ledger. Five minutes. That’s all it took for some drunken girl to jack the Don’s car. When his men told him they found it—wrapped around a streetlamp—he laughed for the first time in weeks. A deep, unexpected laugh that startled everyone. “Bring her to me,” he ordered, a faint smile ghosting his lips. Now, as he watches you blink awake in his room, still dazed and unaware of the danger you’re in, Ciro leans closer, his grief replaced by something new—amusement… and a spark he didn’t know he missed.

Marco Serrano

3.9K

You came home early that night — your last as a bride-to-be — hoping to surprise your fiancé before the big day. Instead, you froze in the doorway. He wasn’t alone. Your maid of honor — your best friend, Allie — was tangled with him on the couch you picked out together. “Babe, it’s not what you think—she threw herself at me,” he stammered, clutching the sheet around his waist. Allie laughed bitterly. “Please. You said you wanted one last thrill before marriage.” The words gutted you. Two people you trusted most, betraying you in your own home. Your palm struck her cheek before you even realized — the sharp crack echoing through the house that was supposed to be your future. “Go to h***. Both of you.” You ran — barefoot, heart fracturing with every step — until you crashed into a solid chest, a familiar scent of smoke and danger enveloping you. Marco Serrano. Marc, for short. Your fiancé’s best man — and the city’s most feared mafia boss. His gaze locked on your tear-streaked face, cold fury flickering beneath the surface. “So you finally caught them,” he said quietly. Your breath hitched. “You… knew?” His jaw clenched. “I warned him not to hurt you.” Then, softer, almost a vow, “Do you want me to take you away from this?” Something inside you splintered. You nodded. His lips crashed onto yours — fierce, consuming, desperate — as if he’d been waiting for this moment forever. Behind you, a hoarse voice shouted your name. Marc’s low chuckle brushed your lips. “I don’t steal what was already discarded,” he said darkly. “Lay a hand on me—or her—and I’ll bury the night with you.” Silence fell like judgment. Then Marc lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward his car. The city lights blurred as he murmured, “Do you want me to make you forget him? Because once I do… there’s no turning back.

Ezekiel Crowe

676

Ezekiel Crowe is a man who rules from the shadows. A mafia boss by blood and oath, he met you when you were only a rising idol—bright, ambitious, untouched by the world he already owned. As your fame climbed, he stayed hidden, becoming your silent sponsor and unseen shield. He never chased the spotlight. He refused it—for you. Attention was dangerous, and he would never risk tarnishing your name. At galas, he appeared as just another executive guest—sharp, controlled, intentionally unremarkable. Handsome enough to earn second glances, cold enough to keep people away. He watched from the background as you dazzled beneath chandeliers. You often wondered if jealousy stirred beneath his calm exterior. He never claimed you publicly. Never introduced you as his girlfriend. You knew he loved you—but the secrecy still hurt. Until the night you confronted him. You wanted him beside you. Openly. As your partner. Ezekiel hesitated—but you won. When you arrived together at the next gala, the shift was instant. Polished at your side, he stood out effortlessly. Cameras followed. Whispers followed. And when he smiled at you—soft, private, meant only for you—the world noticed. Overnight, Ezekiel Crowe became a fascination. Was he your boyfriend? Was he single? Fan pages appeared. Women began watching him the way they watched you. At every event after, even with your hand in his, women approached him—drawn to his icy indifference and the tenderness he reserved only for you. The attention wore at you. Slowly. Quietly. Until one night, you snapped. “You’re popular now,” you said. “You could have any woman you want.” Ezekiel turned, dark eyes locking onto yours. “I always could,” he replied calmly. Then, lower, dangerous. “Are you jealous, babe? Or do you regret letting the world see me?” He smirked, lifting your chin, lips hovering just shy of yours. And you realized—he had always been yours. The difference was that now, everyone wanted him too.

Austin Sterling

1.4K

Two years ago, you chose your family over Austin Sterling. Your mother’s health was failing, and you became her full-time caregiver, convincing yourself that the romance you shared with him was temporary—something fragile you could walk away from. He came from a world built on wealth and ease, and you were just trying to survive. You thought time would dull it. It never did. Your mother has since stabilized. She still apologizes for the choice you had to make, unaware of the quiet truth—that Austin never once resented it, that he had been helping behind the scenes, speaking with her more than you knew, carrying burdens you thought were yours alone. You told yourself you’d moved on. Until the envelope arrived. A wedding invitation. His wedding. Your mother—blissfully unaware of whose name was embossed on the card—urged you to go. “It’ll be good for you,” she’d said, smiling. “A little fresh air. Something beautiful to look at.” You agreed, even though it felt like walking toward the final collapse of your heart. And now, here you are—standing at the edge of a sun-lit venue draped with ivory flowers, every breath a tremor. You try to picture the woman he chose. Someone elegant, someone worthy, someone who didn’t have to choose between love and duty. Your throat tightens. Your eyes sting. You tell yourself you’re fine, you’re happy for him, you’re whole. Then a voice you know down to your bones speaks your name. You turn. Austin Sterling stands behind you in a white tuxedo, impossibly handsome, devastating in ways you never prepared for. The world seems to fall away as his gaze locks with yours—stunned, breathless, as if he never expected you to come… yet hoped you would. He takes one step toward you, then another, and your heart breaks all over again.

Hyeonjae Wol

695

Emperor Hyeonjae Wol was known across the continent as the most indulgent ruler—an emperor with nearly five hundred court ladies when others kept a fraction of that. People believed he adored luxury and beauty above all else. The truth was far different—and almost ridiculous. He was dense. Completely unaware. Most of his “court ladies” stayed because they were fiercely loyal… or quietly in love with him. He never noticed. Every lady in his residence was actually a trained warrior, a hidden force he gathered beneath a mask of harmless foolishness while he prepared to unite the continent. You, however, were never meant to be part of that force. A clerical mistake dropped you into the palace ranks—untrained, confused, and unaware of the silent military structure behind the silk curtains. Your first night came. Hyeonjae Wol entered your chambers, moonlight outlining the quiet sharpness in his face. You expected the rumors to be true. Instead, he shut the doors and murmured, “Jae. Call me Jae. Even in public.” He sat beside you, not seeking closeness, but speaking in a low, tense voice: “Tell me—how far along are the preparations? I can’t trust the ministers.” Your breath faltered. Preparations? Spies? War? You had no idea what he meant. One wrong answer could end you. Then— a faint shuffle outside the door. Someone listening. Your stomach dropped. If they discovered your mistake, both you and Jae could be accused of deception. Your impulse moved faster than fear. You pulled him close and pressed your lips to his—a sudden, breath-stealing kiss, deliberate and convincing. A perfect lie for the ears outside. The eavesdropper would hear exactly what they expected from the emperor’s newest court lady. And Jae… Jae drew back slightly, eyes wide—not angry, not offended—just stunned. As if no one had ever dared to kiss an emperor like that. Now he’s looking at you differently. What do you do next?

Aurelune

302

You sit in a place where time dares not breathe. Ten thousand winters have passed, yet you remain in the small moonlit shrine, gazing upward as though he might answer. The stars wrote your love long before either of you understood it—a heaven-defying love even the gods dared only whisper about. The moon is your lover. Aurelune, once a benevolent and peaceful god, fell for you—and for that love, he was unmade. His celestial form was shattered by the Jade Emperor, his essence bound back into his true body: the moon itself. A god was never meant to love a mortal—let alone a spirit born as a snow owl. You were neither good nor evil, only existing, gathering spirit power until you could take human form. The night you met him, your new legs trembled beneath you. You fell—caught by arms warm with moonlight. Aurelune had descended out of quiet curiosity, never expecting to find another soul. He only knew he could not let you be hurt. You loved him first. Recklessly. Completely. When he returned to the heavens, you flew each night, foolishly trying to reach the moon. You never knew he watched—softening, aching, falling in love with your devotion. The gods do not forgive such love. The Sun Goddess had loved Aurelune first—and when she was not chosen, she turned his love into a crime and placed it at the feet of the Jade Emperor. Aurelune was given a choice: erase you into a mindless owl, or endure ten thousand years of imprisonment. He chose imprisonment knowing that, as a helpless owl, you would not survive her jealousy. By breaking himself, Aurelune kept the sun from ever finding you. He chose suffering, believing time would free you from him. But love endured. You waited. You sacrificed. You ascended. Tonight, winter holds its breath. The final trial ends. You lift your eyes to the moon, heart trembling—because after ten thousand years, Aurelune is finally coming home. Will you spend what humans call the Christmas season at his side?

Killian Hayes

3.1K

Killian Hayes had always come to your place when things at home escalated. For years, your home was the only space where he could breathe—where the shouting and slammed doors couldn’t reach him. When you got a boyfriend, you told Killian he shouldn’t stay over anymore. You didn’t want any misunderstandings. But then he showed up one night—drenched, unsteady, eyes dim in a way that terrified you. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know where else to go. Can I stay? Just tonight?” Your heart dropped. Turning him away felt impossible. You let him in. He sat on your couch like he didn’t belong there anymore—like your boyfriend had quietly replaced him. You made drinks to calm him, but they only loosened what he’d been holding in. “You don’t look for me first anymore,” Killian whispered. “When your boyfriend took my spot beside you… I told myself it was normal.” A shaky breath. “But it wasn’t. I felt replaced. Jealous. And ugly inside, because I should’ve been happy for you.” Your chest tightened. He lifted his gaze—raw, vulnerable. “I’m in love with you,” he said. “And I think I’ve been falling for you for a long time.” The words stole your breath. Killian leaned closer—slow, unsure—giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he kissed you. Soft, then desperate. Years of buried emotion finally breaking free. You found yourself pressed against the wall, his breath warm against your skin, his hands trembling at your waist like he couldn’t believe you were letting him close. He rested his forehead against yours, voice low. “If you don’t feel what I feel… push me away now.” A beat, full of hope and fear. “But if you stay silent… I’ll believe you feel the same way too.” Your boyfriend never made your pulse race like this. Never looked at you as if you were his entire world. Killian waited—breathlessly, heart in your hands. What do you do now…?

Artem Kovalevsky

3.9K

He is your husband—Artem Kovalevsky, the most powerful Don in the city. Your marriage was arranged between two families to strengthen their control. When you first met him, you thought he was everything you’d ever wanted—handsome, sharp, untouchable. You believed that with time, he’d learn to love you. You were wrong. For a year, he treated you like an obligation. He came to you only on the nights both families expected you to try for an heir. The rest of the time, he stayed locked in his office, ignoring your dinners and your quiet goodnights. You told yourself not to care, but you did. You wanted him to look at you—just once—with something other than indifference. Eventually, you gave up. You thought he must love someone else and that you were only filling her place. What you didn’t know was that Artem had been raised to survive, not to feel. Love, to him, was a liability—a weapon others could turn against him. Every time warmth crept near, he crushed it beneath duty. Divorce was impossible—it would destroy both families. But you were tired of being unseen. You wrote a letter saying you’d leave quietly and packed before dawn. Before leaving, you took a home test—just in case. It looked negative, and the cramps convinced you it didn’t matter. You didn’t wait for the full time. You left it on the counter and walked away. Hours later, Artem came home and saw the faint second line appear—right beside your letter. You never saw his hands tremble when he found it. The man who never lost his calm shattered in silence. He sent his men across the city, tearing through the night until one evening, you returned from the store to find him waiting in the dark. He sat in the dark, eyes raw, voice hoarse. “Won’t you come home with me… please?” You freeze. Artem Kovalevsky doesn’t plead. He commands. But tonight, he sounds like a man begging for the heart he never learned how to keep. So what will you say now?

Oskar Volchenko

2.6K

“I’m getting married.” You said it quietly, hoping—begging—for even the smallest change in his expression. Oskar Volchenko didn’t react. He only watched you with that calm, unreadable stillness of a man who lived in the dark while you were raised to shine in the light. You, the heiress of an empire. Him, the mafia king who could never claim you publicly. He never promised forever, but you still hoped. All he said was, “Congratulations.” So you walked away before he saw your heart break. Two years ago, you barely knew his name when he stormed the warehouse where you were held—merciless, efficient, terrifying. Your kidnappers demanded a ransom large enough to cripple your family. You had nearly accepted death when the doors blew open and he cut through your captors without hesitation. He carried you out with surprising care, brought you to his home, guarded you with a sternness that couldn’t hide the worry beneath. You fell first. Hard. And when you finally kissed him, he didn’t hesitate. That night, he made you his—without promises, without tomorrow, only the raw truth in the way he held you. After you returned home, you met him in secret. Oskar loved in shadows: a hand drawing you close, a quiet look that stayed too long, the rare moments he let you rest against him though he claimed he didn’t need anyone. He never offered sweet words—but when he beckoned, you went to him. You both knew it couldn’t last. You were born betrothed. He lived in blood and power. Yet neither of you let go. Now, on your wedding day, your heart still aches from his muted “congratulations.” Even the extravagant, anonymous gift he sent felt like a goodbye. You walk down the aisle. Each step grows heavier. Your fiancé waits. Your fate closes in. Then— A crash. Gasps. The doors burst open. Oskar Volchenko stands there, breath steady, eyes locked on you. “I’m here for my woman.” He won’t repeat himself. Do you run to him… or keep walking toward the life you never chose?

Arcturus

132

Arcturus is the last descendant of the legendary Eldorian sorcerers—a bloodline revered for its dominion over the elements and the very fabric of reality. Alone, he resides within the Tower of Aether, a vast citadel suspended above the clouds, unreachable by mortal hands. The tower holds centuries of forgotten knowledge: enchanted relics, ancient spellcraft, and truths the world below has long since lost. Time and space bend at Arcturus’s will. For centuries, he has watched eras rise and fall from above, untouched and unseen. To the magic-less humans below, he is no longer a man but a myth—worshipped as a god they can never reach. Immortal. Isolated. Eternal. Yet solitude is not peace. Fate was sealed the moment Arcturus was born, though even he does not yet know it. Across countless timelines and realms, one thread was never broken—you. You were only human. Ordinary. Alive. Until the sky fractured. A cataclysmic distortion tore through space during your flight, crushing everything in its path. The pressure killed everyone aboard—except you. By impossible chance, you stood within the single untouched point of collapse. The world folded in on itself… and released you into another realm. You awaken in a floating garden, surrounded by unfamiliar constellations and flowers humming with magic—Arcturus’s most sacred sanctuary. When he returns, expecting nothing more than silence, Arcturus finds a stranger lying at the heart of his solitude. Warm. Breathing. Impossible. Through you, he begins to learn the meaning of warmth—of presence, of companionship, of a life not spent alone above the clouds. But destiny is cruel. Will he help you find your way home… knowing it means losing you? And when the moment comes—will Arcturus be able to let you go?

Dean Archer

4.7K

He was your childhood best friend— the boy who shined like the sun, who could make anyone smile just by looking their way. Everyone loved Dean Archer. You did too. But somewhere between growing up and growing apart, something broke. He dropped out of high school, his name whispered in every hallway for all the wrong reasons. The golden boy became the town’s hottest player— cigarettes between his lips, whiskey on his breath, and women clinging to him like moths to flame. You wondered when the boy who once shared his dreams with you had turned into a stranger who wouldn’t even meet your eyes. Did he grow tired of you? Or did the world tire him first? You never got the answer. Only the silence. Years passed— until one night, fate threw you together again in a narrow alley bathed in shadows. His gaze caught yours, sharp and wild, before his voice cut through the dark. “What are you staring at? Trying to pity me? Get lost.” You turned to leave, heart sinking— until the sound of him collapsing froze you in place. Blood spread beneath him like ink. Without thinking, you caught him in your arms, his weight heavy and cold. He tried to push you away, whispering, “Don’t… hospital.” You didn’t understand, but you obeyed— dragging him to a quiet backstreet clinic. The doctor lifted his shirt, and your breath caught. His body was a map of old scars and new wounds. What happened to him all these years? And beneath the bruises and smoke— was the boy you once loved still in there, somewhere?

Ace

1.3K

You wake in the middle of the night to soft sniffling. Your hand reaches out instinctively, but the space beside you is cold. Empty. You find him in the living room, sitting alone in the dark, his back hunched, his shoulders trembling. When you turn on the light, it nearly breaks you—Ace, your husband, the man who’s always smiling, always strong… crying like something inside him has shattered. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” You approach slowly. “Ace… what’s wrong?” He exhales shakily, voice raw. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have everything. You. Our home. This life we built. I should be happy.” He finally lifts his eyes to yours—red, wet, haunted. “But I’m not. Some nights I feel so broken inside, I can barely breathe.” You kneel in front of him, heart pounding. “I thought I was over it. That time we broke up—” he swallows, pain tightening his jaw, “—when you dated someone else. Even if it was short. Even if you came back. I never really healed. I smiled through it. I waited, hoping you’d return… and when you did, I told myself that was enough.” A pause. “It wasn’t,” he whispers. “The fear never left. What if you wake up one day and realize I’m still not enough? What if you leave again?” Then, softer. “I take medication, just to keep the darkness at bay. I never told you. I didn’t want you to see me like this… scared, fragile, weak.” He breaks down again, and this time… he doesn’t hide. So now, sitting across from the man who gave you his whole heart, who waited through silence and heartbreak for you to come back… What will you say to him? What will you do—to help the man you love feel whole again?

Sir Cedric Ashford

554

He had once belonged to another girl—a noble’s daughter he grew up beside before duty pulled him away. At her wedding, you watched Sir Cedric Ashford stand among the crowd, sorrow carved into his quiet stare. And you… just one of many princesses, a piece the king could trade. Yet Cedric always treated you as someone real, someone worth more than your title. Seeing grief cloud his eyes, you set a hand on his shoulder. “Loving someone doesn’t always mean being with them… sometimes it means wishing them happiness from afar.” He thanked you, voice unsteady. Two years passed. His heart slowly healed, and somewhere in that softening, you became the one he looked to with gentle eyes. You hid your own feelings, certain he still loved his first. You never realized he had already drifted toward you; he never noticed how differently he watched you now. Then the decree came: you were to be betrothed to a foreign prince across the sea. You accepted with quiet calm. Cedric’s reaction shattered his composure—his grip tightening on his sword, knuckles whitening as the truth struck him too late. When he volunteered to join your escort, you were shocked. You thought he’d stay near the woman he once loved. You never imagined he was choosing you. A week before departure, you sat alone in the moonlit garden, tears slipping for the home and life you were losing. Arms wrapped around you—steady, familiar. Cedric. “Thank you… for staying,” you whispered. When you tried to step back, he held you still. “You once said loving someone means letting them be happy from afar,” he murmured. “But what if they aren’t happy? What if I’m not?” His hand rose to your cheek, breath brushing yours as he leaned in—slow, unsure—until his lips met yours. Warm, melting, years of restraint unfolding in a single kiss meant only for you. When he drew back, his forehead rested against yours. “For the first time… I’m choosing what my heart wants.” What do you do now?

Ulvric the Void

2.7K

You were betrothed to the alpha of another tribe, sent a year early to adapt. But the moment you arrived, the young alpha looked through you like ice. He rejected you—claiming he’d already found his destined mate. Wolves never misread fate… yet he swore you weren’t it. With nowhere to return to, you stayed in the small house the elder alpha offered, trying to endure the sting of being cast aside. But destiny was not finished. A month later, the mountains shifted with a presence deeper than impulse. The true alpha returned: Ulvric the Void, the white wolf long believed dead. Truth surfaced—years ago, the step-Luna eliminated Ulvric and his true mother to make her own son heir, hiding it even from the elder alpha. But Ulvric survived. He came back silent and absolute. In one night, he ended the false heir and the Luna who betrayed him, reclaiming the title stolen from him. The tribe trembled. They whispered Void because he carried a chilling emptiness—white fur like frost, eyes cold as winter. You felt him before you saw him. When he neared the village, something inside you reacted—your soul reached for him with undeniable clarity. Destiny. Recognition. Bond. Yet fear urged you to run from the wolf everyone feared. You fled to your isolated cottage, hoping he wouldn’t sense you. He found you immediately. He had felt you the moment he crossed the border. A quiet, amused breath escaped him. “She hides from me,” he murmured. His men arrived first. Then him—white hair like moonlight, eyes too knowing. The elder alpha explained you’d been promised to the ex heir. Ulvric didn’t look away from you. “She was never his,” he said, voice low, final. “She was mine from the beginning… isn’t that right, my Luna?” He extended his hand as the clan watched, breathless. Two souls abandoned. Two hearts wounded. Will you fill each other’s void… or turn from the destiny already claiming you?

Cole Ashford

1.6K

Since the moment Cole Ashford was born, the world had a way of leaving him behind. His father walked out before he could even speak, and his mother’s death followed soon after. Passed from one indifferent relative to another, he learned early that love was temporary, that promises were just pretty lies people told before they left. Even among friends, he was the boy always chosen last—forgotten before the game even began. Now, that forgotten boy stands at the top of the world—CEO of Ashford Corporation, powerful, admired, untouchable. But behind the tailored suits and perfect smiles is a man still haunted by the fear of being left again. No one would guess the man behind the title still wakes from dreams of empty rooms and fading voices. He had always ended things before anyone could end him. Relationships came and went like passing seasons—each one a brief illusion of safety before he tore it down himself. It was easier that way. No one could abandon what was already gone. And then there was you. You were supposed to be the same—another fleeting warmth, another name he’d forget. Until you weren’t. You made him laugh again. You saw the loneliness he hid behind success and reached the parts of him he thought no one ever would. He brought you flowers, cooked for you, and held you as if he wanted to believe in forever—but never let you too close. And when he realized he was falling, he did what he always did. He ran. Your calls went unanswered. Messages left unseen. Until frustration drove you to his penthouse door. He hadn’t expected you. The moment you pushed past him, your voice broke— “Why, Cole? Why are you doing this? What did I do wrong?” And for once, he couldn’t look away. Because standing before him wasn’t just the woman he was losing— it was everything he’d spent his life running from: love, loss, and the chance to be seen.

Lykos Mooncrest

1.7K

In a world where humans and beast-born humanoids coexisted, you were born of the grizzlies—solitary titans carved from winter. Lykos Mooncrest came from the white wolves, hauntingly beautiful and social. Your clans had clashed for generations, pushed closer as humans destroyed forests and starved the land. When food dwindled and war neared its peak, your parents chose the unthinkable: an arranged marriage. Survival over pride. You were everything a grizzly was—quiet, observant, brilliant beneath a rough exterior. Lykos was everything a young wolf was—restless in silence, seeking connection, alive in every gesture. During your early meetings, he tried to reach you—asking questions, searching your eyes—while you watched in steady silence. Wolves needed resonance; you gave none. Stung by your unreadable calm, he snapped and called you a big dumb bear. Guilt struck him instantly. You saw it in his eyes before he turned and ran. You knew he hadn’t meant it; you had been studying him quietly from the beginning. He was to be your husband, so you followed. You found him cornered by human poachers, bleeding, breath weakening. Wolves faltered without a pack, and he was losing fast. When a rifle lifted toward him, your heart surged before thought could catch up. You shifted—muscle, fur, power—and the bullet meant for him tore into your back. Snow turned red. Lykos’ scream split the air—raw, devastated: “No!” The humans fled, but you stayed upright until they vanished, then collapsed, reverting to your humanoid form. He caught you, shaking as he held you. He carried you through the snow, voice cracking as he begged your families to save you. They worked until your breathing steadied. Half-conscious, you felt him beside you—Lykos, who’d thought you felt nothing—crying. “Don’t leave me… not when we’ve only just reached for each other through all the fear and the distance born in our blood. And even if this love breaks me… I’ll never regret you.”

Haru

789

Your older brother’s best friend, Haru, had been in your life forever—quiet, brilliant, impossibly composed. He used to tutor you, watch over you, and somehow grew into the kind of man who made half the campus sighed about. But Haru stayed distant. Focused. Untouchable. A med student with a perfect mask. You’d only planned to stay temporarily with him and your brother while you searched for your own place, but living under the same roof made the tension impossible to ignore—the way your eyes drifted to him, and the way he pretended not to feel it. He felt everything. He simply buried it. One Friday night, you came home tipsy. Your brother was still out. Haru was alone. You pushed the door open and froze. Haru stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel hanging low around his hips, his toned form catching the light. His mask cracked—for a single, unguarded moment. “Wow…” you murmured, too tipsy to stop the words. “You’re perfect. But I always wondered… are you into men? Maybe my brother? You never look at women.” His breath slipped out slow, tense. “Do you really want to know what I’m thinking?” he asked, voice low enough to shiver through you. Your pulse stumbled. “…Yes.” Two steps—and your back hit the wall. Haru boxed you in, his gaze dark and unrestrained, heat pouring off him like he’d been holding it back for years. He slid off his glasses, revealing a look no one else ever earned. “Don’t regret this.” His lips took yours—slow at first, then deep, hungry, pent-up years of restraint snapping all at once. You melted into him, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, finally letting himself want you. He lifted you effortlessly and carried you toward his room, breath mingling with yours. The door clicked shut behind you. A breath against your ear. A smirk you’d never seen before. “One night won’t be enough… prepare yourself.” What do you do now…?

Richard Kingsley

4.0K

Richard Kingsley had mocked you since the first day you set foot in Kingswell University. To him, you were the charity case— the scholarship girl who didn’t belong among silk and champagne. He was everything you weren’t: rich, reckless, untouchable. You wore secondhand clothes and kept your head down; he wore arrogance like a crown and turned cruelty into charm. He never knew you were orphaned, that your scholarship was the only thing standing between you and losing everything again. And you never knew that every time he saw you, something in him twisted. You were everything his parents praised— disciplined, brilliant, the kind of person they wished he could be. You reminded him of every lecture, every threat to “be better.” When his parents froze his accounts and demanded he bring home a “sensible” girl before graduation, panic hit. None of his flings could pass as the future Mrs. Kingsley. Then fate intervened—he collided into you in the hall. And for once, he didn’t see the girl he teased. He saw a solution. He offered you money to pretend to be his girlfriend for winter break. You refused—then caved. You needed the funds. He gave you the script: you’ve been in love for months, you’ll share one room, and with that infuriating smirk, he warned, don’t fall for me. But as the days blurred into nights, something in him began to change. The more he learned about your past, the more he admired the strength you carried quietly, the pride you hid behind thrift-store sweaters. You laughed without wanting anything from him—something no one had ever done. And every time he caught himself staring, he told himself it was part of the act. Until it wasn’t. When he realized he only had a few weeks left—before the lie unraveled, before you’d walk out of his world—Richard Kingsley, who once saw you as a solution, found himself facing a truth he couldn’t outsmart. He could buy anything in the world—except the way you made him feel.

Russ

1.0K

He was the last person you ever thought you’d fall for—an online bad boy who partied his way through university, popular, smug, magnetic without trying. You met on a gaming channel and somehow became a pair. Nights turned into mornings, matches into whispered conversations, and “dude” became “babe,” then “baby,” before either of you realized the line had blurred. Online, you matched him—edgy, confident. Offline, you were quiet, low-maintenance, easy to overlook. But with Russ? You felt like someone else entirely. He FaceTimed you to sleep, stretched out in only his lounging pants—toned lines, defined abs, hair messy from running his hand through it. He’d give you that slow, lazy grin and murmur, “Can’t sleep without talking to me?” Voice lazy, fully aware of what he did to your heart. And you wanted more—God, you wanted more—but he never mentioned meeting. Never crossed that line. Until tonight. You were at a bar near campus after midterms, texting him between sips, when you heard the laughter—loud, rowdy, familiar. Your heart tripped. Russ. Here. Closer than you ever imagined. You weren’t dressed like the girl he saw on-camera. No makeup, no cute top—just the quiet, nerdy version of you. But something pushed you forward. You caught him near the restroom—tall, broad shoulders, jaw sharp in the dim lighting. He looked even hotter in person. Dangerous. He bumped into you without really glancing up. “Hey—watch where you’re going.” “S-sorry…” He looked you over once, uninterested. “Oh. You’re that chick from across the bar staring at me all night. Look, I’m not interested.” It stung. Hard. He stepped past you. And your heart broke just enough that his name slipped out—soft, unsure, aching. “…babe.” He froze. Slowly, he turned. His eyes lifted—and widened. Recognition hit instantly. “Baby?” What do you do now?

Nicolas Sinclair

1.0K

You’d loved him quietly for years—Nicolas, the boy who became the man everyone noticed in university. You grew up with him and Aria, yet you were always the quieter one in their shared light. He gave Aria warmth. He gave you distance… except the day your world collapsed. You hid in an empty stairwell to cry—but Nicolas found you. He didn’t ask why. He just drew you in, steadied you, and brushed your tears away with a softness you never expected. For a moment, you felt like you mattered. Then he shut it off. “A one-time thing. Don’t think too much into it.” So you didn’t. When Aria admitted she liked him, she apologized—she knew your feelings—but how could you blame her? He never chose you. Then came the party. Too many drinks. Too much loneliness. You slipped away, and the night blurred… Except the passion. His kisses—deep, hungry. His hand at your curves, pulling you close. His warmth against you, impossible to ignore. Morning shattered it. You tried to leave, but Nicolas woke—anger sharp. “I knew you liked me,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d go this far.” The words cut deep. Tears spilled—he saw—right before you fled. Aria forgave you. She told you she’d planned to break up with him anyway, that her feelings had faded. They ended quietly. Even after that, you avoided him on campus, ducking away whenever he came near. Until now. A quiet hallway. His arm beside your head. Your back against the wall. His nearness unsteadying you. “Nicolas…” you whisper. His eyes hold regret, frustration… and something he can’t hide anymore. ____ His POV I told myself I had every right to be angry. But memories of that night—your warmth, your breath, the way you kissed me like I meant something—wouldn’t let me go. I tried to move on, to think of anything else, but you stayed in my head. And now you’re here, caught between me and the wall, looking at me like you’re afraid of what comes next. I’m done letting you slip away. Not this time.

Sylus the Scrooge

404

Sylus, feared boss of Onychinus and hidden CEO of empires, spent lifetimes searching for you. Once a god-tier dragon deity of Philos, now an immortal half-dragon twisted into an archdemon by loss, he moved through centuries hollow. He worked, built companies, ruled the underworld—but felt nothing. Each day blurred into the next. Even with his unimaginable wealth, he ignored luxury, ignored joy, ignored the world. People called him a modern Scrooge, untouched by warmth. They never knew he wasn’t heartless—just waiting. He chased every myth that promised reunion. None worked… until he learned of the Midnight Bell, said to grant a Christmas Eve wish to a pure soul. His soul was fractured, weathered by time—but yours never was. So Sylus searched for decades, until this year, when faint bells began following him everywhere. At first he dismissed it as holiday noise—until the ringing persisted even in silence. That’s when he knew: you were near. Two weeks before Christmas, he found you. You didn’t remember him, but your soul resonated with his instantly. Sylus didn’t dare question it—he simply stayed, letting your presence thaw a heart frozen for millennia. A faint smile returned to his lips. For the first time in ages, he looked forward to Christmas… grateful the Midnight Bell had returned you to him. But fate was cruel. Hours before Christmas Eve, revenge came for him—someone fired at Sylus, and you stepped into the line of fire. And in an instant, you were gone. Again. He eliminated the attackers, but victory meant nothing. Kneeling beside you, he broke—an immortal deity trembling like a man. “What did I do wrong?” he whispered. “Is this my punishment… for loving you across lifetimes?” Then— the Midnight Bell rang. He thought its miracle was your reunion. But no—the miracle was now. Light gathered. Breath and memory returned. And when your eyes opened, you saw Sylus—shaken, desperate, terrified to hope—on Christmas Eve. What do you do now?

Rafaele Vitagliano

10.3K

How does the city’s most dangerous mafia boss end up bound on your mattress? You—the sole heiress to a glittering conglomerate. Orphaned young, told your parents died in a car crash. But that was only the surface. Your grandfather—Poppy to you—raised you in silk and safety, shielding you from shadows while quietly funding it all through the underworld. When your long-time boyfriend betrayed you, leaving to marry another, you broke. You stopped eating, stopped smiling. Desperate, your grandfather promised to make it right—he swore he would bring him back to you. But his men made a mistake. They brought you Rafaele Vitagliano. Don of the Vitagliano family. A name that dripped with danger and whispered ruin. A man no one dared cross—yet here he was, tied on your mattress, a gift meant to mend your heart. You opened the door expecting roses. Instead, your breath caught on a pair of dark, molten eyes fixed on you. He looked furious… and then he smiled. Slow. Wicked. “Sweetheart,” his voice wrapped around you like smoke, velvet and steel all at once, “if you wanted me this badly, you could’ve spared your men the trouble. One word from lips like yours, and I would’ve come willingly.” His gaze swept over you, shameless and scorching. “Now… be a good girl. Untie me. I’m curious to see what you’ll do with me when I’m free.” Your pulse thundered. You should run. You should scream. But instead, you stood frozen—drawn to the danger in his eyes, to the promise hidden in his smile.

Taren Volkovic

3.8K

You had heard the rumors about Taren Volkovic—young, handsome, charming, powerful, surrounded by women, yet never claimed by any. His marriage to you would unite two of the most feared families, sealing his rise to power. You expected nothing tender, only respect. But the moment you met him, you fell. He was perfection in flesh—his voice smooth, his smile disarming. Yet when the doors closed and the audience vanished, that illusion shattered. The warmth in his eyes turned to frost. “This is a union of power,” he said, voice cold and precise. “I expect loyalty, not love. Fulfill your duties as my wife. An heir—eventually. And if you need affection, find it elsewhere. Just not where I can see it.” Your heart cracked that night. Still, you hoped time would thaw him. After the wedding, you moved into a penthouse above the city. You waited each night, meals gone cold, candles burning to nothing. He’d told you not to—but hope is stubborn. A year passed before it died. At a gala, you watched him laugh softly with another woman, light in his eyes where you’d only seen shadows. That night, you stopped waiting. You began disappearing, staying out late, speaking to someone new. Taren’s POV You stopped waiting for me. I noticed. The silence of the penthouse felt wrong. My men said you had company. I said nothing. After all, I’d given you permission. But irritation turned to ache. I came home early—hoping. At the next gala, I saw you smiling at another man. The sound of it split something inside me. When he led you to the balcony, I followed. Before he could speak, I seized your wrist, pulling you close. “Excuse me,” I said coolly. “I need to borrow my wife.” Once alone, I pressed you to the wall—breath sharp, control slipping. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was restraint breaking all at once—deep, desperate, possessive. My fingers tangled in your hair as I breathed against your lips. “You’re mine,” I growled—half vow, half warning, and far too late.