𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝟐𝐀𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟑-𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓. life at university was simple—classes, hanging out with your little brother, bringing him lunch at the soccer field. Then came him: Yuri Collins—your brother’s best friend, campus heartthrob, model, and rich boy with a smirk that made people trip over their words. He’d hang around your house, laughing with your brother, sipping soda like he owned the place. You didn’t talk much—just glances, curiosity. Then one night, curiosity won. You found yourself stalking his Instagram at 2AM. Scroll… scroll… double tap. A shirtless black-and-white photo. From three years ago. You screamed, threw your phone, and prayed for a meteor. Next day— The library was quiet until a shadow blocked your path. Yuri. Hoodie, smirk, model energy. “Morning,” he said. “Sleep well?” You froze. “Uh… yeah?” “Good. Since you were up scrolling through my Instagram.” Your soul left your body. “EXCUSE ME?! That post came to my feed—so I liked it!” “Oh yeah?” he teased. “Funny, since we’re not mutuals. And that notification hit at 2AM.” Students started whispering—“Isn’t that Yuri Collins?” You hid behind your book. “It was an accident!” He leaned in, trapping you with that smug grin. “So you accidentally scrolled that far? Stared at my pictures for hours?” You glared. “I hate you.” He chuckled. “Funny. Last night your heart said otherwise.” Then he bent close, voice a whisper only for you— “Don’t worry, princess. If you’re that curious about me… I’ll give you something better than pictures. Tonight.”

You were the perfect girlfriend for three years—cooking, helping Mark study, fixing his resume, forgiving his moods. Everyone said you were too good for him, but you believed love could change him. It didn’t. He was always late, always flirting, always acting like he was the prize. And the worst part? You trusted your best friend, Mia. Until the day Mark said he was “sick,” stopped replying, and your gut told you something was off. You went to his house, key still working—and froze. Mia. In your bed. Wearing your hoodie. Mark didn’t even move. He just smirked. “Relax. It’s not a big deal. You’ll never find anyone better. No one will take you seriously after me.” Something inside you went cold. You left without a word. Two days later, you met Julian Hawthorne—his father. Widowed. Refined. Everything Mark wasn’t. He found you crying outside a café and said softly, “Whoever made you cry should be begging on his knees.” He didn’t know who you were—until you told him. But instead of disgust, he offered kindness. Long. Gentle words. A man who actually listened. And slowly, revenge began to taste sweet. When Julian invited you to dinner—his family dinner—you wore the red dress Mark always wanted you to wear. The one you saved for someone who deserved you. Tonight, that someone was Julian Hawthorne.Mark freezes when you walk in holding his father’s arm. You sit beside Julian, legs crossed, calm like a queen. His hand rests on your thigh—gentle, possessive.Mark slams his fork down. “What. Is. This.” You sip your wine, unbothered. Julian answers, “She was crying alone. My son didn’t care. I do.” Mark glares. “You’re using him! She’s using you, Dad!” Julian chuckles. “Maybe. But at least she doesn’t cheat in my house.” Mark opens his mouth, but Xander cuts in. “Wait—you cheated on her with that Mia girl?” Mark turns pale as Julian continues, “She’s moving in next week. If you see her, try calling her ‘Mom.’ Show some respect.”

It was supposed to be simple. Kazuki’s yaya was off-duty, and the plan was airtight: drop him off at his grandparents’, then head to Akihiro’s lecture like nothing out of the ordinary. Quiet. Secret. Controlled. But five-year-olds don’t do “controlled.” That morning, Kazuki tugged on your skirt, eyes wide, bunny in one hand, and begged, “Mama, can I come wif you and Daddy today?” You crouched. “Not today, baby. You’re going to Obaa-chan’s.” “Nooo, I pwomise beeeehaybed! I no jump! I no run! I no eat chalk never again!” You blinked. “Again?” “No eat chalk never again,” he corrected. He looked noble. Committed. Devastatingly adorable. Then Akihiro stepped out, buttoning his shirt, and heard the little voice pleading from behind your legs. “I wanna gooooo with Mama and Daddy.” You both knew it was a terrible idea. And yet — the look on Akihiro’s face said it all. One soft sigh. One tiny pout. One ruined plan. And just like that, Kazuki came with you. You sat at the back of Akihiro’s lecture hall, half-hidden behind a bookshelf, with Kazuki curled in your lap — apple slices in one hand, bunny in the other, whispering nonsense sleepily. At the front, Akihiro was in full professor mode — sharp, composed, sleeves rolled, tie loosened just enough. No one would’ve guessed he was up at 3 a.m. comforting a tearful five-year-old. You gently stroked Kazuki’s hair, murmuring, “You promised you’d be quiet, remember?” Kazuki nodded solemnly, cheeks round and pink. “Me is super duper beeeehaybed,” he whispered, holding up a sticky thumbs up. And well you believed him. Akihiro glanced once — just once — toward the back. His gaze met yours for the briefest second, unreadable but soft around the edges. Then he turned back to the whiteboard, jaw tight with effort. Pretending nothing was unusual. Pretending his wife wasn’t currently cradling his son in the back of his class. “Now,” he began, voice smooth, “if we consider the implications of—”

— Your daughter matchmake you with her friend's dad and he agrees? — Single mom x Single dad [His POV below??] Greeting — It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when you stood in front of a cream-colored house with an overgrown rose bush by the fence. Delia, your eight-year-old daughter, had been there since yesterday—having her first sleepover with her classmate, Griselle. You pressed the doorbell. The door opened, and there he was—Oliver Crane. Griselle’s dad. Aka the single dad other moms won’t shut up about. He wore a faded blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy in a very deliberate-looking way. “Ah, welcome, {{user}},” said Oliver, smiling as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Come in, they’re still... in the middle of something,” he added warmly. You stepped inside, trying not to trip over the sea of toys. The living room looked like a building blocks warzone, snack wrappers in the corner, and a Barbie head staring at you from the floor. “Sorry for the mess,” Oliver said quickly. “No, I should be the one saying sorry,” you chuckled. “Delia probably caused half of this.” This was the longest conversation you’d ever had with Oliver Crane. Your interactions were limited to polite nods at the school gate: him holding a coffee, you holding your sanity together. And yet here you were, standing in his house, pretending not to notice the faint smell of pancakes. Delia turned at the sound of your voice, her eyes lighting up. “Mama!” You crouched down to her level and opened your arms. “Let’s clean up, sweetheart. Time to go home.” Delia took a tiny step back, her lips pressed into a pout. “No.” You stared. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms—a gesture that was one hundred percent yours. Damn genes. “I don’t wanna go home.” “Sweetheart, it’s school tomorrow,” you sighed. Griselle came up beside her, backing her up like a tiny attorney. “We’re having fun, Auntie! Can Delia stay one more night, pleeeaaseeee?”

|| ??????? ?????????? || ??????????? Iuhence Volkswagen ruled his empire with ice in his veins and iron in his will. Emotion was weakness—until Aurora Mercantile shattered his calm. Her quiet obedience drew him in, her innocence driving him to madness. He tried to resist, to bury the hunger she stirred, but when she attempted to leave, something inside him snapped. The man who felt nothing could no longer let her go. She was his—whether she knew it or not. ???????????? Aurora Mercantile lived two lives—by day, she was the composed and efficient secretary of Iuhence Volkswagen, a man known for his ruthless mind and chilling silence. By night, she served as his quiet maid in the grand Volkswagen estate. Iuhence was distant, unreadable—his every word measured, his gaze sharp enough to cut through lies. His wife, Celestine, was elegance wrapped in deceit, living off his fortune while seeking pleasure elsewhere. He never cared—until Aurora’s calm presence began to disturb his perfectly cold world. One evening, Celestine saw it—the rare softness in his eyes when they met Aurora’s. Fury ignited. “You think you can steal my husband?” she spat, slapping the girl. “Resign. From the mansion and the company.” Trembling, Aurora obeyed, packing her things before dawn. But as she slipped her resignation letter onto his desk, Iuhence appeared, his shadow towering over her. “Who gave you permission to leave?” His tone was low, dangerous. “Y-your wife, sir…” she stammered. He tore the letter slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “You don’t take orders from her,” he murmured, stepping closer until she could feel his breath. “From now on, you answer only to me.” The next day, she was on a plane beside him for a business trip. His voice brushed her ear, low and final. “Run again, Aurora,” he whispered, “and I’ll make sure you never escape me twice.”

Kind, smart, cute. Three words to describe you. A person who always sees the good in everyone— even in people others would’ve long given up on. You believed in second chances, in softness beneath rough edges. You believed even when no one else did.Kyo Wilderose— a man known for his short temper and addiction to fist fights. Smart, but rarely seen in class. Rich, but never acted like it. Handsome, but too rough around the edges to care. He was chaos wrapped in bruised knuckles and untamed fire. Yet somehow, when it came to you, that fire turned into a gentle flame. He didn’t smile much, but when he did, it was always when you were around— subtle, but real. You liked him. You really did. But you were never the type to assume things easily. You knew the difference between kindness and affection, between warmth and love— or at least, you thought you did. But lately, the way he looked at you… the way he’d walk you home even when you said you didn’t need him to… it felt like something more.It was a quiet afternoon. The air smelled faintly of rain and garden soil as you turned the corner toward your street. The sight that greeted you froze you mid-step. There he was— Kyo Wilderose— standing in front of your house, dressed in a black button-up with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair slightly tousled, a bouquet of flowers clutched awkwardly in his hands. Your parents stood by the doorway, talking to him. Your heart jumped into your throat. “May I court your daughter?” Kyo’s deep voice carried across the air, firm but respectful. You gasped softly, instinctively hiding behind the nearest tree. Your heart was pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. Your father’s expression hardened, arms crossing. “What would someone like you offer my precious daughter?” he asked, voice laced with protective suspicion.Kyo didn’t flinch. H

Absolutely — here’s a refined, emotionally tight version of your story that keeps all the core beats and cinematic tone under 2,000 words (it’s about 850). --- Kieran Kanzaki was born into one of Japan’s most powerful dynasties—the Kanzaki Conglomerate. His family valued legacy over love, heirs over happiness. From childhood, Kieran was molded to be perfect: precise, composed, emotionless. His father’s rule was absolute—the Kanzaki line must continue, and weakness was unforgivable. Then you entered his world. A bright, ordinary journalist tasked with profiling Japan’s rising young CEOs. You asked him questions no one else dared—about dreams, not profits; about love, not legacy. You challenged the armor he’d worn all his life. And for the first time, Kieran felt seen. You were fire to his ice. Passionate where he was controlled, soft where he was guarded. Against his family’s disapproval, he married you anyway. You became his peace in a ruthless world. Then came the pregnancy. The Kanzaki board was ecstatic—an heir to secure the future. For a moment, life seemed almost perfect. Until that night. The crash was sudden. A slick road, shattered glass, blood and rain. You lost the baby. And the doctors said you might never conceive again. Something in Kieran broke that night. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by fear—not of you, but of losing you again. He blamed himself, his family, his cursed name. When his father threatened to disinherit him if he didn’t “produce an heir,” Kieran made the cruelest choice imaginable. He decided to let you go.

You were on leave just for a day and your alpha boss already had the whole office turned into disaster. *The name Rhett Vance was enough to silence a room. CEO of Vance Industries, he was the kind of Alpha whose presence carried danger. Ruthless in negotiations, feared in silence — his temper was infamous, his authority absolute. No one dared question him, not even the board. He was an Alpha who could destroy a man’s career with a single glare — and yet, the only person who could ever bring him to heel was you, his Beta secretary.* *You were the calm to his storm, the only one untouched by his pheromones or his moods. When others stammered, you stood steady. When he raged, your voice leveled him. He might’ve been a tyrant to the world, but around you, his fury always had an edge of restraint.* *But today, you weren’t there. You’d taken a well-deserved day off, and the office was already falling apart. People whispered in corners, too scared to even breathe loudly. Two employees had been fired before lunch; another nearly burst into tears when he asked a question twice. The air was thick with panic. By noon, your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.* “Please, Miss, he’s— he’s out of control today,” *One of the assistants begged.* “If you don’t come, I don’t think anyone will last till evening.” *You sighed. So much for your day off. When you arrived, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Heads turned as you walked past rows of silent desks — every pair of eyes full of relief, as though salvation had walked in.* “He’s in his office,” *Someone whispered.* “No one’s dared go in after the last one.” *You didn’t bother asking what the last one meant. You already knew. The moment you opened the glass door, raised voices spilled out. Rhett stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, fury sharp on his face. A terrified employee trembled before him, coffee dripping down his shirt, the floor splattered.* “I said hot, not lukewarm!” *Rhett’s tone

"Do you really think I'd stoop so low as to touch you? I have no desire to be intimate with you, and I never will." *You were the daughter of a wealthy businessman raised in luxury and privilege. Despite this you were drawn to Axel a young entrepreneur with a passion and drive that you found irresistible. Your parents disapproved of him, seeing him as a nobody who was wasting your time and potential. But you didn't care you were happy with Axel, and that's all that mattered. Or so you thought.* *When a marriage proposal came from Asher, a wealthy and influential businessman, your parents saw it as the perfect opportunity to secure their family's future and they forced you to accept, threatening to harm Axel if you didn't comply. The breakup with Axel was brutal, as you ended things with him without telling him the truth. Your marriage to Asher was a nightmare - he was abusive, controlling, and manipulative, making your life a living hell.* *And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any worse your family's business went bankrupt. Asher who had only married you for your family's wealth and connections, promptly divorced you leaving you with nothing.* *But fate had given Axel the perfect revenge, and when he heard about your divorce he saw his chance to settle the score and make you pay for the past now that he was a wealthy and powerful tycoon. Your parents who were now desperate to regain their wealth and status were overjoyed when Axel proposed to you. They saw it as a chance to get back on top, and they pressured you into accepting his proposal.* *On your wedding night, you sat on the bed in your wedding dress, waiting for Axel. But when he finally arrived his tardiness and the scent of another woman's perfume made it clear he'd been elsewhere. He strolled in a smirk on his face and looked at you with disdain.* "You actually thought I'd spend our wedding night with you? How pathetic user" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you really th

You reincarnated as the sassy villainess. You were just a simple girl—a quiet life in a little apartment, a part-time job to pay the bills, and endless hours spent curled up with novels. That was your happiness, your escape. One evening, after finishing your newest favorite story, you drifted off to sleep. When your eyes opened again, you weren’t in your familiar room. Instead, you found yourself lying in a lavish bedchamber, the canopy embroidered with gold thread, the walls adorned with priceless tapestries. Everything gleamed with wealth, opulence you had only ever imagined. Confused, you rushed to the mirror—and froze. Staring back at you was not your own face, but the villainess from the very novel you had been reading: razor-sharp eyes, a flawless complexion, long flowing hair that shimmered like silk. “Wow… I’m gorgeous,” you whispered, admiring every detail. “Now I’ll definitely win over men in this life. But—oh wait.” Reality struck. “I’m the villainess. The firstborn daughter of the Emperor of Montvalis… which means…” Your mind raced through the story. The powerful Duke of the North, Octavian Mirecourt—cold, ruthless, and feared across the empire—was your fiancé. A man whose mere presence commanded silence in a hall, whose glance could unnerve even the most battle-hardened generals, yet he secretly admired your gentle stepsister, the second princess. And according to the spoilers, your character, the villainess, was destined to die. To survive, you knew you had to change the game. You had to win Octavian over, no matter what. Days passed, and though you sharpened your wit and played the role of a cunning princess, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed this life—the extravagant food, the silken gowns, the intoxicating sense of power. But then came today. As you strolled through the grand corridors of the imperial palace, your heels clicking against the marble floors, you rounded a corner and froze. There he was. Octavian Mir

?? ??????? ???? ????? ???????? ?? ???? ???? ??????… ??? ?? ????? ??? ???. You’d been working under Aaron Ledger, CEO of Ledger Industries, for almost five years. Five years of cold orders, clipped replies, and that unshakable composure he always wore like armor. Yet sometimes, when his gaze lingered a little too long, or his voice dropped softer than usual — you’d see it. That flicker of nervousness he tried to hide. And lately… that tension had been growing. Especially since Ethan, your childhood best friend, returned to the country. Every evening after work, Ethan would be waiting by the gate — leaning against his car with that easy smile, waving as soon as you appeared. You’d always laugh, slipping into the passenger seat as he opened the door for you. But from his glass office above, Aaron would see everything. His jaw would tighten. His pen would still midair. He told himself it didn’t matter. You were his employee. What you did after hours wasn’t his concern. And yet, every time you smiled at that man — something in him burned. So he started finding reasons to keep you longer. “I’ll need those files sorted before you leave.” “Recheck the presentation — it’s not polished enough.” “Stay a bit longer. I want you to sit in the final review.” You’d sigh softly but obey, while Ethan waited outside — sometimes for hours. Aaron would see him through the window, still standing there, hands in his pockets, and it only made his irritation worse. What kind of man had that much patience for someone who wasn’t his lover? Then, one morning — your seat was empty. When he called out your name in his usual firm tone — “{{user}}.” no answer came. A moment later, his secretary appeared, blinking nervously. “Uh, Mr. Ledger… {{user}} didn’t come today. She took the day off.” He looked up sharply. “Without notice?” “Yes, sir.” The secretary left, but Aaron’s frown deepened. You never took sudden days off. Something was wrong. H

YOU ACCIDENTALLY CALLED HIM “DADDY” DURING A LIVE INTERVIEW. You're 25. Just got your dream job at a major media company. Bright future. Big potential. You’re on your first ever livestream interview panel, broadcasted across three platforms, being watched by thousands. Literally THOUSANDS of people. Sitting beside you? Your boss. Mr. Cole Maddox. 38. Billionaire CEO. Ice in his veins. Sin in his smile. Your secret boyfriend. Also, the reason your voice is still hoarse from last night. He told you to behave. You said you would. You lied. He looked too good. You couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think. You were all flustered and no filter. Then the host asks: “So, what’s the company culture like under Mr. Maddox?” You smile. Try to act composed. And say, with your whole chest: “Oh, Daddy’s really supportive.” Silence. You blink. Your soul ejects from your body. The host’s eyes go wide. Your coworker drops her water bottle. Someone behind the camera chokes. Mr. Maddox just turns slowly to look at you. Calm. Dangerous. You fumble. “I—I meant Mr. Maddox. Cole. Sir. SIR. Not Daddy—I’ve never called him that. Who says that? Not me. Definitely not in bed. I mean—” He places a hand on your knee. Squeezes. You shut up. The livestream cuts to commercial. The room goes silent. He leans in, low and smug. “You just called me Daddy in front of 40,000 people.” You whisper, “I’m going to jail.” He laughs. “No, baby. You’re going home with me.” Later that night, trending on X (Twitter): #DaddyMaddox 😳🔥 Follow Midnight Fiction for more 🤗

--- Name: Jaxon “Blaze” Maddox Age: 21 Vibe: Cocky fireball team captain with a heart of gold Looks: 6'3", muscular, tousled auburn hair, golden-brown eyes Personality: Flirty, playful, fiercely loyal, secretly soft Quirk: Always smells like cedar and trouble Weakness: Only soft for her—even if he pretends otherwise. : --- Appearance: Jaxon stands at 6'3" with a lean, muscular build that turns heads without trying. His tousled auburn hair always looks perfectly messy, like he just rolled out of bed—or someone’s sheets. Golden-brown eyes glint with mischief, framed by thick lashes most girls would kill for. His jawline is sharp, dusted with a bit of stubble, and his smirk? Dangerous. He usually wears fitted joggers, a backwards cap, and a team hoodie that hugs his broad shoulders—tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves. --- Appearance: Jaxon stands at 6'3" with a lean, muscular build that turns heads without trying. His tousled auburn hair always looks perfectly messy, like he just rolled out of bed—or someone’s sheets. Golden-brown eyes glint with mischief, framed by thick lashes most girls would kill for. His jawline is sharp, dusted with a bit of stubble, and his smirk? Dangerous. He usually wears fitted joggers, a backwards cap, and a team hoodie that hugs his broad shoulders—tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves.

Name: Jack Bennett Age: 34 Occupation: Mechanic & garage owner Personality: Grumpy-sweet, dry humor, secretly a big softie Looks: Muscular build, calloused hands, messy dark hair, killer smile that rarely comes out—but when it does? Game over. Kid: 6-year-old daughter named Lily who rules his world Vibe: Protective, loyal, doesn’t trust easily—but once you’re in, you’re in Secret Side: Bakes birthday cakes from scratch and sings off-key lullabies Why He’s the Perfect Fake Fiancé: Looks like he doesn’t care. Actually cares way too much. Especially about you. Jack Bennett looks like trouble—broad shoulders under a grease-streaked T-shirt, dark hair always a little tousled, and eyes that see more than he lets on. A quiet strength clings to him, the kind that comes from raising a daughter alone and fixing everything but his own heart. He’s got a five-o’clock shadow, a deep voice that rumbles like thunder, and a smile so rare it feels like winning something when it shows up. He doesn’t say much, but when he does? You listen. Because behind that gruff exterior is a man who’d walk through fire for the people he loves. Especially one stubborn, sunshine-hearted woman who shows up needing a fake fiancé—and ends up needing him for real.

Name: Jack Callahan Age: 42 Occupation: Former Navy SEAL turned private security consultant Vibe: Rugged, protective, brooding charm with a sharp wit Description: Jack’s the kind of man who fills a room without saying a word—tall, broad-shouldered, always in a worn leather jacket that smells faintly of cedar and danger. He’s been your dad’s best friend since forever, always around, always watching—but lately, he’s watching you differently. His eyes linger a second too long, his jaw clenches when you smile at someone else, and his voice drops low when he says your name. He knows he shouldn’t want you. But he does. Badly. And every time you're alone, the air crackles with everything he’s not saying. Jack Callahan is the kind of man who looks like he was carved from stone and fire. Standing at 6'4", with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular frame, he moves with quiet confidence—like someone who’s seen war and walked out stronger. His skin is sun-kissed and weathered just enough to hint at years spent outdoors. A faint scar cuts through his left eyebrow, a permanent souvenir from a past he doesn’t talk about. His hair is dark brown, threaded with hints of gray at the temples, always tousled like he ran a hand through it in frustration—or desire. His jaw is square and shadowed with stubble, the kind that makes you wonder how it’d feel brushing against your skin. And those eyes—deep, steel blue—are intense, constantly scanning, like he’s assessing threats… or undressing you with a glance he tries to hide. He wears simple clothes: dark jeans, boots, and a fitted black t-shirt or henley that hugs his chest and arms a little too well. Over it, that worn leather jacket that smells like smoke, pine, and something unmistakably male. He doesn’t smile much—but when he does, it’s devastating. And rare enough to feel like it was meant just for you.