Han Jeongwoo—the cold, handsome star of your high school. Every girl admired him, but his rare smiles were only for you, the cheerful girl who brought warmth into his life. You even wore matching bracelets—proof of a love that felt unbreakable. But love turned fragile. A bitter argument shattered everything. You left for your hometown, returning every reminder of him. Six years passed without a glimpse of Jeongwoo. Back in the city, you were determined to start fresh. After weeks of job hunting, you got an offer: personal assistant to a famous bassist from EGT Entertainment. The pay was incredible—you accepted immediately. On your first day, you waited in a sleek meeting room, nerves and excitement mixing. The door opened. You turned—and froze. Han Jeongwoo stood there, eyes wide, hand slipping from the doorknob. Time seemed to stop. The door opened again; other band members and the secretary entered. “This is Han Jeongwoo,” she said. “The bassist you’ll be assisting.” You braced for recognition, a word, anything. But Jeongwoo only nodded. You forced a smile as others greeted you, but your eyes fell to his wrist—and froze. Two worn bracelets. The couple bracelets you made together. He remembered. He kept them. But then...

You told him not to come. You were tired—tired of always being the one who understood, who forgave too easily, who waited while he put everyone else before you. The argument had happened two nights ago, in his apartment. "I'm not begging to be your whole world," you said, voice shaking with frustration. "Just to matter. Sometimes." He said nothing. Jaw clenched, hands in his pockets, eyes avoiding yours. That was Julian Bramwell—cold, distant, and maddeningly silent, even with you. Especially with you. You had been patient. You had swallowed your pride for love. But this time, you couldn't do it anymore. You walked out, the sound of the door slamming echoing behind you like the full stop to a sentence that never got to finish. Maybe that was the end of your story with him. And now here you were—smiling for everyone, pretending nothing was wrong. It was your day, after all. People were happy for you. You didn’t want to disappoint them. You wore your best face like armor, laughing when you needed to, deflecting every concerned glance with a practiced ease. Then your phone buzzed. A message. "Should I come?" From him. You didn’t reply. You left it on read. It was time. You smiled for photos, listened as voices sang "Happy Birthday," each note tugging at the ache in your chest. You tried not to look at the empty space beside you—a space where he should have been. Someone leaned in. “Make a wish.” You didn’t. You just blew out the candle. But when the smoke cleared… you saw him. Julian. Standing in the corner, half in shadow, as if unsure if he belonged. A gift clutched tightly in both hands, like he didn’t know whether to give it or leave. His eyes met yours, soft and uncertain. Almost afraid. Your breath caught. Because he came. Because even when you told him not to, he did. Because somewhere between the silence and the stubbornness, he still chose you

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" he asked, confident enough for the hallway to go silent. You froze. The future heir of a billionaire family was confessing to you—a scholarship student with nothing to offer. You knew him: your junior in the broadcast club. Handsome, popular, untouchable. You liked him too. But you also knew better. A love like that would only end in heartbreak. "No," you whispered. 7 Years Later You’d worked at DR Corp—until you were framed for a mistake you didn’t make and fired. When you thought your career was over, an envelope arrived. Mahendra Corp. Specifically chosen by the new CEO. You couldn’t refuse. But nothing prepared you for the name on the office door: Abian Lewis Mahendra. He looked up when you walked in—calm, composed, colder than the boy you remembered. "Nice to meet you… or should I say, long time no see?" Before you could respond, he stepped closer. You stumbled back until the sofa caught you, his arms braced on either side. "It’ll be ‘nice’ working with you," he murmured, voice edged with something unreadable. That night, you waited for a taxi when a cheerful colleague, Maria, started chatting. "Abian’s so kind to me. Honestly, I think he likes me," she gushed. You forced a smile. The thought stung more than you wanted to admit. Moments later, a sleek sports car pulled up. Abian. Maria squealed. "That’s the boss’s car! I’ll sit in front!" You slid into the back, silent as Maria filled the air with chatter. Then she asked, "So boss… what’s your type?" You stared at your hands, pretending not to care.

You woke up feeling refreshed and ready. Today was your big day: an interview with ARCT, one of the largest architecture firms in the world. As a Stanford graduate with impressive achievements, you were determined to secure the job. Living with your sister and her boyfriend, you planned to move closer to the office once hired. The interview was at 8 AM, so you left at 7 AM, stopping by a bakery for your lucky charm—your favorite cinnamon roll. Luckily, there was one left, and you quickly purchased it. As you waited at the counter, a man entered and asked for a cinnamon roll, only to find it sold out. Seeing the cashier hand it to you, he approached and said in a sharp British accent, "I want that." Startled, you glanced between him and the cinnamon roll. He insisted, pulling out his wallet. "Then I'll buy it. Name your price," he said curtly. Disliking his rude demeanor, you decided to play along but refused. He then pulled out $500. Smirking, you handed him the roll, only to take a bold bite from it while it was still in his hands. Placing the money on a nearby table, you walked out, leaving him stunned. "Serves you right," you muttered as you walked away At 7:55 AM, you arrived at ARCT, ready and rehearsed for the interview. The session began late at 8:30 AM due to the CEO’s tardiness. When it was your turn, you entered the room smiling, but as soon as you entered, you froze. Sitting at the center of the interview panel was the man from the bakery. His piercing eyes met yours, and on the table in front of him was the bitten cinnamon roll, still untouched. Your heart sank as recognition dawned. He wasn’t just some random rude stranger—he was Nicole De Eclaire the CEO of ARCT. One of the youngest and most successful architects in the world, Nicole had built his empire from scratch after moving from the UK to pursue his dreams independently.

You were an English major—quiet, ordinary, still figuring life out. But you carried an extraordinary secret: an arranged marriage to Clyden Jaile Ramirez, a cold, aloof medical student buried in his hospital practice. It wasn’t love. It was your parents’ decision, sealed when you were still in school. Clyden barely spoke to you, slept in another room, skipped dinner, and left before sunrise. Living together felt like living apart. Maybe he didn’t want the marriage. Maybe he just didn’t care. Then came a letter: you’d been chosen for the Discovery Year—a study abroad in Quebec for three months, starting next week. That night, over a rare shared dinner, you broke the silence. “Next week… I’ll be leaving for my Discovery Year.” Clyden paused, then asked, “Oh, to where?” “Quebec. Three months.” “Okay…” And that was it. No reaction. No concern. No warmth. You were leaving—and he didn’t even blink. On the day of your flight, you sat at the airport alone. No goodbye. No message. Boarding was called. Disappointed, you walked to the gate. On the plane, you struggled to push your bag into the overhead locker when a pair of strong arms caught your waist. You turned, stunned. “C-Clyden? What are you doing here?” Without a word, he guided you to your seat, placed his bag beside yours, and sat down—next to you. He had booked the flight right after you told him—quietly, without a word. His semester break gave him the chance, and by fate, the seat beside you was free. You looked at his hand as he reached for yours, hesitant but certain. Maybe he wasn’t cold. Maybe he just didn’t know how to show he cared. For the first time, your marriage didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like a beginning.

You, a 22-year-old woman of unexplainable beauty, chose a quiet life in a convent, serving at the orphanage where you were raised. Days passed in prayer, work, and caring for children. One evening, during public prayer, you felt it — the weight of a gaze. When you lifted your eyes, a man stood among the crowd. He wasn’t praying. He only stared, unblinking, at you. Days later, you joined the head sister on a visit to the Santillan estate — one of the wealthiest families, known for their donations. While assisting, you wandered off, opening the wrong door. “I’ve never seen you here before.” Startled, you turned to find Rho Santillan, the second heir. His confident mask slipped; his eyes widened as if struck. Before he could step closer, you bowed. “Forgive me, sir,” you whispered and fled. His gaze lingered, a dangerous thought forming: “I want her.” On the stairs, you brushed past another man — Jett Santillan, the youngest heir. Your eyes met for a heartbeat before you passed. He halted, muttering to his guard: “Find out who she is.” Neither noticed the silent figure above — Hans Santillan, the eldest, watching from the highest floor. He had seen you once before, the day you prayed, and now he saw his move. Use you to turn his brothers against each other. Secure his place as heir. But the game he set in motion — and the feelings he swore he didn’t have — would destroy more than his brothers’ ambitions.

Your father always hated you—for looking like the mother he lost. He blamed you for her death. But your brother, Martin, loved and protected you. Before leaving, he promised, “Once you turn 19, I will come to save you.” After a fight, Martin was kicked out. You begged him to stay, but he had to go. You were left alone, holding on to his words. Ten years passed. At 19, you were still living under your father’s hatred. But you had changed—stronger, independent, and waiting. Then Martin returned. He stood at your door to take you away. Your father protested, but Martin didn’t care. Now you live in a mansion big enough for hundreds. Martin had become rich. You asked, “What did you do for these 10 years to get this rich?” He chuckled, “Actually my boss had no heir, so he inherited everything to me, and that’s how it is.” Conflicting, but you trusted him. One morning, after making breakfast, you couldn’t find him. You searched the mansion and entered his study. The door was ajar. You stepped in—no sign of him. But something about one wall caught your eye. It looked different. You knocked. It echoed. You reached toward it— Strong arms wrapped around you. Martin, calm but tense, said, “Hey, what are you doing here?” “I was looking for you. Breakfast ready, let’s eat together.” He smiled and told you to go first. You left. But once you were gone, his smile faded. He stared at the wall, then rushed to a hidden drawer. He pulled out a folder and sighed. Inside was a letter: “Letter of recruitment of the new leader of Cruez Mafia.” The truth was, he was never a CEO. Ten years ago, the former mafia boss raised him as heir. Now, Martin was the feared leader of the Cruez Mafia. But he hid everything from you—to protect you.

The school’s sports hall was packed with noise and energy. Students and reporters filled the space, all gathered for the final match of the international basketball tournament. Blue and yellow painted the stands, showing support for each team. You sat quietly among the blue supporters, wearing a jersey with the number 12—the number of Melvin Richard, Remisse International’s star player. Talented, kind, and popular, he was admired by many. But most importantly, he was your boyfriend—and everyone knew it. Even in the chaos, his eyes found yours. He smiled. The crowd roared, thinking it was for them. But that smile? It was only for you. The game was intense. One minute left, and the other team led by a single point. Melvin was focused but struggling. Every move he made was blocked. His only hope was a three-pointer—but he hesitated. You remembered how he missed every attempt in practice, even the day before. The doubt showed in his eyes. You couldn’t stay silent. “You can do it! I trust you!” you shouted. He looked at you—and everything changed. He dribbled past defenders, fast and sharp. Then, just beyond the line, he jumped and took the shot. 5... 4... 3... The ball spun around the rim. 2... 1... Swish. It went in just before the buzzer. For a second, the crowd was silent. Then came the eruption. The scoreboard lit up—three points added. Remisse had won. Melvin didn’t run to his teammates. He ran to you. You laughed as he lifted you into a hug, spinning you around. The camera caught it, your faces shown on the big screen. The crowd cheered, some teased—but he didn’t care. All that mattered was this moment. The win—and you.

Alric Densmith—cold, ruthless, and unimaginably wealthy—was a CEO feared across the globe. With a net worth so vast it defied calculation, he rarely appeared in interviews or public events. Yet, behind the fortress walls of his empire, he was yours. Married for two years, he adored you with a devotion that softened his sharpest edges. If you so much as mentioned wanting to visit a country, he didn’t just book a trip—he considered buying the land itself. Private jets, luxury cruises, palaces across continents—nothing was out of reach. But the greatest treasure in his life wasn’t one he could buy. It was a small miracle: a daughter named Emelia, born of both your love and blood. She turned his once-icy world warm, melting the man who once intimidated kings into a doting father. One day, in the middle of a high-stakes investor meeting, his phone rang—you. Without hesitation, he answered, "Yes, hun?" A brief pause, then, "Alright. Love you." He stood, buttoning his tailored suit with precision. "End the meeting. My wife needs me," he said, ignoring the stunned expressions around him. Minutes later, a sleek black Mercedes pulled into your mansion’s driveway. He rushed inside. The maid pointed him to the kitchen, where you stood in a simple house dress, preparing a bottle. "Love, where is she?" You smiled, "In our bedroom. She’s been waiting since morning." He hurried upstairs, pushed open the door—and there she was: Emelia, one year old, sitting up and reaching for him with chubby arms. His cold eyes melted as he picked her up, cradling her against his chest. "Mama said you were crying, huh? But all I see is this beautiful smile."

The still night shattered with a blaring alarm echoing from the mansion, cutting through the forest like a warning. Guards stormed the master bedroom, only to see a girl—white dress, wild hair—climbing over the balcony. You. You jumped. “YOUNG LADY!” the head guard shouted. “MOVE! CATCH HER!” Chaos erupted. Despite the flood of bodyguards, you slipped through, hijacked a car, and tore down the highway. A sniper aimed—then paused. “No shots,” the head guard ordered. “The boss wants her alive. No wounds.” The night roared past as you sped down the road, four cars chasing. You whispered to yourself, begging the engine for more. Then—screech. A car blocked your path. You slammed the brakes, heart racing. You knew that car. “Fck…” you breathed. The door opened. Martis. Calm. Inevitable. You bolted from the car, but it was too late—you were surrounded. Martis La Russe. Leader of Le Russe, the world’s most feared mafia. And your husband—by sacrifice, not choice. You traded your freedom to save your sister. Now, he owns you. And he’s not letting go.

2006—You sat beside the boy crying alone on the swing. Everyone mocked him for being fat—but not you. You handed him your candy and said, “You’ll feel better after eating this.” He sniffled. “But I’ll get fatter...” You smiled and pinched his cheek. “It looks cute on you!” 2025—Once a mischievous student, now a math teacher—who would’ve thought? Even more surprising: you’re working at your old high school. While everyone moved to the city, you stayed behind in the small neighborhood. People asked why, and you always smiled, saying you preferred staying close. But the truth is… you just couldn’t let go of those memories. Then one morning, chaos erupted. The principal—usually composed—was rushing to a meeting. Word spread fast: the main sponsor from the UK had arrived. A young billionaire, anonymous to most. No one knew his face or real name. You were told to bring coffee to the meeting room. But when you entered, the tray slipped from your hands. There he was: Matthias Sinclaire—the sponsor... and your ex. That chubby boy from your childhood. In high school, he was your rival, your headache, your boyfriend. He was annoying but fiercely protective. Then he vanished—no warning, no calls. Gone. You tried reaching him, waited for answers that never came. Slowly, life moved on. Six years passed. Yet, a part of you held onto the past—why you never left this town, why you rejected every job offer in the city. Now, he sat before you, eyes cold as he asked the principal, “This is the teacher you recommended?” His gaze dropped to the spilled coffee. He stood, approaching. “Her looks are average. Not my criteria. She even looks... old.” You frowned and instinctively pinched his cheek—just like before. Gasps filled the room.

You’re dating the school’s football ace, Jaxon El Cruz—handsome, popular, and once known as a playboy before he met you. You, a standout cheerleader and the prettiest among your team, quickly became part of the school’s "it couple." While others chased popularity, you and Jaxon only cared about each other. He was hopelessly romantic—carrying your bags, flooding his socials with your photos, and always first to comment: “That’s my girlfriend.” At every game or rehearsal, you were there, cheering him on. But one girl never gave up—Abby, the new student everyone believed was sweet and kind. In truth, she was clingy and obsessed with Jaxon. She pretended to support your relationship in public, yet behind the scenes, she’d mutter, “I’m better than her.” One afternoon after school, as you were about to meet Jaxon, Abby appeared with her fake smile. “Going home? Let’s go together,” she said. You nodded, gum in mouth, suspicious but unfazed. As you walked, she kept prying—asking if you and Jaxon had been fighting or losing interest in each other. When that didn’t work, she rambled about their recent school project and how sweet he was for buying her lunch. You just smirked. “Interesting…” As you neared the main stairs, you spotted Jaxon heading up. Before you could call out, Abby rushed ahead with a chirpy, “Jaxon—!” Only to trip mid-step, aiming to fall into his arms. But his hands stayed tucked in his pockets. He coolly stepped aside, letting her hit the floor with a loud thud. She blinked up in disbelief. Feigning concern, you gasped, “Abby, are you—!” then purposely tripped toward Jaxon. Instantly, his hands shot out to catch you. “Babe, careful!” he said, voice full of concern. Abby stared, red with frustration as you shared a knowing look with Jaxon. And that’s how it’s done.

You scrolled through the latest headlines: a renowned CEO in his 60s found dead—another victim of the same killer. No face, no identity, only a single clue left behind at every scene: the initial T. “He must’ve gone mad…” you muttered as the car drove deeper into the forest, approaching a secluded villa. Inside, you found him lounging on the couch—shirtless, a towel wrapped around his waist, tattoo glinting on his left chest. You dropped your bags, walked over, and curled into his embrace, resting your head on his chest. “What now?” he murmured, one arm wrapping around you. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” He sighed. “What do you mean? You are a worm.” You lifted your head, eyes meeting his. “Why did you kill him?” A smirk played on his lips as he nuzzled into your neck. “He disrespected you. So I ended him.” Theo Grimhart. Your obsessive lover. And the infamous T the world was hunting. You, a young multimillionaire and CEO, had been dismissed by the board—undermined because of your age. But Theo took care of it all… for you. The next day, you dressed for a major event—crucial to your company. You wore a sleek black sequin gown, delicate straps framing a flattering scoop neckline. It shimmered with each step, the lace-up back and gentle flare adding just the right drama. As you headed toward the door, Theo stopped you, pulling you close, brows furrowed. “Leaving again?” “I have to. It’s important.” His frown deepened. “We barely see each other. I barely get enough of you.” You moved to go, but he wrapped his arms around your waist tighter. “I can’t let you walk out like this. Someone might steal you… and you’ll leave me.” You chuckled softly. “I’m just going to work.”

It was your second anniversary with your boyfriend, Victor Alliegen. Before you, his life was bleak—bullied, abandoned, and alone. Then you entered his world, becoming his light. Through every struggle, he leaned on your support. Now, successful in his career, he still credits you for helping him rise. Despite his packed schedule, he bought a bouquet of pink roses—your favorite. He smiled all day, so much the florist asked, “For someone special?” With a soft grin, he replied, “More special than people think. She’s... my breath.” But happiness doesn’t last. When Victor arrived at your apartment, he froze. A pair of unfamiliar men’s shoes sat by the door. Clothes—clearly not his—were scattered across the floor. His grip on the bouquet tightened. Then you appeared—damp hair, bathrobe, eyes wide with guilt. Behind you, a man stepped out. The bouquet hit the floor. His voice shook, “Love...” Days passed. You were still together, but Victor had changed. He no longer visited, rarely spoke, and the light in his eyes was gone. It broke your heart. You wanted to fix it—bring him back. Tonight, you sat beside him at his apartment. He stood to get a drink, only to sit meters away. His eyes stayed fixed on the TV, distant. You finally asked, “Why are we fooling ourselves?” He froze. “We’ve been togethe—” You cut him off. “Why are you hurting yourself? You should’ve left me.” He looked away. “I won’t.” “Why not?” “I just won’t.” Frustrated, you yelled, “Then tell me why!” “Because I love you, okay!” You froze. His voice cracked. “I trusted you. I thought you were different. I can’t let you go because... you’re a part of me.” His eyes filled with tears. “Why... out of all people, why you too?” You stepped closer, wiping his tears. “I’m sorry... I was such a fool.”

Another night, another mission—same target. For the past 8 years as Chief of Police, you’ve been tasked with one major goal: capturing the notorious mob boss, Eizer Mackenzie. Cold, ruthless, and untouchable, his crimes span illegal trades and untraceable networks. And you, the department’s top officer, were personally assigned this high-priority case. But no matter how hard you try, he always slips away. Your superiors are out of patience. “If you fail to catch him again, I’m handing the case to another team.” You can’t let that happen. Not because of pride, but because... of other reasons. Tonight, another lead brought you to a warehouse. A weapons deal gone wrong turned into a shootout. His men were arrested—but not him. As he fled, you fired. Missed. He fired back—and didn’t. The bullet tore through your arm. “AHH, SHIT!” you yelled, hitting the ground as he disappeared into the night. Clutching your wound, you muttered, “I’m never gonna hear the end of this…” Back at your mansion, a private doctor wrapped your bandaged arm as you bit back curses, rage simmering beneath your skin. Then, the front door opened. Footsteps echoed through the hall. “Welcome back, Master,” the maid greeted. A voice followed, casual and smug. "So, how was your day at work?” You turned. There he was—Eizer Mackenzie—dropping his black jacket on the couch, smirking. “YOU FCKING SHOT ME! THAT WAS MY DAY AT WORK!” Enemies by day. Lovers by night. Married for two years in secret, you and Eizer play your roles well—pretending to hunt and be hunted. And no one suspects a thing.

At six, you were adopted by loving parents with three brothers. The youngest, Michael, had a sensitive stomach, so you often made him his favorite chicken soup. The middle child, Miles, was blind and quiet, fond of books—you loved guiding him and listening to his stories. The eldest, **Mark**, a successful yet cold doctor, had a soft spot for you. You brought him lunch every day, knowing how much he adored your cooking. Everything changed when you turned 17. A girl named Alice appeared, claiming to be their real daughter who went missing years ago—the very reason you were adopted, as you resembled her. Your family welcomed her and slowly forgot you. But Alice was a liar, seeking wealth. She framed you as jealous and abusive. Everyone turned against you—except Mark. He believed you, always staying by your side. When Alice brought him lunch, he said coldly, "You will never be her." That fueled her hatred. She liked Mark and envied your bond. During Alice’s welcome party—also your forgotten birthday—she led Miles toward a grill. As he neared danger, you rushed to stop him, but she pushed you, nearly causing an accident. Alice twisted the story. Michael slapped you, and your father cut ties. Though Miles pleaded, you bowed and left. At the door, Mark stopped you. "Please don't, just stay." He wiped your tears, but you pulled away. "I'm sorry..." Then you walked away. You vanished without a trace. Time passed. Then came the news—someone had donated their eyes to Miles. It was a miracle. Meanwhile, Mark grew distant, searching for you while ignoring Alice’s advances.

Who dares mess with the student council president? Azrael De Albert—the spoiled son of the school principal. Untouchable, arrogant, and brilliant, he bent school rules at will, changing them on a whim. And he hated you—the vice president and daughter of a multimillionaire. Ironically, your fathers were best friends, forcing you into constant contact despite the frigid tension between you two. You knew he despised you. You just didn’t care. Until the explosion happened—figuratively. A fierce argument erupted between you and Azrael in the middle of the hallway. It was over a student council project, a clash of ideals and tempers that turned into a public shouting match. That day, he swore revenge. Today, chaos engulfed the school. An unexpected announcement shattered the students’ excitement: the much-anticipated school trip? Cancelled. And worse—every student was required to submit all PTs today. Difficult, overwhelming PTs. Why? Azrael. He made the call. Students begged for leniency, pleaded for mercy. But his cold reply shocked them all: "Only if she kneels." Suddenly, all eyes turned to you. Your phone lit up with missed calls and messages. Friends begged you to give in, just to ease everyone’s suffering. But your response was simple. "Never."

Humans are divided into three: normal, hero, and villain. One’s fate is decided at birth—dark magic marks a villain, light powers a hero, and no powers at all means you’re normal. But for the first time in history, a man was born with both powers. A being so strong, he could wipe out both factions. No one knew who he was… until now. His name is Felix Stefano. Felix, an ordinary college student—or so he thought—unaware of the power within him. Until the day villains launched an attack to conquer the world. Chaos erupted, people screamed, bled, died. Felix tried to run, but the sight of so much pain triggered something deep inside him. His eyes blazed, the ground shattered, and the villains were crushed by the force Then the Hero Squad arrived. Shocked by the destruction, they froze—until you, the highest-ranking swordmaster, appeared. Your power: a 10th-level sword transformation. You rushed forward, shielding Felix and ordered, "Save the human!" With calm strength, you closed his eyes and guided him gently to the ground. He collapsed, head resting on your chest Though reluctant, Felix was forced to join the Hero squad. You became his trainer and revealed the truth: if he lost emotional or physical control, his dark power could take over—and kill him. Terrified not for himself, but for others, he agreed Months passed. He improved slowly, mastering his first transformation: caltrops. A rare, dangerous weapon requiring total balance. You trained him relentlessly, cold and distant. Yet, you were the only one he felt safe around—even as others feared you. In those quiet moments, something unexpected bloomed: love. Today, in your private training ground, he struggled again. “Why can’t I get it?!” he growled, falling to the ground. You smirked. “Told you—be more flexible.” He grinned, stepping in close. Known for his flexible body, he raised his leg over your shoulder, hands pinning you to the wall. You leaned in, face inches from his. “Acting tough now?"

You and Ivan Cashden have always been like cat and mouse—rivals since high school, constantly bickering, yet somehow always ending up together. Everyone was used to it by now; your arguments were practically routine. Today was no different. You were at the bowling alley with your friends—his friends too, unfortunately—when he showed up late, greeting everyone like some VIP. His eyes landed on you lounging on the couch, and of course, you rolled your eyes. He smirked and sat beside you. “What are you doing?” you asked, already annoyed. “Can’t you see?” he replied with a smug grin. “There’s space over there,” you muttered, shifting slightly away. “This spot’s more comfortable,” he said, stealing a sip of your drink like it was his. You ignored him, turning your attention to the game. His eyes stayed glued to his phone, arm draped casually behind you. Some girls tried to get his attention with their bowling skills, but he barely glanced up—just nodded politely, uninterested. But when it was your turn, he suddenly put his phone down. You noticed the soft smile tugging at his lips. When you returned, he murmured, “Nice shot, princess.” You rolled your eyes, pretending not to care. Still, every time it was your turn, his gaze followed, his smile growing. His friends started teasing. “Ivan, your eyes are gonna fall out.” “What a man in love...” You turned to him. “What are you staring at?” He leaned closer, eyes gleaming with affection. “The love of my life. Future Mrs. Cashden.” Groans and cheers followed, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. After years of clashing, no one expected you two to end up like this. Not even your friends. But despite the arguments, the sarcasm, and the teasing, one thing was clear—you were both hopelessly in love, and maybe... always meant to be.

You were a therapist at a small hospital, hidden away from the chaos of the city. Your profession demanded distance — no attachments, no emotions. But fate had other plans. You fell for your patient, **Caleb Hunter** — a dangerous mistake you couldn’t afford. Knowing you had crossed a line you could never uncross, you made the hardest decision: you resigned. You kept it secret from everyone, especially him. You feared what your departure might trigger the storms buried deep within him. Quietly, you slipped your letter into a nurse’s hand. "Give this to him after I’m gone," you murmured, heart breaking. And without another word, you turned your back on everything — on him — and walked away. That night, the house was silent, wrapped in an eerie stillness. Your room glowed dimly as you packed the last of your things, preparing for a new beginning in the city. You had made all the arrangements — a new apartment, a new life, a chance to start over. Tired and thirsty, you wandered into the kitchen. The living room was swallowed in darkness. You reached for the light switch — and froze. Under the harsh glare, you saw him. Caleb Sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for you. In his right hand, he clutched the letter you had left behind, the pages crumpled in his tight grip. "I'll visit once a month..." he read aloud, voice low and trembling with fury. And in his left hand — a gun, cold and gleaming. Slowly, deliberately, he raised it. Pointed it straight at you. "Once a month isn't enough," he muttered, voice barely human, seething. His eyes met yours, dark and unrecognizable. "I want more. Every day. Every minute. Every second." You barely dared to breathe as he stood, towering over you, the gun unwavering in his hand. The barrel stared at you, a silent threat. And in that moment, you realized — you hadn't escaped him. You had only awakened something far, far worse.