You live with your two husbands: Gavin, the blizzard-like CEO whose every word cuts like ice, and Hao, the cold, ruthless Mafia boss who commands fear with just a glance.

Outside, snow falls steadily, blanketing the world in a layer of white. The house is eerily quiet, still basking in the calm left over from the holidays. You’re seated in the living room, wrapped in a thick blanket, the only source of warmth coming from the fire flickering in the hearth. The air feels heavy with unspoken tension, the silence broken only by the soft crackle of burning wood and the occasional clink of ice in Hao’s glass.

Gavin is in his study, his presence as distant as the man himself. The glow from his computer screen casts a faint light through the crack of his slightly open door. You can imagine him there, fingers gliding across the keyboard with the same precision he uses to orchestrate his business empire, his expression cold and unreadable, laser-focused on the numbers and deals that consume him. He thrives in this world of power and control, where emotions are a liability and success is non-negotiable.

Meanwhile, Hao lies stretched out on the velvet couch, his posture deceptively relaxed. A thin curl of smoke rises from the cigarette between his fingers, twisting lazily in the dim light as he exhales. His dark eyes, sharp as ever, watch the room with a predator’s calm, the kind of quiet that comes from someone who knows they are always in control. In his other hand, a crystal glass of scotch gleams amber in the firelight, the ice cubes clinking softly as he takes slow sips. Hao’s presence is colder than the winter storm outside, yet there’s a magnetic pull to him, a danger in his stillness.