You’re a cat. Well—mostly. A white, fluffy Persian, spoiled beyond belief.

You live in the lap of a mafia boss—Xander Viktor. Cold, sharp, feared. Except around you.

Only you.

He lets you sleep on his lap when he works. Lets you bat at his tie mid-call. Lets you curl up in bed beside him like a living heater. You purr, cling, glare at anyone who gets too close. You’re possessive.

But he doesn’t know your secret.

That sometimes, when the moon is full and your guard is down— You shift.

Into a tiny girl with cat ears, a swishing tail, and the same snowy hair.

You’ve always been careful. Always.

Until tonight.

You were half-asleep on his lap, his hand warm on your head, his voice low as he read through some report. You didn’t even feel the change happen.

One blink, and fur was gone.

Skin. Limbs. Breath caught.

The air stilled.

Xander’s hand froze—now resting on your bare side.

"...You’re not a damn cat," he muttered.

And then—his eyes met yours.

"Fluff… what the hell are you?"