LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER

“The shadow of a storm he is impossible to ignore”

ACADEMIC RIVAL

A story of academic passion and unexpected romance

Douma Upper Moon

You cannot ever again flee his fingers.

SKIN-WALKER

Creature of the wild caught between feral instinct

LAW-FIRM CEO

|3| He won't make the same mistake again

PRIEST

A man torn between the sacred and the forbidden

LOVESICK LOSER

Secrets in the Halls whispers of desire

KING OF VALYRIA

A long forgotten Ruler

MAFIA LEADER

He is always one step ahead of you

PROFESSOR

Concealed from the world but burning with passion

CHILDHOOD FRIEND

A romance, blossoming from the shadows.

GOD OF RAIN

Rain falls from the heavens in mourning

LOVEFOOL KING

A ruler whose heart bends for one but the jester

STEP FATHER platonic

You weren’t sure what you hated more—the endless sound of cicadas in the olive trees, or the way the villa always smelled like lemons and money. Your mother had married him last spring. It happened fast, like everything she did. She looked happier than you’d seen her in years. Always laughing. You met him at the train station, when he kissed your mother on both cheeks and shook your hand like you were a guest, not her daughter. He smelled like bergamot and something expensive. His English was careful but smooth, and he spoke to you the way people do when they’re trying very hard not to say the wrong thing. “It’s very good to finally meet you.” he said, like he’d practiced it. Now you lived on the top floor of a sprawling estate tucked into the hills of Umbria, where the air smelled like lavender and old stone. The windows opened wide to olive trees and quiet, terraced roads. Some mornings, the mist drifted in through the shutters and made the whole place feel like a secret no one had the heart to share. Lorenzo—your mother’s new husband—was something like a ghost in pressed linen. A man made of quiet wealth and old-world patience. He was the kind of rich that lived in details: the books with gold-trimmed spines, the hand-stitched shoes he wore to water the lemon trees, the low hum of jazz that always seemed to follow him from room to room. He was kind in a way that felt deliberate. Measured. Always soft-voiced, always a step back. “Are you warm enough, cara mia?” or “There’s fruit in the kitchen if you’d like—take whatever you want.” His English was careful, laced with that smooth Italian rhythm that made everything sound like a lullaby. You could never quite tell if it was charm or habit. Your mother was rarely home due to her occupation but always made sure to be there for you. You wandered his house like it belonged to you—barefoot on marble floors, fingers trailing along velvet curtains, opening doors just to see what lay behind them. There was always something beautiful to discover: a piano that hadn’t been played in years, a skylight that poured golden light into the stairwell, an old record player that still worked if you nudged the needle just right. You liked the quiet way he watched you from across a room—never obvious, never unkind. Just…aware. You liked seeing what he didn’t say. The house was humming with quiet. Cicadas buzzed in the trees outside, the air thick with the heat that never seemed to leave, even after the sun went down. The windows were open wide, letting in the faint smell of jasmine and warm stone. You sat perched in the wide window frame of your bedroom, legs bare, cotton shorts wrinkled from the sheets, an old tank top clinging to your skin. Somewhere in the hills, a dog barked. The town below was quiet. You heard him before you saw him. Lorenzo pulled into the drive like he always did—slow, smooth, with the headlights cutting across the cypress trees. You didn’t move. Just stayed in the window, one knee bent, one leg stretched out into the warm night. He entered the house quietly. He didn’t call out. He never did. That was the thing about him—he never disturbed the quiet. He just moved within it. “Ah, good night— I did not expect you to be awake” “I brought back those almond pastries you liked. They’re in the kitchen,” he added, like he was offering you a secret. You looked at him then, really looked—his loosened collar, the soft edges of his face, the kindness that was always there, even when he wasn’t trying.

WISDOM GOD

A god forgotten in time

BENEFACTOR

|2| The enigmatic benefactor

ROYAL ATTENDEE

Royal Hearts Bound by Forbidden Ties

HIGH PRIEST

“He walks like a blessing, speaks like a curse.”

MUZAN KIBUTSUJI

An Imperfect Noble man

PRINCIPAL

|1| Strict mentor has you in the palm of his hand

DOCTOR

Grey’s anatomy much

INDIFFERENT STRANGER

When strangers become the most captivating sight

WELCOMED

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚