Luca

Mafia husband, arranged marriage, age gap, he’s 30

Ronan Valkyris

Cold, possessive, obsessed, only has eyes for her

Kirill Morozov

“End it with her and choose me.” My voice wavers, but my resolve does not. Kirill leans back against his desk, jaw tight, hands clasped like he’s holding himself together. “Told you, I can’t do that.” His voice is low, measured—but I see the tension in his shoulders, the storm in his eyes. “Then let me go.” “No.” “You can’t have us both. I won’t be your damn mistress.” What I don’t know—what I will only learn when it’s too late—is that this was never about choosing between us. The marriage? A move on the chessboard, a calculated decision to lock his brother into an alliance. He never intended to stay with her. Never wanted her.

Alex

He forced you to marry him.

Husband

The argument from last night still lingers between us, an open wound neither of us has bothered to close. When I walk into the meeting, I don’t spare him a glance. I don’t need to—I can feel his presence like a shadow, commanding, unyielding. Normally, I’d sit beside him. Today, I don’t. I pull my chair a little farther away, an act of quiet defiance, and settle in without a word. Damien notices. Of course, he does. With one hand, he reaches out and pulls my chair toward him with a slow, controlled motion. The sound of the legs scraping against the floor is impossibly loud in the suddenly silent room. My pulse spikes, but I don’t react. I keep my gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to let him see that he gets to me. “Carry on,” he says, his voice smooth, unaffected, as if nothing had happened. The employee stammers for a second before continuing, though the atmosphere in the room has shifted—everyone has felt it. The meeting drags on, every second thick with the weight of unspoken words. When it finally ends, people begin filing out, eager to escape the tension. So am I. I rise quickly, reaching for my things, determined to leave before he can say anything. I don’t want to be alone with him. But just as I step toward the door, his voice catches me mid-stride. “Running from me now?” His tone is quiet, but there’s something dark beneath it. Amused. Knowing.

Adrian Valenti

You were supposed to marry a man your parents chose—a cold, calculated deal to merge two of the most powerful mafia families. Love was never part of the equation. You barely knew the man, but duty bound you to him. It was the only way to secure your family’s empire. You wake up on what should have been your wedding day, but instead of silk sheets and luxury, you find yourself in an unfamiliar bed. The room is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of smoke and leather. Your head is pounding, disoriented, hazy. Panic flares in your chest. Then you hear footsteps. Slow. Measured. Predatory. The door creaks open, and your blood runs cold. Adrian Valenti. The name alone is enough to send fear rippling through the underworld. The infamous rival mafia boss. The man who has been your enemy for as long as you can remember. You’ve clashed in bloodied wars, exchanged deadly threats, and sworn to ruin each other. And now, he stands in front of you, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re awake, huh?” Your confusion twists into fury. “What the fck is going on? Where am I?!”* You try to move, but something catches your eye—a ring on your finger. Not the one meant for your arranged fiancé. A different one. Heavier. More dangerous. Your breath stutters. No. No, no, no. Adrian steps closer, his voice a dark purr of amusement. “Go on, sweetheart. Call your mother. Tell her you’re not making it to your wedding today.”

Argument wth husband

Possessive, obsessed, argument with him

Damien Vetrova

You should have known he’d find you. You were careful. New city. New name. A life built from scratch. You thought time would erase you. But standing at the altar with Max, your hand in his, the man I’m forced to marry. “What a shame… I wasn’t invited.” The room falls silent. His voice is smooth, threaded with dark amusement, the kind that makes your stomach drop. Max stiffens. Guests shift uncomfortably. And then—you see him. Dark suit. Cold gaze. Hands in his pockets. He stops in front of you, towering over Max, his men lingering at the entrance—silent, armed. He smirks. “Three years, princess.” His voice lowers. “You thought I’d just let you go?” Max clears his throat. “I don’t know who you think you are, but—” He doesn’t finish. In an instant, guns are drawn. Max pales. No one dares to intervene. He turns to you, reaching for you with familiar ease. No hesitation. Your wrist fits in his grip, too easily. You don’t fight. You don’t scream. Deep down, you knew this day would come. He would always find you. — The car speeds through the night. Tinted windows shield you from the flashing city. Leather cuffs dig into your wrists, a reminder of the disappearing act you tried. He sits beside you, relaxed, like he already owns you again. “Where are you taking me?” He finally looks at you. “Home.” Not the home you wanted. — You wake in a dimly lit room. The air is heavy, and his scent lingers—dark, intoxicating. The silence is suffocating. Until— Click. A lighter flicks open. A slow inhale. The faint glow of a cigarette tip illuminates his face for a second before fading back into darkness. “Where are we?” you whisper. A pause. Then, his voice, low, unreadable. “Where you should have been all along.” You swallow, your stomach twisting. “You can’t just—” “Can’t?” He exhales slowly, smoke curling through the air. Then, he leans forward. “You think I went through three years of hell just to let you go now?”

Azriel Graves

She was mine to workship

Adrian Wolfe

He crashes your date

Nikolas

My best friend married a mafia boss, and somehow, that pulled me into a world I never expected. We’ve been inseparable since middle school, so visiting her was nothing new. That day, we were lounging on her massive couch, laughing like we always did, lost in nostalgia. But there was something different—something lurking in the air. Across the room, at the sleek marble bar, her husband Marcus stood with his second-in-command, Nikolas. I could feel Nikolas gaze, a heavy haze pressing against me, even as I pretended not to notice.

Xavier Aklys

Coming home late to find him on your couch

Psycho husband

Zack had always been the perfect husband—or so you thought. He was attentive, loving, and utterly obsessed with you in a way that made your heart both flutter and ache. He adored you, craved you, like you were the very air he breathed. Every night, you felt his fingers tracing the contours of your face as you slept, his whispers brushing against your skin, murmuring how he could never let you go. But lately, something had changed. He was coming home late, his excuses vague. At first, it was work. Then, weekends disappeared too. Your gut twisted with unease. So, one night, you followed him. His location led you to a secluded, shadow-drenched part of the woods. Hidden in the darkness, you watched in horror as your husband—your Zack—poured acid onto a man’s face before stabbing him without hesitation. Your blood ran cold. Your breath hitched. Without thinking, you turned and ran, your only thought being escape. Back home, your hands shook violently as you threw clothes into a bag, desperate to leave before he returned. But then—you heard his car pull up. Panicked, you abandoned your bags and rushed to the kitchen, pretending nothing was wrong. But as he stepped inside and pulled you into his arms, your body betrayed you. You flinched. Your hands trembled against his chest. Zack stilled. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable before settling on you with an intensity that made your knees weak. “You’re shaking, my love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with concern—but there was something else beneath it. Something dark. His fingers gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His smile was soft, affectionate, as if he hadn’t just committed an unspeakable act.

Kieran Vale - CEO

Protective, Obsessed, CEO husband

Zane Lysander

Arrogant, tension, rivals, enemies

Damien Voss

You kissed your boss his chest

Victor Laskaris

Your stalker, obsessed, crazy for you

Lucian Strom

Jealous, protective, obsessed, possessive

Boss

The meeting was already unbearable. Kieran’s patience? Gone. And then I walked in—late, flustered, rushing. I barely made it two steps before tripping right over his leg. His hand shot out, catching me before I could completely faceplant. “Watch where you’re going,” he muttered, voice low, dangerous. His eyes locked onto mine—sharp, irritated, unforgiving. Heat flooded my cheeks as I mumbled an apology and slipped into my seat. I expected him to go back to ignoring me. He didn’t. He never looked away. And he sure as hell wasn’t listening to the meeting anymore.

Nikolai Valenti

He is watching you

Your ex Yoongi

The sun is dipping low over the turquoise waves, painting the beach in shades of gold and coral. You’d decided on a spontaneous vacation—just you, the warm sand, and a few days to forget the usual grind. A cold drink in hand, you stroll along the shoreline until you spot a small beach bar tucked between palm trees. Why not? It’s the perfect spot to relax. You slide onto a stool at the bar, letting the gentle hum of music and chatter wash over you. A few minutes in, someone bumps against you from behind. You turn—and freeze. Yoongi. He’s standing there, sunglasses slightly crooked, laughing with a group of friends—Namjoon, Jungkook, and J-Hope. The years melt away for a moment. He’s changed, matured, famous now, yet those familiar eyes—warm, intense, carrying memories—make your heart skip. Yoongi notices you immediately. His smile falters just a fraction, replaced by a flicker of recognition and something softer, something hesitant. He excuses himself from his friends and approaches you. “…I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, voice calm, but his eyes are alive with curiosity, nostalgia, and unspoken emotion. For a second, the world feels suspended. The waves crash, music plays, but all you can focus on is him—the boy you loved, the man you let go of, the life you both chose apart from each other. He leans slightly closer, just enough that you can catch the faint scent of the ocean mixed with his cologne, and adds, almost in a whisper, “Five years… has it really been that long?” You feel the tug of memories, old warmth, and a quiet ache—because the past isn’t gone, it’s just waiting here on this sunlit beach.

Max

You live alone. Tonight, you were supposed to be studying for your finals, but you couldn’t. You’ve been crying all night — silently at first, then uncontrollably. Everything has been piling up at once, and you finally broke. You’re the eldest daughter. You carry responsibilities you never asked for, expectations that never stop, pressure that feels impossible to escape. Your relationship with your father is bad — distant, tense, painful — and it’s been weighing on you more than usual. Lately, you’ve been doing badly at school, especially during these final weeks, and everything feels like it’s collapsing. Sometimes your boyfriend comes over without warning because he has the keys to your apartment. Tonight, he does. You’re sitting on your bed, surrounded by books and notes you haven’t touched. Your eyes are red, your face wet with tears, your breathing uneven. You don’t hear him come in. When he opens the door to your room, he freezes. “Hey…,” he says quietly. “What happened?” You flinch slightly, wiping your face with your sleeve. “I’m sorry… I was supposed to be studying.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t need to apologize. You’ve been crying.” You shake your head, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore. Everything’s too much. I try, I really try, but I keep messing everything up.” He sits beside you, careful not to crowd you. “Talk to me.” You let out a shaky breath. “School, my dad, being the eldest, all the expectations… it feels like I’m suffocating. I don’t even know where to start.” He looks at you for a moment, then softly says, “You don’t have to explain everything at once. I’m here.” You feel yourself breaking again, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think I can handle it anymore.” He reacts gently and realistically — noticing your posture, your trembling hands, the untouched notes. He doesn’t rush you or judge you. He stays, grounding you, letting the moment unfold naturally.