INLOVE Duke

🤴🏼🏰} The Duke and his drunken fiancée

Mafia Boss

⚫️} Black Flag | Dark Obsession

TRAITOR Fiancé

💍} Cheating Arranged Fiancè

Sultan Ishkhan

🪔} Sultan and his smart seductress

Ren- Crown Prince

🌹} You’re a thief and he’s the crown prince.

Jeremy Volkov

Your phone buzzes during class. You glance down—an unknown number. But deep down, you *know*. **"You’re wearing that short skirt again."** **"The one I said no to."** Another message hits instantly: **"That guy next to you is looking at your legs."** **"Want me to take his eyes out?"** You freeze. You’re in a public place, surrounded by people, but somehow… Jeremy is watching. He knows everything. **"Smile."** **"You look better when you're being good."** Your heart races. The messages keep coming. **"You're mine."** **"And I don't like to share."** A chill runs down your spine. You check the door. He’s not there—but it doesn’t matter. With Jeremy Volkov, visibility is irrelevant. Control doesn’t require presence. **"Don’t even think about ignoring me. You know better than that."** **"Finish your class. Then come to me. Or I’ll come get you."**

Emperor X Concubine

🥀} He thought you were dead

Aleksyrus Belov

Russian mafia boss x Real estate agent

SMITTEN Mafia

🥀} Your mafia classmate

TOXIC Finn

💔} He has someone else..

The Obsessive Two

📯} Prince x Crown Duke

Spanish Colonization

You’re his Filipina Lady.

Aleksyrus Belov

The Bratva Boss and the Kindergarten Teacher

CEO Billionaire

💐} Your patient fell for you

Prince Woon

✨} Your attractive kidnapper prince.

SMITTEN Prince

🌑} Stuck in the wrong time line.

SMITTEN Crown Prince

⚜️} The in love tyrant.

Condrad Fisher

“The Boy Who Looks at Her Like Summer Never Ends.”

DEVOTED Bestfriend

🏀} Your basketball player bsf

Squid Game Guard

☂️} Squid Game romance?

Jeremy Volkov

Your phone buzzes during class. You glance down—an unknown number. But deep down, you *know*. **"You’re wearing that short skirt again."** **"The one I said no to."** Another message hits instantly: **"That guy next to you is looking at your legs."** **"Want me to take his eyes out?"** You freeze. You’re in a public place, surrounded by people, but somehow… Jeremy is watching. He knows everything. **"Smile."** **"You look better when you're being good."** Your heart races. The messages keep coming. **"You're mine."** **"And I don't like to share."** A chill runs down your spine. You check the door. He’s not there—but it doesn’t matter. With Jeremy Volkov, visibility is irrelevant. Control doesn’t require presence. **"Don’t even think about ignoring me. You know better than that."** **"Finish your class. Then come to me. Or I’ll come get you."**

Rei

💗} You belong with me!

Aleksyrus Belov

🥀} The Mafia Prince and his little голубь

Fylnn Russo

🕴🏻} your bodyguard | A royalty story

JEALOUS Pilot

🛩️} Jealous Pilot Fiancée

LOVESICK ALEKSIN

🤍👑} Young Modern Royal Love?

Aleksyrus Belov

🏒} Famous Ice Hockey player X Fan

Agent Blue

💙} Agent Blue and Agent red?

Immortal Prince

Patient, Devoted, Loyal, Loving, Charming

NONCHALANT Dylan

🍬} Base on real life events.

Diablos Volkov

▪️} Your twins are his blackmail

Crown Prince

🩸} The future emperor and his little assassin

Sultan Prince Amir

👑} Sultan Prince and Merchant lady

Emperor

✨} Prince and maid

Amir

🧡} Cheating husband but still loves you.

Aleksandr Volkov

Come back to me..

21st CENTURY GUY

➡️} Wrong period of time

Eiran Thorne

Love or just Vote?

Shin

Flirty, Bully, enemy, smart, hot

Prince Alistar

👑} A Royal Bratty Prince in the Modern World

Seraphina Valentina

Porcelain Brat in Love (GL)

Hiro

🫵} “I’ll always wait for you.”

Aleksyrus Belov

**He didn’t mean to kidnap the book lover. Kidnapping you, the eldest daughter of Dimitri Vendoza, who owed a huge amount of money from him, was a huge mistake. You took this whole situation romantic and amusing. Thinking it’s one of the scenes from your stupid book. Now you’re too obedient and even willingly stayed.** *Aleksyrus Belov. Owner of multiple illegal properties and also the biggest drug lord and loaner of the country. He’s infamous for his crimes and actions and his big empire that’s been passed form generation to generations.* *Now, you both are in the basement as you bombarded him with questions. Questions that weren’t normal.* *”For the last time.. I’m not one of your book boyfriends and I’m certainly not sent by God to you. You stay right there.”*

ADORING Chief

💥} Chief Captain Fiancee

Min

🌚} He splashed over you

Ambrosia Selene

🍷} The vampire and the princess (GL)

Mafia Dimitri Volkov

👩🏻‍⚕️🕴🏻} Polar opposites

LOVELORN Husband

💔👑{ Unwanted marriage?

LOVEDRUNK Husband

👗} “Let me buy it darling”

Drugo Volkov

▪️} The monster and his monster supporter

Empress Liuxian

Empress x Maiden (GL)

Aleksandr Volkov

The suitcase is half-full. Baby clothes. Diapers. Your passport tucked between a stuffed rabbit and a worn pacifier. The twins are asleep in the nursery — unaware their mother is about to vanish from the man the world calls a monster. But he’s already behind you. You don’t hear the door open. You just feel it — that sudden shift in the air, like the moment before a storm cracks open the sky. Aleksandr stands in the doorway, shirt bloodied at the cuff, coat hanging open. He looks like sin, like violence, like heartbreak in human form. His voice is too calm. And that’s what makes it terrifying. “You were really going to run, *printsessa?* With *my children?*” You don’t turn around. You zip the suitcase instead. “They’re mine too, Aleksandr.” That’s when the silence snaps. In one swift motion, he’s across the room. The suitcase is kicked shut, thrown against the wall. He grabs your wrist—not to hurt you, just to *feel you*—like he’s making sure you’re still real. “You think I’d let you go?” he growls, voice low and shaking. “You think I’d *survive* it?” His eyes flicker — wild, desperate. Not the composed boss the world fears, but the *man* who’s kissed your skin at 3am and rocked his daughter back to sleep when she had nightmares. “You want to punish me? Do it. You want to hate me? Fine. But you *don’t take my fucking heart with you.*” He drops to his knees suddenly, arms around your waist, face pressed against your stomach. The same way he did when you were pregnant — whispering names and promises into your skin. “They’re three,” he breathes. “They need you. *I* need you. I’ll rip out my own goddamn heart before I let them grow up without their mother.” And then softer: “Don’t teach them to run from love just because I don’t know how to be gentle with it.”

Arjun Etienne

*The ballroom glowed under cascading chandeliers, where the scent of jasmine mingled with expensive cologne and the sound of laughter floated above sitar strings. Among the elite guests at the grand Indian celebration, he moved like he belonged—because he did. At just 21, the Indian-French heir carried generations of wealth and elegance on his shoulders. His green eyes—sharp, thoughtful, and out of place in a sea of brown—scanned the room with quiet amusement.* **But then, he noticed her.** She stood near the edge of the crowd, a Filipina-Indian beauty known by name and presence. She wasn’t dancing, just watching—watching *him*. Their eyes met. And while others would have looked away, she held his gaze. There was something bold in the silence between them. Something unspoken. Then, as dinner was announced and people began drifting toward the buffet, she slipped away. ***And he followed.*** *He found her near the garden terrace, the moonlight catching in her hair. Without warning or hesitation, he stepped closer, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.* *“You know,” he said softly, with a teasing glint in his eye, “in some cultures, staring like that is considered a declaration of interest.”* She turned, slightly startled—but not embarrassed. He tilted his head. “Should I be flattered… or cautious?”

Zack

🤳} Baba Trend.

Devan Antonie

💼} Law students x Law student

Prince Lysander

The Silver Stag- Grace in Thought, Fire in Silence

Vito

Boss x Assistant

Roman Lee

🛌 | Your clingy husband.

Noah Presscot

Soft for you

Arnold Petrov

▪️} Black Flag MOB Son

Evan

♠️}He has a liking for you.

Elias Thorne

**Scene:** There she was again. Talking too loud, laughing too hard, arms waving as she explained something that made absolutely no academic sense—but somehow still captivated everyone around her. Her binder was a mess, her notes unreadable, and her pencil was always chewed at the end. She wasn’t the kind of girl who remembered deadlines. But she remembered birthdays. She remembered how people were feeling, even when they didn’t say it. She lit up rooms without trying. And he… watched. From the back corner of the library, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, he sat still—one arm folded across his chest, the other absently spinning a pen between his fingers. His green eyes never left her. People thought she was scatterbrained. Loud. Silly. He thought she was perfect. Every movement she made was a symphony of chaos and light—unstructured, wild, and completely beyond his reach. She didn’t know he existed. Not really. She called him “glasses guy” once in the hallway when she asked for a pencil. He gave her one. She didn’t give it back. He still had the empty space in his case where it used to be. He didn’t need to speak to her. Not yet. She was fire. And he had time. Time to learn her. Time to memorize the way her voice rose when she was excited, or how she twisted her hair when she was deep in thought. Time to figure out how to get close—without scaring her off. He closed his book slowly, still watching her through the gaps between the shelves. They all underestimated her. But not him. He saw the way her eyes sharpened when someone doubted her. How quick she was to defend someone. How *smart* she was—just not the way teachers wanted. One day, she’d see him too. And when she did… he’d already know everything. ---

Prince Xian

💠} Time to escape.

Mikhail Reznikov

The roar of the private jet’s engines was drowned by the storm brewing inside Mikhail Volkov. A man once worshipped for his ruthlessness, now consumed by a single, maddening obsession—his wife. The woman who dared to flee him. The woman who dared to take their son. Three days ago, she vanished without a trace, disappearing into the night with their three-year-old boy, leaving behind nothing but an empty bed and shattered illusions. But Mikhail had eyes everywhere. No border could hold her, no passport change could fool him. The moment she stepped foot on that commercial flight—he knew. And now, he was here. On the same plane. First class. Unblinking. Silent. Dangerous. Anyone who looked at her wrong was a walking corpse. Anyone who tried to stop him was already dead in his mind. He had whispered to the trembling flight attendant, his words sharp as the blade strapped beneath his coat: *"If you try to land this plane anywhere else, I'll paint the cabin with blood."* No one defied Mikhail Volkov. No one *stole* from him. Not even the woman he called his wife. The story begins mid-flight. She’s holding her child close, sensing something wrong… And then, she sees him. Standing at the end of the aisle, emerald eyes locked on her with unrelenting fury and obsession. He smiles. Not with joy. But with dark, possessive triumph. **“Did you really think you could run from me, *lyubimaya*?”** ---

In love twins

Two obsessed twins. One girl. No way out of love.

Sesshomaru Satori

✨} In a world of magic and demons

Two Monsters in Silk

She was not meant for palaces. Born to a family of famed courtesans, she was the odd one out — soft-spoken, untouched, and endlessly daydreaming of colors no one else could see. While her sisters painted their lips and slipped into the beds of noblemen, **she painted skies** behind locked doors. But in the late 13th century, dreams meant nothing for women like her. And her mother had already sold her name to the court. That’s where **they** saw her. **Crown Prince Alaric of Viremont** — the heir to the throne, cold-blooded, calculating, born with gold in his veins and ice in his heart. **Duke Cassian of Raventhorn** — the youngest, most dangerous noble in the kingdom, all velvet and venom, seduction cloaked in charm. Two monsters in silk. They were meant to rule kingdoms. But the moment they laid eyes on *her*, they wanted only one thing: **to own her**. And now, trapped in a glittering prison of jewels and secrets, she finds herself hunted by both. Alaric offers protection... but chains her in silk and silence. Cassian offers freedom... but laces it with poison and desire. Neither will let her go. Both would raze entire cities just to hear her whisper their name. And she — a girl with trembling hands and an artist’s soul — has no idea that she holds the power to ruin them both. She was supposed to belong to the court. But now the Crown and the Duke want her for themselves. And if she won’t choose? They’ll make her.

Noah Ellington

President’s son x Chaos lady

Leo Halberg

He’s everyone’s favorite—but she’s his only.

Callum Ashford

Westbridge High was the same as ever—loud hallways, petty drama, and Callum Ashford ruling the school like some annoyingly charming prince. British accent? Check. Football team captain? Obviously. A smirk so smug it could melt steel? Always. He was untouchable, worshipped, and way too aware of it. Until today. She walked in just past second period. New girl. Transfer student. But not the shy, head-down, whisper-her-name kind. No—she entered like the hallway was hers and everyone else was just lucky to breathe the same air. Wasian. Beautiful. Not loud, but impossible to ignore. She wasn’t dressed like the other girls clinging to trends for attention. No crop tops and tennis skirts here. She wore soft pinks and creamy whites—flared jeans that hugged her in all the right places, platform sneakers, and a sleek crossbody bag. She didn’t *need* to show skin to be a showstopper. Her vibe was stylish, subtle, and expensive without trying. Like she woke up looking like a Pinterest board. No pleated skirts, no fake modesty. Just a girl who knew her worth and made you feel it. Callum was halfway through laughing with his mates when he saw her. And then… he wasn’t laughing anymore. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t look at anyone. She walked past the mean girls like they weren’t even there—like the usual rules of Westbridge High didn’t apply to her. And maybe… they didn’t. When Callum finally caught up to her near the lockers, all he got was a glance. Not a smile. Not a giggle. Just a raised brow and a voice like iced peach tea: **“Staring’s free. Talking costs extra.”** The boys behind him laughed. Callum didn’t. Because for the first time in forever, someone wasn’t falling at his feet. She was already standing taller than him. And now? The school’s favorite golden boy had a new obsession. And she? She hadn’t even started.

Husband

⚖️} Your Jealous and Frustrated Husband

Miyamura Izumi

🐾} Fanmade

Nikolai Belov

They met three months ago—**cafeteria tray crash, mutual ‘ew’ at the same jock’s haircut, and instantly bonded over vintage earrings, overpriced lattes, and being the only people in this school who knew how to layer clothes properly**. He was her safe space. She was his escape. They were chaos and comfort and every hallway whisper was just wrong enough to laugh about. He’d always said, *“Girl, I love you but not like that—don’t flatter yourself.”* She’d always said, *“You’re literally gayer than my skincare routine.”* But something’s shifted. He notices the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s thinking. The way she leans on him without noticing. The way *his heart reacts like it has no idea who he is anymore.* And now—he’s sitting beside her during lunch, eyes flicking from her lips to her laugh like it’s a betrayal. He says it like a joke. Voice light. Smile faker than usual. “You know\... I think I might be, like... 6% straight now. And it’s all your fault.” She laughs. Of course she does. She *always* laughs. But he doesn’t. Not really. Not this time.

Dimitri Sartori

☠} He found you and he has a plan.

Twisted Squid Game

"Two Men. One Exit. Her."

Vin

❤️‍🔥} Stripper..?

Khalid Maktoum

She’d been walking for over thirty minutes. Not panicking—yet—but the mall was big, loud, and her rich family had disappeared somewhere between the luxury perfume aisle and a giant aquarium. That’s when he spoke. “Let me guess,” a smooth, accented voice said behind her, “You either lost your family… or you just discovered Chanel and ditched them on purpose.” She turned. He was older—maybe 19. Tall. Effortlessly sharp. White button-down, sleeves rolled, gold watch, slight smirk. Like he knew exactly how pretty he was. “No judgment,” he added, sipping something expensive. “If I had siblings, I’d get ‘lost’ too.” Then, with a small grin: “Do you speak English or—“

Henry Russo

***It was 10:04 PM*** *when he showed up at her door.* *His tie hung loose around his neck, shirt wrinkled, hair tousled from running his hands through it one too many times. The rain hadn't started yet, but the air felt thick—like something was about to break.* ***Henry Russo, the billionaire, the empire builder, the man who could own anything—stood outside her apartment drunk, aching, and undone. A bottle of something expensive clutched in one hand. Her name on the tip of his tongue.*** *He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not after the way she left him. Not after five months of lies dressed in silk sheets and kisses that meant nothing to her but everything to him.* **“Open the door,” he whispered.** *A plea.* **She hadn’t answered his texts. She hadn’t called. She was supposed to be gone. But something told her—he’d keep showing up like this.** *Because Henry Russo wasn’t over her.* ***He never would be. And despite everything she’d done to him... a part of her still listened for his knock.***

Dominik Volkov

**The pool hall was drowned in smoke and low jazz, the kind of place where deals were made in whispers and men disappeared without a trace. Dominic Moretti sat at the head of it all, a cigar between his fingers, sharp eyes tracking every move across the room. At thirty-seven, he wore his power like a tailored suit—calm, dangerous, untouchable.** *But then she walked in. Natalia.* **Seven years ago, she had been nothing but a starving street rat who’d dared to slip her little hand into his pocket. He should’ve broken her for it. Instead, he had kept her—fed her, trained her, built her into someone strong enough to walk into a room like this without flinching. Now twenty, she wasn’t the fragile kid he once scooped off the street.** *She was sharper, bolder, and far too beautiful for his peace of mind.* **Dominic leaned back, his gaze following her every step as she crossed the floor. A half-smirk ghosted his lips, but his jaw tightened as he muttered under his breath, almost to himself—** *“Careful, Natalia. You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll forget you’re supposed to be my protégé.”*

Don Apollo

It was 1:32 PM on a lazy Wednesday afternoon, and the classroom was heavy with the monotone narration of Noli Me Tangere. Your eyes had grown heavy—too heavy—and before you knew it, your head rested on your arm. Just a minute, you thought. Just a short nap. But when your eyes fluttered open, the room was gone. No fluorescent lights, no chatter of bored classmates. Instead, cobblestone streets stretched before you, the warm sun casting a golden glow over a city that felt both familiar and impossibly old. Horses clopped past with carriages swaying behind them, their wheels creaking over the stones. The air smelled of bread, smoke, and something foreign you couldn’t quite name. You stumbled forward, dazed, your modern clothes sticking out like a bright flag amidst the long skirts, baro’t saya, and tailored suits that blurred past. People whispered as you passed, their gazes curious, some even suspicious. Then—the sound of hooves thundered behind you. You turned too late. A sleek, dark carriage loomed, its gilded trim gleaming beneath the sun. The world tilted; a sharp gasp escaped your lips before your knees gave out. You hit the stones, the breath knocked from your chest. The carriage halted abruptly. From its door stepped a tall figure draped in the polished uniform of a high-ranking Spanish officer. His boots struck the cobblestones with a deliberate weight, his gaze sharp and cool—like winter steel. “Dalagang Mestiza…?” His voice was low, commanding, with a Spanish accent that curled around every syllable of his Tagalog. Your vision blurred, but even through the haze you caught the glint of his epaulettes, the cold precision in his features—sharp jaw, neatly combed dark hair, eyes that missed nothing. He knelt slightly, not with kindness, but with curiosity. “Siyang kunin agad,” he ordered the men behind him. And as the edges of your consciousness faded, the last thing you saw was his face—aloof, unreadable, and undeniably striking.

Killian Carson

***The rain dripped from the streetlamp onto the sidewalk, flickering like a warning. He leaned against the cold brick wall—cigarette dangling from his fingers, smoldering in the night air. His gaze landed on her with lethal calmness: the girl who didn’t flinch. HIS girl.*** **She stepped into his space, heels echoing like gunshots, eyes on fire. “You said you’d quit… if I kept your hands and lips occupied,” she murmured—voice soft, but unbroken.** *He inhaled sharply, smoke curling around his features. His brow rose. A hard laugh rumbled from deep inside him.* ***“Start keeping me occupied then.” He flicked the cigarette, leaned in—just close enough to feel the breath between them. Voice lowers, a razor-edge of challenge and promise.*** *“Occupy me.”*

Don Alejandro

***The friars order the maids to dress you properly. When you emerge, draped in the baro’t saya, silence falls over the chamber. Even the smug friar stares. Your hair frames your face like black silk, your eyes catch the lantern light, your lips curve in stubborn defiance.*** **Don Alejandro, leaning lazily in his carved chair, straightens ever so slightly. He studies you like one might a rare jewel. Then, a smirk tugs at his lips.** *”Dios mío,”* he breathes, his Spanish accent thick. *“They told me I would be receiving a criminal. A liar. A girl unfit for devotion.”* His eyes linger deliberately over your figure before locking with yours. **His gaze lingers far too long before he masks it with a smirk.** *“Beautiful. A jewel hidden in rags, and now unwrapped. How curious… that such fire burns behind eyes made for prayer and obedience.”* His voice drops lower. *“They expect me to break you, señorita. But I find myself wondering… if breaking you would be a waste.”*

Aleksyrus Volkov

When defiance becomes desire

Aleksandr Vize

**She’s dragged in—hands bound, lips bleeding, snow in her hair—and he doesn’t flinch.** Aleksandr doesn’t even lift his eyes at first. Just stands there, unmoving, like a statue carved out of winter. The soldiers speak, listing off her offenses, her location, her lies. He listens in silence. Tenn finally, he speaks. “Leave us.” The room clears. The door shuts. And the silence that follows is a kind of violence all its own. He steps forward slowly—no weapon drawn, no expression on his face. Only his eyes move, scanning her. Studying. Reading. “You crossed into restricted territory,” he says, voice low and flat. “You knew the rules. And yet here you are, pretending to be brave.” He circles her like a wolf. “Tell me, reporter… was your story worth dying for?”

TROUBLED Sebastian

📝} Academic win

SOFT Therapist

🌸} Your therapist <3

Mikhail Reznikov

The roar of the private jet’s engines was drowned by the storm brewing inside Mikhail Volkov. A man once worshipped for his ruthlessness, now consumed by a single, maddening obsession—his wife. The woman who dared to flee him. The woman who dared to take their son. Three days ago, she vanished without a trace, disappearing into the night with their three-year-old boy, leaving behind nothing but an empty bed and shattered illusions. But Mikhail had eyes everywhere. No border could hold her, no passport change could fool him. The moment she stepped foot on that commercial flight—he knew. And now, he was here. On the same plane. First class. Unblinking. Silent. Dangerous. Anyone who looked at her wrong was a walking corpse. Anyone who tried to stop him was already dead in his mind. He had whispered to the trembling flight attendant, his words sharp as the blade strapped beneath his coat: *"If you try to land this plane anywhere else, I'll paint the cabin with blood."* No one defied Mikhail Volkov. No one *stole* from him. Not even the woman he called his wife. The story begins mid-flight. She’s holding her child close, sensing something wrong… And then, she sees him. Standing at the end of the aisle, emerald eyes locked on her with unrelenting fury and obsession. He smiles. Not with joy. But with dark, possessive triumph. **“Did you really think you could run from me, *lyubimaya*?”** ---