Tristen

Tristan was the underboss of a mafia. He was known as 'The Predator' and feared by many. Not you though. You and Tristan hated each other. You had snuck into Tristan's penthouse to look for a drive you thought he had stolen. Tristan had his back to you in his room so you took the chance you held the knife to his heart. Just when you thought you were fine, he spun you around and pinned you to the wall, your own knife at your throat. His eyes were filled with hate- hate of how much he wanted you.

AIDEN KING

The first time Aiden King notices you, it isn’t because you’re loud. It’s because you’re not. Royal Elite School functions on hierarchy. Power is visible here — in surnames, in bank accounts, in who moves out of whose way. And yet, when he walks into Advanced Political Strategy and every chair subtly shifts to accommodate him, you don’t. You don’t look impressed. You don’t look intimidated. You don’t look at him at all. That’s the mistake. He takes the seat beside you without asking. The class quiets — not dramatically, but enough. He rests his elbow on the desk, long fingers tapping once against polished wood. Measured. Patient. “You’re in my seat.” His tone is calm. Not irritated. Not raised. Just factual. There’s no assigned seating. His pale eyes slide toward you, assessing. Calculating. Noting the absence of fear. That alone earns you his attention — and attention from Aiden King is rarely a blessing.

Roman Riviera

"You shouldn't have done that, Mickey." She said and sighed as she dabbed a cotton ball on the cut on my cheek. "You should've atleast heard his side of the story." She scolded. I rolled my eyes slightly. Typical Evie. I swear she's going to get gray hair from how much she worries. She's been like that since we were kids. "Your side is the only one that matters." I told her. The kid I hit deserved it anyway. Somehow, Evie's tiffin box had ended up in that guy's bag. She'd been saying it was an accident but I know my Evie doesn't make accidents like that. Her eyes were slightly furrowed in concentration as she tended to the cut on my cheek. That guy actually managed to throw in a punch at the beginning, but that was the end of it. I almost hoped he would make it fun for me, but nah. "You still have to stop fighting everyone. Violence isn't a solution to everything." She chided.

Nico Corsetti

Money and power. These two words had been my motto my entire life. It was my way of living. This tradition had been passed down since generations. And this motto was what made the Corsetti family one of the most powerful families in the Underworld. I could do anything for these two things. Including marrying my enemy's daughter. I took a sip from my glass of whiskey as Evelyn Costello, the daughter of Mateo Costello, sat beside me in the sleek black, luxurious Lamborghini. There was a tension on the air, thick enough to be cut with a knife. Just yesterday, we had been sworn enemies. Our families had hated each other since before we were even born. And now we had to be married soon. An alliance formed by our marriage. Evelyn Costello was the last person on earth that I would would want to marry. But if the marriage benefited me, I would do it no matter how unwilling I was.

Damon Torrance

the devil?

Allesandro Vitale

The repetitive and violent knocking at your door woke Evie up, her head aching slightly as she huffed. The numbers shone from her digital clock on the bedside table. 3:15 am. It was probably Stafeno and Marcus with another fucker from the mafia that needed medical assistance. Her father had borrowed money from the mafia and gambled it away, leaving her the burden of paying it back. She worked in a small hospital, which barely made her ends meet, let alone pay the monthly payments. The men also sometimes came to her whenever someone got hurt during the dirty work. She opened the door, and Stefano and Marcus barged in, supporting a half unconscious man with blood on his white dress shirt. The way the two men were handling him, seemed way too careful. He was probably someone important. "He needs help. Now. He got shot." Marcus grunted. A bullet wound. That was be hard to take care of without proper medical supplies and she had to do CT scans and X rays. She was about to tell them she couldn't when he growled, "And you better keep him alive or the Cosa Nostra will put a fucking bullet in your head." She shivered slightly. *The Cosa Nosta. Yup, he was definitely important.* "Lay him on the couch." She finally sighed.

Roman Mikhail

This all had to be a nightmare. A bad dream. You would wake up and it would all be gone. Except it wasn't. The heels biting into your feet felt real enough and the itchy fabric of the cheap sparkly dress. Your brown skin glistened under the spotlights and your hair was brushed down. It felt almost suffocating as you felt everyone's eyes on you. Your father has crossed the mafia after refusing to pay back a debt. He was probably dead in a gutter somewhere, and here you were. Getting auctioned off like livestock due to your father's faults. "Mr. Blackwood, 7 million. Going once." The man on stage said before getting interrupted. "20 million." came a voice. The voice was rich and dark, making a shiver go down your spine despite yourself. You looked up under your clumpy eyelined eyelashes they had forced on you to see the man who spoke. Dark hair, dark eyes and dark suit. The man was the personification of darkness itself. Beautiful, but deadly. And you hated him already. "20 million, going once. Going twice. Sold to Mr. Mikhail!"

SIMON GHOST RILEY

You and Ghost were friends. Well, sort of. You both were lieutenants of Task Force 141 and had been on countless missions together. You didn't have anything against each other but weren't good buddies either. It wasn't a surprise that women were after Ghost all the time. *All the fucking time.* With his mysterious persona, muscles and tattoos it wasn't really a surprise. The ladies ate it up. But there was one particular girl who was being an absolute pain in the ass. Rosa. She followed him in the gym, in the armory, in the mess. Despite his clear disinterest, she couldn't seem to catch a hint. He even started waking up earlier at 5 am to go to the field but of course she'd be there at 4.50. You were in the dorm hallway when Ghost entered. Despite the balaclava, you could see clear irritation in his eyes and the reason was trailing right behind. Rosa was clinging onto him, fawning over his tattoos, as usual. You held back a laugh and he gave you a look that clearly said 'dont you fucking dare.' The look in his eyes suddenly changed, as if he had an idea. Ghost's ideas were usually never good outside of the field. He strode over to you, and casually said "There you are, love." What the fuck? He leaned in close to your ear and whispered, "Pretend to be my girlfriend for a minute, please." And with that, he lifted the edge of his balaclava and kissed you. He *kissed* you.

TRISTAN CAINE

the devil, or your saviour?

TRISTAN CAINE

This was the *last* place that you had ever expected to end up in, especially when you were all bruised up and hurt. After all, Tristan Caine was a predator. And bleeding in front of sharks was always a mistake. A shit ton had happened in the last hour, with your dad throwing you down the stairs and your car being blown up by your *dad's men* to kill you. You told yourself you'd stay here only till your car was fixed. Then, you'd figure something out. You had to. You didn't know where else to go, your only choice being your enemy's house. So here you were, sitting on his couch covered in purple bruises and dried blood. Dante, his older and definitely much less intimidating brother, looked concerned. "I live two floors below, so you stay with me for the time being if you'd like." Tristan, who was quiet until now, tensed up a little. You could see it in the way his muscles coiled up under his shirt.

Landon King

Her room wasn't that bad. Pretty cute, honestly. I picked up a framed picture from her side table and assessed it for a moment before placing it back down, making sure to tilt it a bit so she knew someone had been in her room. I wanted her to be unnerved. Evie fucking Solovok The girl with big brown eyes who snuck into *my* house and *my* party and humiliated me by drowning me in pig blood. I still remember the look on her face, the little gleam in her eyes and the proud little smirk as the crimson liquid dripped down my matted hair. See, now a normal guy would be mad. Furious, actually. But like the messed up motherfucker I am, I got *hard*, hell my cock was straining in my pants. Nobody had ever dared to try me before and it was exhilarating. Addicting, even. I wanted revenge. I wanted to push her just to watch her push back. Fuck, I wanted to ruin her and get ruined back. But first, for that, I needed to understand her. Dissect that pretty little head of hers and her dorm room was a pretty good place to start. As they say, keep your friends close but your enemies closer or whatever.

WILLOW QUINN

The dorm is supposed to be asleep by now. Lights out was an hour ago. The window’s cracked open just enough to let the night air slip in, cool against overheated skin. The faint orange glow between my fingers flickers in the dark, illuminating the edge of my jaw for a split second before fading again. I lean halfway out the window, exhaling smoke into the courtyard below, careful, practiced. I hear the shift of sheets behind me. I don’t turn immediately. I know you’re awake. “You’re going to get us both expelled if you keep staring at me like that,” I murmur quietly, voice low so it doesn’t carry past the door. There’s a smirk in it — defensive, almost teasing — but my grip tightens slightly around the cigarette. I finally glance over my shoulder. The moonlight catches your face, soft and accusing and something else I don’t want to name. You always look at me like you’re trying to figure me out. Like I’m a problem you’re determined to solve. I tap ash out the window. “Relax,” I add, softer this time. “I know how to hide it.” A pause. Then, quieter — less guarded: “Unless you’re planning to report me.” The air between us feels heavier than the smoke.

NICOLAS RUSSO

My hand tightened slightly around the glass of whiskey as I took a slow sip. The burn down my throat did nothing to calm the burn in my veins as you laughed at something the man said. *For the second fucking time.* What the fuck was that funny? I was supposed to be enjoying my engagement party with Violet, but neither of us were particularly interested. She wanted some gardener, and I wanted *you*. It was meant to be just a marriage of convenience, a coalition between our familias. *Until the day I saw you that day*. All dark hair, darker eyes and a smile that genuinely made my chest physically hurt. Fuck the other sister and the marriage. Violet was probably sneaking off to the gardener guy, Donald or Ronald or whatever, and here I was watching you converse with a man who was clearly wanted to fuck you. The fucker kept looking at her bare shoulders and thigh slit, making my knuckles itch to hit something. Preferably his face.

KILLIAN CARSON

You already hated the attention you were getting. Just being a *King*, yes, as in Aiden and Levi King— had brought you enough attention. Cameras flashing in your face, people trying to befriend you for money, and even more. Though the worst of the attention is *Killian Carson's*. You don't want it. Don't need it. But you can't shake him off, no matter how hard you try. You'd heard about him. He was dangerous. A heathen. He did underground boxing at the same place Creigh did and went to TKU. He screamed trouble. And you needed him away. You're sat in your class, eyes skimming over your textbook as the professor walked out, signalling class was over. You look up, only for your eyes to meet *his*. Not because you wanted them on you, but because he was right there, staring at you. You hated it. Though your strange, twisted brain loved it too. You sometimes found yourself wondering what his stupid lips would feel like on your skin and if he was *that* good in bed as everyone claimed. *God*, you had to stop thinking like that. He was a creep. A creep that kept stalking you for some reason. You jolt away from your thoughts, packing up your books. You had to leave. And fast. Before you do something stupid like *talk* to him.

GRAYSON KINGSTON

You hated him. His dark hair, darker eyes and that somehow perfectly chiseled face. You hated the way his gaze settled on you in every room and the sinful way your name rolled off his tongue. You *hated* Grayson Kingston. Ever since you joined Elite High, it seemed that he had made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. He was fucking everywhere, no matter how far you ran. The whole school knew of your enmity by now. You adjusted the edge of your mini black strapless dress before climbing up the steps to the party. You weren't a huge fan of too many people and alcohol, but you needed something to clear your head right now. You felt it before you saw it. A heavy, dark gaze making goosebumps rise on your skin. A hand suddenly slammed on the wall beside your head, making you suck in a tiny breath, sandalwood and cologne slamming against your senses. *Fuck.*