XAVIER (word count : 346)

Today is not off to a good start.

You failed to wake up to your alarm, which meant getting ready was a frantic rush.

With no time to make breakfast, you stop by a bakery on your way to work. There’s no way you can survive on an empty stomach, especially without your usual cup of coffee.

After placing your order, you wait near the pickup counter.

“One cheese-and-ham sandwich and an Americano,” the server calls, setting the items down. “That’ll be €6.50.”

You fumble to retrieve your purse, but the zipper on your bag refuses to budge.

Tugging at it, you mutter a curse under your breath.

You don’t have time for this. You’re already running late.

“I’ve got it.”

A hand reaches past you and places a €10 bill on the counter.

You look up to see your neighbor, Charlie, smiling warmly.

“Charlie?!” you say, startled. “Thanks so much. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“No need,” he says with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m really late for work.”

“I can give you a ride,” Charlie offers politely.

“That won’t be necessary.”

The familiar voice comes from behind you.

You turn just as Xavier steps forward, stopping quietly at your side. His expression is calm, though there’s a faint hint of irritation in his eyes.

“Xavier?” you blink in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

When you left earlier, he had still been fast asleep in bed.

“Xavier, good to see you,” Charlie says with a friendly smile.

“Please send me your account details. I’ll transfer the money back to you.”

“You’re in a hurry, right?” he says, turning his attention back to you. “Let’s get you to work first.”

Before you can react, he gently takes your hand and leads you out of the bakery.

As you walk down the street, Xavier speaks again, his voice quiet.

“Next time, wake me up. I can make you breakfast… or bring it to your workplace.”

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ZAYNE (word count : 423)

Zayne and you aren’t really the type to dine at upscale restaurants.

Not because you can’t afford them, but because you both prefer smaller places - the kind that feel cozy, quiet, and warm, as if the meal had been prepared by a home cook.

Lately, though, people have been raving about a newly opened restaurant, and eventually curiosity gets the better of you.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waiter asks.

“No, thank you,” you reply. “I’m so full I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“The food was excellent,” Zayne adds. “Please give my compliments to the chef.”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter says with a polite nod.

“And the bill, please.”

“Certainly. I’ll be right back.”

As the waiter walks away, Zayne glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“For someone who said the food looked too pretty to eat, you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.”

Before you can defend yourself, a voice interrupts you.

“Good evening. I’m sorry to bother you.”

A man who looks vaguely familiar approaches your table.

He turns to you. “Do you remember me? You saved me from a Wanderer attack a few days ago.”

“Ah, yes. I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” you say with a small smile.

“Your partner is very brave,” the man says, glancing toward Zayne. “I’d like to pay for your meal as a token of my appreciation.”

Zayne stills, his gaze following the man’s hand as he places a credit card on the table.

Without a word, Zayne reaches into his wallet and takes out his own card. He hands it to the waiter.

Then he slides the stranger’s card back toward him.

“Your gratitude is appreciated,” Zayne says evenly, “but that won’t be necessary.”

“Her time - and her bill - are already accounted for tonight.”

His tone is polite, yet cool enough to leave little room for argument.

The man flushes slightly, retrieves his card, and quickly mutters an apology and another thank-you before excusing himself.

Once you’re back in the car, Zayne loosens his tie with a single practiced tug as he starts the engine.

After a moment, he speaks.

“Do you usually let strangers take care of you?”

Before you can answer, he reaches over and takes your hand.

“Let me take care of these things,” he says, eyes still on the road. “Always.”

You can’t help the small smile that appears on your face.

Zayne’s jealousy is rare, but you can always tell when it surfaces.

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RAFAYEL (word count : 456)

You and Rafayel are attending a high-end charity art auction.

It was originally Thomas’s idea - a way for Rafayel to maintain his public image - but Rafayel immediately rejected the suggestion.

Naturally, Thomas turned to you for help.

You explained that you had never been to an art auction before and were curious about the experience. Besides, since it was a charity event, Rafayel would be contributing to a good cause and going together would undoubtedly make the evening more enjoyable.

Eventually, Rafayel agreed.

Of course, as a famous artist, it didn’t take long for the event organizers to pull him away, eager to introduce him to other guests and collectors.

Leaving you alone.

You stand in front of a sculpture when a bidder approaches.

“You have a good eye,” he says. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” you reply politely.

“You have good taste,” he continues, gesturing toward the sculpture.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you admit with a sheepish smile. “I’m not exactly an art connoisseur.”

“But I can appreciate its beauty.”

“If you were a sculpture, you’d certainly be worthy of praise and admiration.”

You let out an awkward laugh at the compliment.

It’s clear that this person is flirting with you.

A voice carries through the room, interrupting the conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The auction is about to commence.”

The bidder gives you a small nod before walking away, and you release a quiet sigh of relief.

You weave your way through the rows of seats until you reach Rafayel. Taking the seat beside him, he offers you a smile and hands you a bidding paddle with the same number as his.

The first item up for auction is the very sculpture you were admiring moments ago.

The bidder from earlier raises his paddle.

“Fifty thousand euros.”

Murmurs and gasps spread through the room as people notice he has bid five times the starting price.

“Please put it under Miss Number 17.”

Number 17?

That’s your number.

Stunned, you look across the room and meet his gaze.

Then you turn back to Rafayel.

His expression is a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Rafayel, this isn’t what you think…” you begin quickly.

Rafayel narrows his eyes.

“I leave your side for five minutes,” he says dramatically, “and instead of admiring the art, you’re out here collecting admirers?”

He pouts, clearly offended.

Before you can respond, Rafayel raises his paddle with exaggerated confidence.

“Fifty thousand?” he scoffs. “Pluuheese. Put her down for triple the price.”

Your eyes widen, and you completely forget how to speak.

Rafayel simply leans back, giving the bidder a smug, challenging look.

The room falls silent.

“Going once. Going twice. Sold to Mr. Rafayel.”

The clerk’s gavel strikes the podium.

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SYLUS (word count : 397)

When Sylus invited you to join him at a casino, you were surprised.

Although you had always been curious about such places and had more than once thought about visiting one with your friends someday, your moral compass had always stopped you.

You were firmly against gambling, knowing how easily it can ruin lives.

Sylus explained he was only there to meet with a few business associates.

He made it clear that you were free to decline if the environment made you uncomfortable. However, if you decided to join him, you didn’t have to participate in any of the games. You could simply stay by his side, or use his card if curiosity got the better of you.

Upon arrival, Sylus was escorted to an exclusive private lounge, leaving you alone for the time being.

You wandered through the casino, observing the elegant tables and the players focused on their games. The more you look, the more you realize you don't even know how to play any of the games even if you wanted to participate.

Eventually, you stopped beside a roulette table, standing close enough to watch but far enough away that no one would mistake your curiosity for interest in joining.

Little did you know, you had already drawn the attention of a wealthy, arrogant high-roller.

While Sylus remained occupied with his business associates, the man casually placed a single €10,000 chip onto the betting square closest to you.

He smirks as he says, “Next round is on me, sweetheart.”

Before you could even process what is happening, a leather-gloved hand settles around your waist, pulling you flush against a broad chest.

Sylus towers behind you, his dangerous, crimson gaze locking onto the high-roller.

He doesn’t look angry.

He looks amused - in the most terrifying way possible.

With a lazy flick of his finger, Sylus sends the stranger’s expensive chip right off the table. It rolls across the casino floor like a cheap piece of plastic.

“You’re throwing pocket change at what belongs to me?” Sylus says, his voice deep. “Pitiful.”

The man’s cheek flushes - either from anger, embarrassment, or both, you can’t tell.

“She doesn’t play for pennies,” he adds.

“If you want to gamble your life away so badly, you can bet against me instead.”

The challenge in his voice is unmistakable.

The high-roller mutters something under his breath before storming off

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CALEB (word count : 392)

Caleb is the type of person who spoils you relentlessly and pampers you without hesitation.

At first, it made you feel uncomfortable and uneasy. You weren’t used to being treated this way, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone to think you were taking advantage of him.

Over time, however, you slowly grew accustomed to it, realizing that this was simply Caleb’s way of showing you how much he loves and cares about you.

After complimenting one of your friend’s dresses, you ask where she bought it.

She tells you the name of a trendy boutique, and the moment you mention it to Caleb, he immediately insists that the two of you go together.

After spending a considerable amount of time browsing through countless options and trying on outfit after outfit in the fitting rooms, you are finally ready to check out.

Caleb places the clothes you have chosen on the counter before suddenly remembering one more thing he wants to pick up.

He dashes off.

The sales assistant begins scanning your items one by one, folding each piece and placing them neatly into shopping bags.

Then, out of nowhere, a flashy man in an expensive tailored suit approaches the counter.

You notice that he has been glancing your way throughout your shopping trip.

Before you can react, he places a sleek platinum card on the counter.

With a charming smile, he turns toward you.

“Put it all on mine. Beautiful clothes deserve to be worn by a beautiful woman.”

Before the sales assistant can even reach for the card, it suddenly becomes impossible to move.

The card remains pinned firmly against the marble counter, held in place by an invisible force.

Caleb’s Evol.

Caleb steps forward, his entire posture shifting into the disciplined stance of a soldier. His broad shoulders completely block you from the stranger.

He places a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. The pressure of his grip - amplified just slightly by his gravity Evol - enough to make the man’s posture buckle under the sudden weight.

“Look, buddy,” Caleb says, his voice taking on the same commanding tone he uses when addressing the fleet.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re going to pick up your card, take three steps back, and walk away.”

His gaze sharpens.

“I’m only going to ask nicely once.”

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VALKO (word count : 440)

You have been snowed under with work for the past few weeks, and as a result, you’ve completely neglected yourself.

Your hair is a mess of split ends, and your fringe has grown so long you can barely see through it. And don’t even get started on your nails - broken, chipped, and covered in nail polish that is barely hanging on.

When you call your usual salon, they tell you that your stylist is on a two-week vacation and no one else is available to take you.

You try a few other salons, only to be met with the same problem: either their stylists are fully booked, or they can’t offer an appointment that fits your schedule.

Fortunately, you have an amazing boyfriend.

“I called your workplace to let them know you’re taking tomorrow off. Non-negotiable,” Valko tells you the moment you get home.

“I’ve booked you in for a hair appointment, a manicure, and a pedicure,” he adds.

“At least, I think that’s what those services are called.”

“I’ll drive you there tomorrow and pick you up when you’re done. Just call me.”

You immediately reward him with kisses all over his face, scratching affectionately behind his wolf ears.

The salon Valko takes you to the next day looks like the kind of place celebrities and the wives of wealthy businessmen frequent.

Several hours later - a much longer stretch of pampering than you have ever spent in a salon before - you finally emerge feeling presentable again.

The staff who took care of you were wonderful: friendly, attentive, and highly professional.

You make a mental note to leave a five-star review and a generous tip as you head toward the checkout counter.

No doubt this place is expensive, and the services you had done would probably cost an entire month’s salary, but Valko had assured you that he would cover everything.

Suddenly, a wealthy, slick businessman steps up to the counter beside you, drops a high-tier membership card, and flashes you a smarmy grin.

“Put the lady's bill on my VIP tab. A gorgeous face like yours shouldn't have to worry about the price of upkeep.”

Just then, a towering 6'2" muscular frame steps into the man’s personal space.

A low, rumbling growl vibrates from his chest, raising the hairs on the back of everyone's neck.

Valko’s stance is one of danger and predatory stillness.

His golden eyes flare with an intense, territorial heat.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Upkeep? Her scent is already marked on my ledger. “I don’t let anyone else pay for the woman I intend to take care of for the rest of my life.”

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