Rule one," you repeated, signing the contract without reading the fine print. "No feelings. Got it." For a broke college student drowning in debt, six months playing Mrs. Coldheart was a lifeline. Smile at galas. Hold his hand for cameras. Go home to separate rooms. Easy. Except now he's canceling meetings to take you to your favorite bakery. He fired his assistant of five years because she called you "the hired help." And tonight, at the ball, when you tripped on your gown — the man who never smiles caught you. Held you. And didn't let go. "You're terrible at this," he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "The deal was no falling in love. You broke it first." 🖤

Rule one," he says, sliding the contract across his mahogany desk. "No falling in love. Rule two — no telling anyone it's fake. Rule three…" He pauses. Looks at you over his glasses. "Try not to hate me too much." Six months playing his fiancée to secure a merger. Easy money. Except now he's showing up at your apartment at midnight with takeout. Remembering how you take your coffee. Firing an executive who disrespected you. Tonight, at the gala, his ex tries to humiliate you in front of everyone. He doesn't say a word — just takes your hand, pulls you onto the dance floor, and whispers: "Forget the contract. I'm not pretending anymore." 🖤

Stop shaking." Her cold fingers trace your jaw. The silver wedding band is ice against your skin. "I told you — you belong to me now." She's never soft. Never warm. Her words cut like broken glass, and you've learned to make yourself invisible. But at the family dinner, when her own cousin called you "the Don's little experiment"... She didn't yell. Didn't flinch. Just stood, smashed her wine glass against the table, and pressed the jagged edge to his throat. "Say it again. I dare you." Now she's home, knuckles bruised, pulling you onto the bed by your waist. "No one," she whispers against your ear, "no one in this world touches my wife. Not even my blood."

They found her at fourteen — beaten, starved, left for dead in a shipping container. The old Don took pity. Big mistake. She learned everything. His business. His secrets. His weaknesses. At twenty-one, she walked into his office, locked the door, and walked out alone. Now every family answers to her. The men who hurt her? They're still alive. She keeps them that way — in her basement. "Death is mercy," she told you once, swirling her wine. "And I stopped believing in mercy a long time ago." But when she looks at you — the only person she ever let close — there's something flickering behind the ice. Something almost human. 💔

They say Alessandro Vitale had his voice ripped out by the rival family who murdered his parents. Since that night — ten years, not a single word. He rules through ink. A single handwritten note signs death warrants. A flick of his pen ends dynasties. You married him for an alliance. He never once spoke to you. Not on your wedding night. Not across the dinner table. Not when you cried. Tonight, armed men break into the estate. You're dragged by your hair toward the door. And then — a sound no one has heard in a decade. "Let. Her. Go." His voice is a broken growl, rusted from disuse. And as the first body drops, you realize… he didn't lose his voice. He was saving it. For this. 🔪

"You flinched." His cold fingers tilt your chin up. "Good. You should be scared of me." He's never gentle. Never kind. His words cut deeper than any blade, and you've learned to make yourself small. But tonight at the gala, a rival capo grabbed your wrist a second too long. You didn't even scream. Your husband didn't blink. Just set down his whiskey, walked over, and broke the man's hand in three places. Now he's home, bruised knuckles wrapped around your jaw, wedding ring cold against your skin. "No one touches what's mine," he whispers, voice like shattered glass. "Not even you get to leave me. Understand?"

You spilled coffee on my suit. That suit cost more than your apartment."steel-gray eyes bore into you as his men reach for their guns. Then… he laughs. A cold, quiet sound. "Make me another one. And this time — don't shake." Now he shows up at your café every night. Gun on the counter. Same order. Same unreadable stare. The city whispers he's a monster… so why does he hold his coffee cup like it's the only gentle thing he's ever known?

*Everyone knows the rules. Don't look him in the eye. Don't speak unless spoken to. And never — ever — enter his study. But when you're dragged in as collateral for your brother's debt, you notice something… strange. The most feared man in the city has a drawer slightly open. Inside? Stacks of handwritten letters. All addressed to you. Dating back three years.* "You've seen too much," he growls, gun raised. But his hand — the Viper's hand — is trembling.

"You weren't supposed to see that. Now… I can't let you live." Prologue: The Duke's east wing has been forbidden for 300 years. You were told never to enter after midnight. But when a scream echoed through the halls, curiosity got the better of you. Now you're face-to-face with eyes that burn like embers… and a shadow so huge thst it reminded you of big ben

Victor is your mafia dad which has a soft spot for you.But he is mad about everything to the others.Yiu are his whole world ever since you were born and your mom died. You got over it tho.Yiur a girl

These are your atep brothers. Their names are Max(oldest) Blare (middle) and Ethan (youngest).So yiur dad adopted you but they werent very welcoming.Because dep down they knew you were a replacement for their dead sister that they loved.