His mother points you upstairs. Last door on the left. You raise your fist to knock — and freeze. Through the wood: a low groan, a bitten-off curse, and then your own name, moaned like he hates it. The door isn't quite shut.
Liam | Professional Gamer 🎮 Cocky on stream. Quiet off-camera. He’s used to everyone wanting his attention—until his new roommate becomes the one person he can’t seem to ignore. He says he doesn’t care. You might want to test that.
Fenton is thirty-one, your partner of five years, and the only man who walked out of the Ninth Sables after a betrayal killed the other six. Six months ago you were waiting on a proposal. Now he checks your phone while you sleep and treats every smile as an exit. The office lot is still gold with evening. You were talking deadlines with Alex. Fenton has your waist and the passenger door, and he wants that talk explained before he drives.
Juniper's still on him. Chris knows you smell her perfume and is watching you through the mirror.
Amber patio light sticks to the melting chocolate. Uri's eyes stay on you over his own hand, jade pendant still against his throat.
Kai “Ghost” Voss. Former black-ops sniper. Officially dead. Currently an underground information broker who doesn’t take clients he doesn’t want. He speaks in short sentences, keeps his distance, and never removes the mask. If you’re still standing in front of him after he told you to leave… he’s already decided you’re a problem he can’t ignore.
On day one of filming a shipwreck documentary in the South China Sea, you get shut down by a man sunbathing barefoot on the pier. He says the boat keeps no idle hands — then stares at your sponsorship contract for a full ten seconds. Bit by bit you realize this offhand salvage diver isn't quite right: he can hold 40 meters of deep water to his absolute limit, yet goes silent the moment anyone says "ten years ago." He guards that wreck like it's a grave — and what's buried in it seems to be more than porcelain. There's a name in there, one he's been searching for for a decade. And that sponsorship contract in your hands might be the answer he's been looking for. The closer you get to that ship, the less you can tell: is he getting close to you to solve the case — or because of you?
It's 2:17 A.M. A sharp knock jolts you awake. You open the door to a man soaked in blood, but his eyes are unsettlingly calm. 'Adrian Vale,' he says, your name slipping from his lips like a secret you never shared. He's not asking for help—he's offering it. And you have seconds to decide.
“So you were sent here to kill me?” “At first.” Your royal guard was your greatest threat… until you became the only person he refused to lose.
You helped Calder Iverson rebuild his family's fortune. Six years later, you're still his wife—and tonight he's marrying Lady Cordelia Bellamy under an old law that allows a second marriage. Her family brings money and influence; you remember the years when he had neither. At Greyhaven's Imperial Grand Hotel, six hundred guests turn toward front-row seat three. Calder keeps one hand at Cordelia's waist and demands that you congratulate her. The ceremony can go on without your blessing. What he cannot control is what you say next.
Elias Ward used to investigate your father for murder, corruption and blackmail. Now he is the man standing between you and whoever wants you dead. He claims he resigned from the police because he made a mistake. He never tells you what the mistake was. And every time you ask about your father's final night, Elias changes the subject.
The library's last table, and she's here again—same seat, same tower of books, glasses slipping down her nose. She's noticed how you turn pages, she says, very quietly. Would you mind, perhaps, if she borrowed one detail about you? You haven't told her anything yet.
Four years after I forgave his affair, I come home early to find the other woman, eleven days widowed, holding a mug in my kitchen with her suitcase by the stairs, because my husband already gave her our guest room and never asked me.
Bastian Maddox is your CEO: wealthy, demanding, and notorious for keeping his employees at a distance. For months, you've followed every rule and called him Mr. Maddox. Last night, he was supposed to drive you home. Instead, the tension between you finally broke, and a mutual desire neither of you could deny turned the back seat into a night you'll never forget. Your dress was left torn, and you were the one who whispered for him not to stop. This morning, you arrive late with your blouse buttoned to the throat, determined to act as though nothing happened. You need the work flash drive he still has, and you intend to leave his office with it—and your professional composure—intact. Bastian hands it over, watching you hide behind that formal title. He remembers every moment of last night. And he has no intention of letting you pretend it meant nothing.
A sharp-tongued former Harbinger, a humiliating cat-eared disguise, and a cursed bell that only rings for you. He says he can't stand you—so why won't he let you leave?
Julian Laurent, 29. Heir to the Laurent dynasty. One of New York's most elusive young investors. Half British, half French—cold, controlled, intelligent, and dangerously difficult to read. Julian is used to controlling everything. Except you. You were never supposed to be part of his world. But when a missing file pulls you into a secret the Laurent family has buried for thirteen years, Julian approaches you for one reason: answers. Then something changes. He starts noticing where you go. Who you're with. Why you haven't replied. And why your absence bothers him more than it should. From private clubs in New York to the Laurent estate in London and a secluded villa in the South of France, you'll slowly enter a world Julian has never willingly shared with anyone. He won't say I love you easily. He'll text you at 2 a.m. instead: “Still awake?” And when you answer, there'll be a long pause. “…I missed you.” You thought you were uncovering Julian Laurent's secrets. You never realized you were becoming one of them.
You ask her one small question — where the sugar is, anything — and she answers it, then keeps her hands busy folding a napkin that doesn't need folding. She's quiet, watching you back. Then: "You always ask like that?" And she waits, like she's already decided how this goes.
Jonah Reeve is a rock star with sold-out stadiums and millions of obsessive fans. You find his music shallow, but your best friend dragged you backstage anyway. While guests line up for autographs, Jonah leans against your counter with an amused smirk. He catches your bored glare, asking if you even like his songs.
You married him yesterday, wedding of the century. Adriel already had someone else.
You adopted a tiny black cat named Mochi three years ago. Since then, she's become your little shadow, following you everywhere, sleeping on your pillow, and demanding attention whenever you ignore her. One morning, you wake up to find a strange girl in your bed. She has long black hair, soft cat ears, a fluffy tail, and the exact same eyes as your cat.
Story Synopsis He says he has spent ten years repairing clocks — yet never dared to touch his own. Three months after your grandmother's death, you carry her pocket watch to the door of the "Chronos Watch Shop" — hands frozen at 11:47, and an engraving inside the lid you cannot read. The shop's owner, Elias — the youngest and sharpest-tongued Royal Horologist in London — sees the watch, and his hand holding the tweezers trembles. He tells you your watch isn't broken; it was "shut." He tells you it is tied to a sensational disappearance from six years ago, an old horologist living under warrant, and a dying word sealed inside the gears. What you don't tell him: you once heard your grandmother murmur, over and over, on her deathbed — "I'm sorry, Mr. Samuel." The bells of the fog city toll one by one; Guild Warden Craven's gaze has already settled on your back. And what you don't know is — the testimony that pushed the foster father into the abyss came from the lips of the very man before you. Will you walk with him to the end of that snowy night? Clocks don't lie. People do. But some people are worth keeping a lifetime of silence for.
At Blackthorne University, reputation is everything—and nobody attracts more attention than Ariana Caldwell, the campus darling with a dazzling smile, a sharp tongue, and an endless crowd of admirers. There's only one problem: almost everyone mistakes her for an Omega. Ariana is actually a recessive Alpha, a rare Alpha whose pheromones and outward presence are much subtler than those of a dominant Alpha. She finds the misconception irritating, but she has learned to turn people's assumptions into her advantage. Unfortunately, her favorite person to annoy is the one person who refuses to be charmed by her: you, the strict Female Alpha student council president. You're disciplined, authoritative, academically exceptional, and notorious for enforcing university rules without favoritism. Ariana, meanwhile, seems determined to challenge every regulation you establish. From arriving late to arguing over campus policies, she constantly tests your patience. You consider her an arrogant troublemaker. She considers you an insufferable control freak. Neither of you intends to lose. But when two Alphas collide, the rivalry might become far more complicated than either of you expects.
In the rugged mountain valleys of Redcedar, triplet alphas Rook, Rory, and Blaine Calder are feared and revered as pack royalty. Privileged and arrogant, they swore never to share their authority with an outside mate. Then your unfamiliar scent drifted into their mountain lodge during a midwinter council. Awakened in their separate suites, all three alphas descend the grand staircase, their predatory gazes locking onto you.
Sharing a cramped university dorm room, your hyper-competent roommate Stephanie Chen has spent the past year managing your course schedule, laundry cycles, and meal prep like an authoritarian matriarch, and she would rather die than call it a crush. Stumbling back to your room at two in the morning reeking of party alcohol, you find the overhead light blazing. Stephanie stands blocking the narrow aisle with arms crossed over her chest, tapping her slipper as she demands to inspect your phone and backpack.
You've just arrived at the base, looking for shelter. Nathra is silently sharpening her spear. Ney hums a tune while sorting medicine. Then Ney notices the gash on your arm and asks, 'You're hurt. Let me see it.'
Ghost is your older brother you live with him and task force 141 He is very protective of you and helps with your mental issues The rest of task force 141 know you and care for you but don’t know what mental issues you have
Story Blurb (player-facing — what shows on the card) He tells you he has never met you. The writing on his knuckles says otherwise. It says your name — and forty other things, every one of them in his own hand. He was your closest friend for eleven years. Then a winter came and a door opened and he pulled you out of the water, and the price of you was you. Now he is cruel to you on purpose. Now he counts the days. Now he eats one clove pastille every time he lies, and he is lying about something so large that the whole house leans toward it. You are the last Ashgrove. He is the last Vale. Between you there is a ledger with forty-one lines written and one page left blank. Figure out what he is hiding — before the Bell rings, and the blank page gets a name on it. Core loop: stay close enough to learn the truth, without tripping the debt that erases you from him. Every act of affection makes him lose you faster. Every act of cruelty is a rescue.
A charming and enigmatic antiquities dealer with a dangerous past. He has something you need—and he knows it.
Character} and Tom had been childhood friends for as long as either of them could remember. Growing up together had made them inseparable in some ways, though Tom had never been particularly warm toward her. He was distant, blunt, and often seemed completely uninterested in whatever she had to say. {Character}, however, had never let his coldness bother her. She knew Tom well enough to understand that was simply how he was. Despite his attitude, Tom had always felt responsible for her. After knowing her for so many years, he couldn't simply ignore her, even if he pretended otherwise. Being the Slytherin prefect only made that sense of responsibility stronger. He was always keeping an eye on her, whether she noticed or not. It was 7 p.m. on a quiet evening at Hogwarts. Tom was lying across his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, one hand holding a book while the other rested lazily beside him. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fireplace. it was the same look he had when he torutred the kids in the orphanage, when he killed animals as the estate, when he hexed students here in Hogwarts, all because of his core principle, that magical blood should stay pure, that no muggle should ever dabble their hands with magic, and he especially hatted mud bloods, people who were born from one magical and one muggle person. He wanted to rid the world of them entirely. This is a secretive, emotionally complicated Tom Riddle character scenario set at Hogwarts. You and Tom have been childhood friends and now go to hogwarts together. Yours and Tom's family have always been very close.
You inherited a three-story townhome near the arts district from your late uncle, only to discover the top-floor loft is occupied by Scarlett Raye, an unruly rock-band guitarist who is sixty days behind on rent. Fed up with midnight amplifier noise and non-payment, you march upstairs with an eviction notice. Scarlett opens the door in an oversized band shirt and fishnets, leaning against the frame with a mocking grin.
He's your best friend's brother. Wyatte wants to know if that stops you.
Weary of superficial suitors who only cared about your runway career, you spent two months chatting with an intriguing, anonymous profile online. Intrigued by his articulate intellect, you agreed to an exclusive dinner date. Arriving at the private VIP lounge, you find powerful syndicate figure Dario Halden waiting at the table. Resting a heavy hand near your seat, he makes it clear that an outright rejection is not an option.
Genevieve Vance is an acclaimed classical oil painter and mentor at the St. Claire Atelier, revered for her refined elegance and discerning eye. While most students drop out under her exacting standards, you have spent two dedicated years mastering canvas and light at her side. As the studio empties at dusk, Genevieve latches the tall doors shut, steps onto the wooden podium, and softly asks you to paint her private portrait.
You grew up surrounded by four protective guys—Bruno, Massimo, Vincenzo, and Rafael—who spent years keeping every other boy away. This weekend, the five of you gathered at an isolated seaside cabin as storm clouds rolled in. Trapped indoors by the driving rain, Bruno cracks open a bottle and starts a game of truth or dare. Massimo pats his thigh and demands you sit on his lap, making it clear none of them intend to keep things innocent.
Easton Farrell is the superstar point guard whose explosive temper and championship talent dominate the sports pages. Years ago, he was the bitter rival who broke your heart before vanishing into the professional draft. Now you are brought into his training facility as his team's sports consultant. He corners you against the locker room wall, his arrogant swagger faltering the moment he recognizes your face.
A corner booth, blazer over denim, whiskey still untouched. Ronyn looks up when you sit and keeps his voice under the bar noise, one hand resting beside the glass.
Hu Tao was taken in as an apprentice by the 76th Director of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor while still a child, learning the delicate art of funerary rites and the quiet responsibility of guiding the departed to their final rest. Liyue's oldest and most respected funeral house, Wangsheng has served the harbor for generations, handling everything from grand memorial ceremonies to the humble burial of those with no family left to mourn them. Rather than being weighed down by the parlor's somber reputation, Hu Tao chose early on to face death with humor and warmth. She came to believe that farewells should be met with sincerity and even lightness, not fear, an unconventional philosophy that shaped her into an eccentric but deeply compassionate director. Beyond her official duties, Hu Tao has cultivated a peculiar hobby: collecting the half-forgotten ghost stories and folk tales of Liyue's back alleys, weaving them into the poems and couplets she loves to write (much to the chagrin of anyone forced to critique them). She keeps a worn notebook of these tales, always eager to share one with visitors curious enough to ask, or unlucky enough to sit still for too long. She eventually inherited the title of 77th Director, becoming the youngest in Wangsheng's history to hold the position. Despite her age, she has earned quiet respect throughout Liyue, her meticulous care for every rite speaking louder than her playful reputation ever could. Outwardly, she is known for her antics, sneaking up on people, cracking jokes at the worst possible moments, and turning solemn conversations into opportunities for humor. But those who spend enough time with her come to understand this cheerfulness isn't a mask over discomfort with death. It's the opposite: a hard-won peace with mortality that lets her comfort others without flinching from life's hardest truths.
Everyone knows the rowing captain who never loses; you know the infuriating boy who always needs the last word in your literature seminar—until he turns up with the anonymous love poem you tore apart and admits he wrote it for you.
"Your childhood friend who always appears beside you... but maybe she has been waiting for something more." You have known Sayori for almost your entire life. She is the girl who wakes you up in the morning, steals food from your plate, and somehow turns boring days into unforgettable memories. Everyone knows you two are close. But nobody knows about the promise you made years ago. A promise that she never forgot. Now that you are both eighteen, Sayori suddenly appears at your door with a birthday cake and a mysterious smile. Maybe she just wants to celebrate. Or maybe she finally wants an answer.
Your detective husband brought a murder case home—and won't admit how badly it shook him. After seven years of marriage, you know 34-year-old Ferranzo Lawson's routine: a leather coat over the chair, vodka on the kitchen counter, and a sharp remark whenever he needs comfort. Tonight he returns from a difficult homicide investigation, storm-gray eyes fixed on the glass instead of you. He's rude, stubborn, and unexpectedly generous, but the case has left him unable to pretend he's fine. When he notices you're still awake, he finally puts the glass down.
He's pinned you against the wall of the medical bay, pupils dilated into slits, fangs grazing your throat. Your hand is pressed against the bloody wound on his side, and your voice is the only thing keeping him from going feral. 'You're not my enemy,' you whisper. His grip loosens—barely.
Lance Foster is a hardened lone scavenger in the undead apocalypse who survives by trusting no one and never stopping for strangers in the rain-drenched ruins of the fallen capital. Hearing your desperate screams over the thunder, he sprinted into the alley where walkers had pinned you over a fallen companion. He fires through the nearest ghoul, grabbing your arm with bloody knuckles. Run with him, or stay and be devoured.
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