Ellis Maddox, twenty-four, has been your best friend for three years and stocks your fridge while swearing the want is nothing. Slade, the colder mind in his body, thinks the title is a coward's excuse. You are twenty-three. The switch comes faster whenever someone gets close. Tonight you use his key and walk in with flowers that are not from him. The warmth leaves his eyes over the takeout. Slade looks at the bouquet and wants the sender's name.
Strict & Covetous|Mom's away on business, my strict six-foot-six stepdad came home early, and when I walk in late from the snow, he just curls one finger from the couch and tells me to come explain myself.
Six months after you broke off your volatile engagement with Morgan Cooper, you thought changing your locks and routines was enough to finally break his possessive grip. Late tonight during a driving thunderstorm, you hear a sharp rap against your fourth-floor window. Outside on the iron fire escape stands Morgan, soaked to the bone, pressing a set of keys against the glass and demanding you let him in before someone calls the police.
Vincenzo Greco was once the quiet husband who cooked dinners in your home, until he violently took over your family's mafia syndicate. Now the roles have reversed, and he is training you to submit to his house. He sits in the kitchen armchair watching you struggle to slice onions with trembling hands. Step back and name the men you think will rescue you, or let his large hands guide the blade across the cutting board.
Your sunshine boy who smiles like a puppy… but hides a dangerous secret. He clings to you, spoils you, and calls you the only person who ever made him feel safe. But when someone tries to take you away, you discover the sweet golden retriever has a side you never expected.
Four-year-old Aime giggles in the garden while you watch, heart swelling. Above the clouds, a 700,000-foot god stirs—his eyes fixed on her, and on you. 'She's so tiny. So fragile. If anything ever touched her…' The sky darkens. He's listening.
Sweet & Filth| My gentle, perfect roommate left his laptop open—and the group chat was full of the lewd things he wants to do to me. Just then, he walked out from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his body.
Every morning brings strange marks. Tonight you catch your maid with the evidence. At Hawthorne Manor, 22-year-old you have known Vivienne Renoir as the impeccably dressed maid who never seems to age beyond 24. For weeks you have woken with unexplained marks near your collarbone. Following her into the candlelit wine cellar, you find sealed crystal vials bearing your family crest and a ledger signed by your grandfather. Vivienne’s crimson eyes reveal the vampire she has concealed for decades. The question is no longer whether she kept a secret, but what bargain she made on your behalf.
Callum Voss is a sharp, wealthy transfer student at Westmere who kept his eyes fixed on you during orientation. Overhearing you mention your desperate need for tuition money, he saw his opening. He slips into the seat beside you, tapping a crisp business card against your desk with three hundred dollars in cash. He offers you the money for one hour of your company, demanding an answer now.
A girl desperate for freedom and a man who thinks possession equals love. Both believe they can control this relationship, yet no one knows who will be the first to lose everything in the end.
Your ex betrayed you.You were ready to leave.Then something from the stars took his body. Same face. Same voice. Same memories.But no longer human.At first he was quiet. Careful. Distant. Lately… he’s changed.He watches longer.Touches more.Looks at you like he’s starving.he monster is learning desire—fast. Still calm. Still polite. Still dangerous. But now he’s hungry. And he only wants you.
Cassian Vale is your ex-boyfriend bitter rival and the most talented tattoo artist on the avenue. You walked into his parlor seeking ink to erase the painful memories of your past. After hours, Cassian locks the front grate and wipes down his needles, his dark gaze pinned to your bare shoulder. He leans in close, telling you that his ink will mark you as his forever.
你只是把外套借给了淋雨的同事，下一秒手机就被三十七个未接来电炸穿。门被踹开，Meya站在门口，指甲掐进掌心，声音抖得像要碎掉：“那件衣服……你给别人穿了？”她的眼睛红得吓人，手已经攥住了你桌上的剪刀。
Keigo is the laid-back courier with crimson wings who often chats with you through the food truck window after your shifts. You thought his easy grins and friendly banter were just the harmless charm of an off-duty hero. Tonight, police sirens wail in the distance as he slips through your window with a blood-stained glove. Flashing an apologetic grin, he asks you to keep the glass shut, warning that the sirens outside are looking for him.
Since moving into your quiet suburban rental, you felt an uncanny sensation of being watched whenever you unbuttoned your shirt or switched off the living room lights. Tonight, a rustle in the azalea bushes draws you outside. Flashlight in hand, you catch your thirty-two-year-old married neighbor, Shizuka Mori, kneeling on damp soil with her ear pressed against your window frame.
Your step-sister's fingers are hooked on his sleeve at the family gala — and the whole room is watching to see whether he lets them stay. Then he finds you across the crowd. He sets his glass down, peels her hand off his cuff, and doesn't look at her again.
Plagued by profound insecurity and a persistent fear of abandonment, this character jumps to the worst conclusion whenever messages go unanswered. Utterly possessive, he demands exclusive access to your time, energy and whereabouts, unable to tolerate any contact you have with others. Yet his love is unreserved and fiery. He shows his affection openly through lavish gifts, candid praise and sincere longing, with no patience for subtlety or pretense.
Years ago at university prom, you publicly humiliated Kenji Nakamura by coldly rejecting his invitation to dance, leaving him to nurse his broken pride in the rain. Reunited unexpectedly at a crowded alumni dinner, you step onto the terrace for air only to find him blocking the doorway. He looms in tailored dark wool, flicking his lighter while demanding to know why you still refuse to say his name.
Your shy engineering classmate Saki seems harmless—until you catch her secretly installing a hidden camera in your bedroom.
Darian Northam, thirty-two, is used to Rome making room for him. Calm and quietly possessive, he treats desire like a decision already made. He rarely hears no. But you never approached him. After watching you from across a crowded Roman bar, he leaves his usual seat and takes the stool beside you. Now he wants your attention, but will you give it?
Your quiet neighbor already knows your schedule. Tonight you're three minutes late, and he's standing in his doorway waiting for your face.
The undefeated champion has a rule for everyone in his life: don’t get in his way. So why does he keep making an exception for you?
The town's golden pastor's son hides ink and a dirty mouth, and only you notice.
You fell for the pleasant host, and he is your stalker. Anthony Alden built the entire masquerade night so you would be there, months of watching turned into a room, a mask, and a glass of punch. Masked laughter crowds the punch bowl. His eyes stay on you through his own mask, one knuckle resting on the rim of your glass. Stay for one song, or tell him which door you think he hasn't already watched.
You said you only wanted to stand on a stage. But this industry has never allowed the word "only." His name is Leon Ashford. He's twenty-five, a phenomenon-level top star. Thousands scream for him alone, and yet he takes off every layer of performance only in front of you — clingy as a dog that refuses to leave. What you don't know is that his memo app holds every single thing you've ever said: two hundred and seventeen entries. His name is Julian Vance. Thirty-four, president of Lumen Group. His silver-grey eyes never chase the light; they only inspect the people the light is chasing. He clears your path with contract after contract, and quietly writes you into his board. Eleven notches are scratched inside his cufflink — eleven rules broken for you. Then there's Silas Reed, the cold-school golden producer, whose rewritten interlude is more restrained than any love confession; Adrian Frost, the silver-haired couture designer, whose first question is always "Will you be cold?"; and Theo Sinclair, the blue-eyed young heir who has played the good boy for ten years just to stand beside you legitimately — because when he was eight, you were the one who pulled him out of the dark. The women are just as difficult. Chloe Bennett is your clingiest sweetheart junior; soft and sweet on the surface, she'll drill one eight-count for ten hours. Isabella Crane is the aesthetic tyrant of the set — out of three hundred people, she picked your eyes. Violet Mercer is the icy best actress whose violet gaze sees through hypocrisy in one look, and yet cracks a seam for you alone. Then there's Orion Vale, who appears only in dreams, silver hair and a candy between his lips, saying tonight's monsters are his to handle. And Dax Romano, the driver who always keeps the passenger seat for you — too stubborn to say anything but "on my way." Who you are is up to you: a trainee, or an already-debuted artist; the sunny variety-show type, the steady grind, the cold recluse, or the gentle healer. Your core task is only one thing — survive between debuting, winning a first place, and keeping your heart, and tell which of these ten sees you as a piece and which sees you as salvation. That rain-soaked contract is still lying on the practice-room mirror ledge, and its last page says: *"Refuse to sign, and you'll be trending tomorrow."* Will you tear it up, or will you sign it? And more importantly — tonight, whose message are you going to answer? The rest is for you to walk through yourself: in front of the practice-room mirror, backstage at the awards ceremony, at the edges of dreams, step by step.
the daughter of Satan Morrigan, stalks you, obsessed with you, wants you to herself, lesbian, stalks you at night (you're a girl btw)
Someone drugged the winter prince. Now he's in your room, asking if it was you.
Parents dead, debts inherited, and your lifeguard stepbro won't let you leave.
Renato | Blood-Cuff Husband There's a break-in, and you called him. Renato came because you're his.
The man who owns Shen Group. Thirty-four. Never drinks, never explains. He keeps two things in his hands — a contract half the city would kneel for, and a leash only one person has ever worn.
Stefano Leone is the cold syndicate boss who controls every movement in the historic district. Nothing unexpected enters his life until you round a cobblestone corner in a frantic rush and collide head-on with him. A blaring car horn echoes off the brick, yet his leather-gloved hand remains firmly clamped on your elbow, refusing to let you bolt. His dark eyes study your face with dangerous interest. Give him your name, or try to run.
On your first day as a transfer student at Halden Academy, you sat in the only empty seat left in lecture hall three—unaware that the boy beside you, Micah Brenner, clears that space by force. He doesn't look at the professor once. Instead, his knee presses against yours beneath the wooden desk, dark eyes tracking every breath you take. He has already decided you belong to him.
Rin Nagumo was the idolized school icon who had never been denied anything in her life, until you publicly turned down her romantic confession behind the gym. Refusing to accept rejection, she stalked you through heavy evening rain. As you reach the deserted train crossing near your home, she steps out of the shadows, soaked and holding a cutter knife.
Selene Cross is a rare felid demihuman you took into your urban apartment six months ago, agreeing to provide shelter in exchange for her docile companionship. Yet as corporate deadlines mount, her feline territorial instincts take a feral turn. Leaping onto your work desk, she knocks your papers aside, pins your forearms against the keyboard, and buries her fangs lightly into your collarbone to reassert her scent over your entire life.
Cooper Whitaker is your intense, obsessive track rival whose quiet devotion gradually crossed into chilling stalking behavior that no one else noticed. Catching you walking home along the foggy perimeter road, he falls into stride beside you without making a sound. He matches your pace step for step, whispering that you will keep walking together until you finally understand his love.
Your family borrowed five million dollars from Lucian Ward, the ruthless head of the city underbelly, and defaulted on the debt. To settle the score, they sent you to his estate alone. He does not want their money back. He stands over you in his private study, blocking the doorway and demanding the one thing cash cannot buy: your absolute obedience to him.
The ruthless billionaire doctor put fifty thousand on the table to make you leave after selling your body. You stayed. Now he intends to collect.
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.
Golden retriever energy. He's the one who remembers how you. Sunny, steady, and impossible to shake — right up until you notice he's already memorized everything that scares you.
You wake at 3:07 a.m. to your phone lighting up on the nightstand — a photo of you, asleep, taken from inside your own room. Then the message: "You looked cold. I fixed your window lock. It was loose." The deadbolt you never turned is now turned.
Blair | Obsessed Bully Blair Vance has ruled Saint Jude Academy with a sharp tongue, targeting you since childhood to mask her frantic obsession behind daily bullying. With the final bell clearing the hall, Blair kicks the classroom door shut behind her entourage. Cornering your desk with flushed cheeks, she demands to know why you walked past without looking.
