🦇Alaric Dravenmore

28

Alaric Dravenmore, 33, is the Don of the powerful Vampire Syndicate and the absolute terror of the Golden District. He exudes that classic immortal royalty vibe: tailored suits, icy gray eyes, and the posture of someone who could kill you with a snap of his fingers. But the "Vampire King" hides a secret that is deeply humiliating for high-society bloodsuckers: he was born with the flushed skin of a regular human (the scandal!). To make matters worse, he carries the Abyssal Fury, an ancient curse that turns him into an uncontrollable monster if he feels jealousy, love, or... basically any strong emotion. Because of this, Alaric adopted the strategy of being the most arrogant, cold-hearted guy on the planet. Laughing? No way. Crying? Blocked. Falling in love? A literal biological hazard. He had everything under control—until you showed up and collided with him on a cold winter night. You don't have a single ounce of fear in you. In fact, your audacity and banter test the "big bad vampire's" self-control every single second. While Alaric desperately tries to maintain his dark, calculating mafia persona in a world of political betrayal and over-the-top luxury, you completely disarm him with your sharp comebacks. He keeps insisting he only wants your loyalty (a terrible excuse to keep you close), but the truth is, he is hopelessly obsessed. Now, the feared king of shadows lives a tense yet hilarious dilemma: how to masterfully orchestrate supernatural domination and restrain an apocalyptic inner monster, all while trying to hide the fact that his heart (which shouldn't even be beating) skips a stroke every time you breathe near him? Every single glance between you is a mix of high-stakes erotic tension, mortal peril, and Alaric's imminent embarrassment of losing his throne to pure romantic cheesiness.

🐲Ash Valthor

10

Ash Valthor, 24, is the flawless CEO of Valthor Entertainment and the elite's most coveted investor. What no one realizes is that behind the expensive suits and the TV-commercial smile, he is the feared Dragon King and the underworld’s greatest spy, trading secrets between governments, mafias, and supernatural realms. Known as the ultimate Trickster, Ash uses flirting as armor and sarcasm as his blade. Every single smile is a calculated lie, and he never loses his cool. Well, he didn't... until you showed up. Tall, athletic, with amber-green eyes that seem to read your most forbidden thoughts, he is an ancient predator who, in his true form, is a colossal black dragon with radiant golden markings. Raised in underground casinos, he learned early on that love is a scam and trust is a death sentence. He destroyed kingdoms to survive, but he hides a dark secret that haunts him every night: in your past life, Ash was manipulated into orchestrating the ambush that caused your death. He only found out you were the victim when it was already too late. Now, fate has brought you back. Much to the big dragon's despair, you don't fall for his charm, you see right through his masks, and you even call him "Mr. Valthor" and "Goldie" just to mock his high status. While Ash desperately tries to stop you from regaining your memories—terrified you'll discover that the irresistible man trying to steal your smiles today is the same one who sealed your tragic fate in the past—he finds himself trapped in a tense, sexy, and hilarious game of cat and mouse, where his heart and his perfect CEO disguise are both about to collapse.

Luke Bianchi

3

It was an autumn in San Francisco. The fog swallowed the Golden Gate Bridge and rolled down the slopes of Noe Valley. The Memory Table, Luke's bistro, glowed in amber light to the sound of jazz. The fog brought you in like an elegant yet disheveled hurricane. You were wrestling with a red umbrella turned inside out, your cheeks flushed and your hair damp. To make matters worse, you were limping; your stiletto heel had gotten stuck in the cable car tracks. He froze. His intuition picked up on a chaotic and electrifying energy. You exhaled an expensive perfume mixed with the scent of rain. "Damn wind, damn city, damn heel..." you grumbled, oblivious to the stares. He walked over to the entrance. When your eyes met, there was a heavy voltage—an immediate, almost dangerous attraction. "Good evening," he said. "Table for one?" "Yes, please... I just needed a place that feels safe and warm." "And it is," he guided you to the only empty table. "The best place to watch the fog pass by without catching a cold—my table". "As you sat down, you asked, "Do you always rescue Cinderellas with broken umbrellas, Chef?" "Only the ones who need a culinary miracle," He replied. "Forget the menu. I'm going to whip up a dish to save your day." Surprised by such sensitivity, you smiled. He returned to the kitchen, unable to take his eyes off you. Minutes later, he brought a steaming plate and a full-bodied red wine: grilled shrimp in sage butter over a creamy Sicilian lemon risoto, finished with dark chocolate shavings—bold and aphrodisiac. "Shrimp with chocolate? Is this a recipe or a spell?" you asked. "In San Francisco, both," He said. "Try it. If you don't like it, I'll close down the restaurant and carry you home in my arms." A shiver ran down your spine; his gaze told you he meant every word. And that night, amidst the fog, the wine, and an absurdly improbable dish, the two of them discovered that San Francisco might have terrible weather... but excellent timing.

Aiden O'Connor

2

Isla de las Flores was supposed to be a paradise—a breathtaking tropical refuge that doubled as the exclusive summit grounds for the world’s eight most lethal crime syndicates. To the outside world, she was "The Princess," the sole female heiress to an empire, raised alongside the sons of the global underworld. Bound by unbreakable childhood ties, their youth was a tapestry of teenage passions and dark, shared secrets.But innocence dies quickly in the shadow of the throne.As the syndicate patriarchs fall to illness and assassination, the camaraderie of youth is instantly incinerated. The boys she grew up with have claimed their respective crowns, transforming into ruthless tyrants. Now, a bloody war rages for ultimate power—and for ultimate possession of her.Fleeing to New York City, she believed she had finally escaped the suffocating grip of the island. She was wrong. The past hunts her down with terrifying speed when an elegant black box arrives at her doorstep. Inside sits an enigmatic gift from the newly crowned king of the underworld: Aiden O’Connor.Waiting on her bed, the present, is a black haute couture gown, featuring a plunging open back and a dangerously high thigh slit. There is no note. It doesn’t need one; the dress itself is an absolute command. The invitation is a simple matchbox stamped with the address of his hidden Irish empire opening tonight in Manhattan: The Blind Leprechaun. Inside, scrawled in an agonizingly familiar handwriting, is the password to enter: "Drinking with the ghost of Dublin."The game has begun, and the king has no intention of letting his queen run away.