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  As the night deepened, the atmosphere in the cabin grew thick with tension and unspoken fears. Tristan stood before the canvas, the vibrant colors of his creation swirling in chaotic harmony, a reflection of both his inner turmoil and the bond he was forging with Leon. Yet, the glimpse of the shadowy figure outside haunted him, a stark reminder that they were not just battling their own demons but also something far more sinister lurking just beyond the light. “Let’s focus on the art,” Leon said, his voice a steady anchor amidst the rising storm of anxiety. “We can’t let fear distract us from what we’re creating together.” Tristan nodded, though the unease coiled tightly in his chest. He dipped his brush into a fiery orange, allowing the color to flow onto the canvas, its brightness contrasting sharply against the darker tones. With each stroke, he felt a surge of energy, the paint transforming into a dance of fire and shadow, a representation of the duality that lay within him. ...

  The following days passed in a haze for Tristan. The black smartphone sat prominently on his table, a constant reminder of Leon’s presence in his life. Each time it buzzed, he felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through him—part excitement, part dread. He had managed to avoid replying to Leon’s messages, but with every unanswered buzz, the weight of Leon’s expectations pressed down harder. Art had always been Tristan’s refuge, a world where he controlled the narrative, the colors, and the emotions. Now, it felt tainted, overshadowed by the looming presence of a man who seemed determined to dominate every aspect of his life. The thought of Leon possessing not just his work but a part of him sent chills down his spine. Yet, a dark part of him craved it, like a moth drawn to a flame. On the fifth day, with his resolve crumbling, he finally picked up the phone and typed out a hesitant response. Tristan : What do you want from me? The message felt heavy, laden with the implications of sur...

  Tristan stood in the dim light of his small apartment, his hands trembling as he stared down at the black box that had just been delivered. The name on his lips felt heavy—Leon Armand. The man was everywhere, even when he wasn’t physically present. His presence seemed to linger like a shadow, always watching, always pulling Tristan deeper into his web. He opened the box slowly, revealing a sleek, expensive smartphone nestled inside. The device gleamed under the soft light of the apartment, as if taunting him with its significance. There was no note, but Tristan didn’t need one. He knew exactly who had sent it. A knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach as he picked up the phone. Almost immediately, it buzzed in his hand. The screen lit up with a message from an unknown number. He already knew who it was. Leon : This phone is for you. From now on, it’s how we will communicate. Don’t disappoint me. Tristan’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t expected Leon to move so quickly. They had only m...

  The night air was cool as Tristan stepped out of the gallery, his mind still swirling with thoughts of Leon Armand. His pulse hadn’t slowed since their brief encounter, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled in his chest. There was something off about Leon, something dangerous, but Tristan’s curiosity drowned out his caution. He didn’t even make it halfway down the street when his phone buzzed. Tristan pulled it from his pocket, his eyes widening in surprise as he read the message. Unknown Number : I enjoyed our conversation tonight. Join me for dinner tomorrow. 8 PM. La Couronne. Tristan stared at the screen, feeling his pulse quicken again. He had never given Leon his number, and yet here it was—a personal invitation to one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. The implications were unsettling, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the idea of seeing Leon again. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, his mind r...

The kiss felt like a wildfire igniting deep within Lucas, consuming everything in its path. He was lost, utterly swept away by the intensity of Ethan’s desire and the way his body responded, aching for more. Lucas knew he should pull away, regain control, but the heat of the moment made that thought feel impossibly distant. Ethan pulled back again, his eyes dark with lust, taking a moment to study Lucas’s flushed face. “You like this,” he said, a smug satisfaction lacing his voice. Lucas swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he admitted, his heart racing as he glanced around, suddenly aware of their surroundings. The gallery felt eerily quiet, the faint sounds of the city outside muffled by the walls. “Why not?” Ethan challenged, stepping closer again, forcing Lucas to back up until he hit the wall. “You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? You’ve felt it—the connection, the pull between us.” Lucas hesitated, his mind racing. “I don’t even know you,” he s...

  The days that followed were a blur for Lucas. He threw himself into his art, trying to drown out the persistent thoughts of Ethan that haunted his every waking moment.  But no matter how much he painted, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work, Ethan was there—in the back of his mind, in every brushstroke, in the heat that lingered in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't seen or heard from Ethan since that night outside the gallery. But somehow, Lucas knew it wasn’t over. It was never going to be that simple. Ethan had left his mark, a presence that wouldn’t fade, and Lucas found himself caught in an invisible web, each thread tightening the longer he resisted. It was late one evening when his phone buzzed with a text message. Lucas grabbed it from his worktable, glancing at the screen. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the name. Ethan. A single message: Meet me. No explanation. No location. No details. And yet, Lucas knew exactly what he meant. There was only one p...

  Lucas stood in the center of the gallery, the silence engulfing him now that Ethan had left. His mind replayed every word, every touch, every heated glance exchanged between them. He was trembling—was it from nerves or desire? He couldn’t tell anymore. Who was Ethan? And how could a stranger have such an immediate, visceral effect on him? Lucas clenched his fists, his breath uneven as he tried to shake off the daze. The weight of Ethan’s presence still lingered, like a thick fog wrapping around his senses, refusing to let go. His eyes fell on one of his paintings, the chaotic strokes of color and texture that mirrored the storm brewing inside him. He’d always poured his emotions into his art—fear, pain, desire—but now, standing there, he realized how exposed his work made him.  Ethan had seen right through him, as if each brushstroke was a piece of his soul laid bare for the world to see. It unnerved him, how someone could look at his art and unravel him so easily. “Damn it,...

  The echo of Ethan’s words hung in the air between them. Lucas could feel the pulse in his throat quicken, a rush of something unfamiliar filling his chest. How did this man know him? And why did it feel like their meeting had been inevitable? His mind was a whirl of confusion, but his body betrayed him, drawn to the intensity of Ethan's presence. Lucas’s hand still tingled where Ethan had touched it, and the way Ethan’s eyes bore into his made it hard to think straight. "I know?" Lucas repeated, attempting to steady his voice, but it came out quieter than intended. Ethan’s smirk deepened, his hand lingering just a fraction longer than necessary before releasing Lucas’s. He stepped even closer, invading Lucas's personal space, their bodies nearly touching. "Your art speaks volumes about you, Lucas. It’s raw, intense... unfiltered. I see everything in it." Lucas blinked, trying to process Ethan’s words. He’d heard compliments about his work before, but this ...

  Lucas gazed out at the vibrant crowd mingling in the gallery, each person admiring his artwork as if they truly understood the chaos he poured into it. He wasn’t one for big events, especially not for himself, but his agent insisted.   "It’ll be good for exposure," she said. Lucas didn’t care about the exposure. He cared about the art—his emotions, splattered in abstract colors on canvas. Yet, something was different tonight. The air felt heavier, more charged. His eyes darted across the room, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces, but they kept being drawn to one man standing in the far corner.   Tall, brooding, and dressed in a sharp black suit, the stranger looked out of place in the crowd of art lovers. His stance was casual, but his eyes were fixed, dark and focused—on Lucas. A shiver ran down Lucas's spine, his skin tingling under the weight of the man's intense gaze. He tried to ignore it, turning his attention back to a group of patrons discussing one of his ...

  Episode 3: The Strangers Meet The night was filled with the sound of falling rain, echoing across the empty streets. Arson, just ten years old, walked home in the storm. His footsteps were slow but steady, unfazed by the weather.   His face, though young, carried a seriousness beyond his age. He had learned early on that showing emotions made you weak. But as he passed through a narrow alleyway, he saw a group of boys huddled around something—or rather, someone. Curiosity got the best of him, and he slowed down, peeking through the shadows. What he saw made him stop.   There was a boy, probably younger than him, being beaten. The boy was small and fragile, his clothes torn, and his face covered in mud and bruises. The group of bullies seemed to enjoy tormenting him, kicking him while he was down. Arson turned away. It wasn’t his problem. He had learned long ago not to get involved in other people’s business. But just as he began to walk away, he heard a scream—one fill...

  Introduction:   "Fate will be only one that you belongs to only me , No matter where you are I will find you....You should'nt be able to leave my side". Arson who once doesn't feel anything towards Jae-ho become suddenly so Obsessed with him that all things were shattered around him....He only thinks of Jae-ho all the time as we wanted to devour him.....

                      FATE WILL BRING YOU TO ME Episode 1: Unraveled Fate The night was violent, storm clouds swirling overhead as Jae-ho walked alone, his steps heavy on the rain-soaked pavement. He barely noticed the world around him until a flash of blue lightning split the sky. Suddenly, his body was engulfed by an unfamiliar energy, his eyes glowing the same electric blue. His heart raced as he stopped in his tracks. "This... can't be happening," he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. Before he could make sense of it, a figure appeared ahead of him—Arson. He stood still, drenched in the rain, his face even darker under the shadow of exhaustion, with black circles framing his intense eyes. "You..." Arson's voice was low and dangerous. "You really thought you could just leave me?" Jae-ho froze. He hadn’t expected to see Arson again, not like this. "I didn’t mean to," he stammered. "I had no choice. Please, understand." ...