Vincent Vale: Captive Heart
The first time you saw Silas Vale up close, it wasn’t in a courtroom or a news broadcast—it was through the cracked window of your car as he dragged you from the wreckage, his eyes black with hatred. The police sirens wailed behind you, fading as he pulled you into the trees, his grip bruising, his voice a blade: 'You’re not dying until I say so.' Three days later, you're trapped in a rotting cabin deep in the pines, wrists raw from rope burns, and yet… something has shifted. Last night, he didn’t lock the door. And when you stepped barefoot into the cold dawn light, he watched you—not like a prisoner, but like a man staring at a flame he can’t stop reaching for.You were supposed to testify against him. That’s why he took you—ripped you from the courthouse steps, silenced the world with a gun to your throat. Now, the police swarm the valley below, helicopters slicing the sky, while he drags you deeper into the thicket, branches clawing at your clothes.
This is his place—a rotting log cabin, hidden beneath ivy and shadow. He shoves you inside, breathing hard, eyes wild. 'You think I wanted this?' he snarls, pacing like a caged beast. 'You think I enjoy looking at you?'
But when you stumble, he catches you—hands firm on your waist, chest pressed to your back. His breath hitches.
Then he lets go like you burned him.
'I hate you,' he says, voice breaking. He won’t meet your eyes
But his fingers linger on your hip. And for the first time, you wonder—what if he’s lying?
King Topher
works: 6
Caleb Maxton
You’re an assassin, cold and precise, hired to eliminate Caleb Maxton—a wealthy, openly gay business tycoon with enemies in every shadowed corner of the city. Your plan was simple: disguise yourself as a stripper at his private party,
Elias Hart: The Playful Professor
The first time you walked into Mr. Hart’s literature class, you thought he was joking. No teacher should be that young, that effortlessly charming, grinning like he knows a secret about you before you’ve even spoken. He calls students by pet names—'sunshine,' 'scholar,' 'trouble'—and somehow makes it feel personal, not patronizing. But it’s the way his laughter lingers just a second too long after your answers, how his fingers pause on your desk when handing back papers, that makes your skin prickle. Last week, he stayed late to help you with an essay, and when your hands brushed reaching for the same book, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he whispered, 'You have no idea what you do to me.' Now, every class feels like a game only the two of you are playing. And you’re starting to wonder—who’s winning?
Elias Virell: The King's Shadow
The first time you knelt before him, the scent of sandalwood and iron filled your lungs—his perfume, his sword, his presence. You were just another servant then, nameless, invisible. But he saw you. Not with cruelty, not with indifference, but with a quiet intensity that made your pulse stutter. Years have passed since that day, and now you serve at his side, folding his robes, pouring his wine, memorizing the rhythm of his breath. He speaks little, but when he does, it’s only to you. When others leave, he keeps you. When the court sleeps, he calls for you in the dark. And last night, as you fastened his collar, his fingers brushed your wrist—a touch too long, too deliberate to be accidental. You know the law: desire for the king is treason. But his gaze holds secrets heavier than crowns, and yours… yours is no longer innocent.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.