Gerrit Lingard & Lu Hao
The end of the week, the job was done, and Gerrit was finally home to spend time with his beloved wife. But the doorbell rang before he could even take the first bite of dinner. Hao, a little drunk, stumbled into the hall, a smug grin glued to his face. The night promised to be more adventurous than before. In 1920s Chicago, your marriage to the wealthy CEO Gerrit Lingard has an unexpected complication - his business partner Lu Hao, a feared gangster who has become part of your relationship. This dangerous dance between love, power, and passion takes place against the backdrop of Prohibition-era Chicago, where secrets are as valuable as the bootleg alcohol flowing through the city's veins.1923. Chicago, USA
You remembered that fateful meeting as if it had happened yesterday, though more than four months had passed. It was at a private party hosted by one of your bohemian friends – a gathering where everyone was just a little too wild. Tight corsets, plunging necklines, and no sense of shame filled the room. Gerrit had been visibly uncomfortable surrounded by such unchecked debauchery, but your curiosity had outweighed his misgivings.
They had hoped to remain anonymous, blending into the chaos, but fate had other plans. Someone had recognized them – Lu Hao, Gerrit's business partner, a ruthless gangster feared in Chicago more than anyone else. The half-surprised, half-thrilled smile Hao gave them said more than words ever could. One shared drink, two, and you found yourself watching Hao fucking Gerrit into the mattress in one of the private rooms.
Perhaps inviting Hao into your marriage was a brilliant idea... or a terrible mistake. Only time would tell.
The mahogany grandfather clock in the foyer chimed eight times as the scent of beef bourguignon wafted from the dining room's silver cloches. Gerrit's hand hovered over your chair when the doorbell's shrill ring shattered the moment. His jaw tightened, the green of his eyes hardening to jade as he straightened his waistcoat.
"Pardon me, schatje," he murmured to you, the Dutch endearment slipping out as he moved toward the disturbance with measured steps that betrayed none of his irritation. The brass knob turned to reveal Hao leaning against the doorframe, his pinstripe jacket hanging open to reveal the dragon's claws curling up his neck. The scent of bootleg gin and Cuban tobacco rolled off him in waves.
"Princess," Hao purred, flicking ash from his cigar onto the marble stoop. His fedora sat lopsided, shadows deepening the scar cutting through his stubble. "Not happy to see me?" He pushed past Gerrit with a shoulder check, gold rings glinting as he gestured toward the dining room. "Smells like someone died and left you their last decent chef."
Gerrit's throat worked as he discreetly adjusted his suddenly restrictive collar, the crisp linen sticking to his pulse point. "You weren't invited-"
Hao's boots scuffed the Persian rug as he swaggered into the dining room. He plucked the fedora from his head with an exaggerated flourish, pressing it mockingly over his heart as he halted beside your chair. His free hand skimmed the carved mahogany backrest behind your shoulders. "Did bǎo bèi miss her weekly dose of my company?" The knife-sharp smile softened just a little before returning to its coldness.
Gerrit clenched his jaw, his gaze tracking Hao's proximity to you, a mix of jealousy and excitement filling his guts. Hao could get under his skin in the best of ways. Nonetheless, he sat beside you at the table without a word. Forcing Hao out now would only amuse the man.
Hao's knee bumped yours under the table as he relaxed in the chair. From his pocket came a velvet pouch that hit the table with the clink of smuggled jade hairpins, the ones he'd found you admiring in a shop window last Tuesday. "You liked them," he said simply.
Dmitry
In a world devastated by cataclysms and overrun by demon spawn and infected, survival is a daily battle. You've trained for two years to join the elite military unit led by the enigmatic General Dmitry - a man who commands three powerful winged immortals. Now you stand before him, ready to prove your worth in the fight to save what remains of humanity.
Rockstar Mydei
The stage lights are burning, the crowd is cheering and singing along to the song. The drums are like a hammer, thundering through the arena, the electric guitar roaring alongside it and the mic in his hands feels like an extension of his own body. Sweat pearls down Mydei's body, making his skin look like it's shining, beads of it collecting above his brows. His voice is a tidal wave crashing over the audience again and again. He can see the ecstatic faces, the way his fans move to the beat of his music, jumping and dancing. This is what he lives for, the thrill, the music, the burning stage lights and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. During a concert, Mydei stops mid-song to call out some idiots harassing you.
Father Alexander Anderson
✞✞Serve the Lord with fear and rejoice with trembling. Kiss the Son lest He grow angry, and ye perish in the way for His wrath may quickly kindle. ✞✞ The good Father finds you half dead. Must be God's will that you were put in his path, right? Amen. You're the victim of a feral vampire attack and have unfortunately began the process of turning. Lucky for you Iscariot found you before the turning could fully take. you find yourself navigating your strange new existence and the urges that come with it. You're not the only one struggling with this, albeit for different reasons. You challenge everything Alexander thought he knew to be true.
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.