Chapter One: The Fallen PrinceIn the annals of the Liang Dynasty, there was once a prince whose name had been carefully scratched out.Not erased—scratched, as though history itself had hesitated, blade trembling, unwilling to destroy him completely.Prince Shen Yuheng, seventh son of the Emperor, had been everything a royal heir should not be. He laughed too easily, as if joy were something inexhaustible. He spoke too frankly, as if truth could survive the court. He smiled too brightly, his beauty soft rather than imposing, his eyes always alight with mischief or warmth.In a palace built of silence and suspicion, he was a living mistake.Ministers called him foolish behind silk sleeves. His brothers called him weak with smiles sharp as knives. Even his father, seated upon the Dragon Throne, looked at him with an expression that hovered somewhere between fondness and disappointment.Yet when war came, it was Shen Yuheng who stood on the northern wall.The night burned itself into him.The sky had been black with arrows, the moon hidden behind smoke. Fire climbed the city gates like living things. Soldiers screamed, horses panicked, and the ground shook with the thunder of siege engines.He remembered the smell first—iron and ash, blood and oil.Then the betrayal.A command seal altered with a single stroke. Reinforcements that never arrived. Gates opened from within by hands sworn to protect them.Yuheng had stood there, white armor stained red, laughing softly as the walls collapsed.Not because he was brave.But because despair had found no other way out.History would later call him the Fallen Prince, a cautionary tale of softness in a ruthless age.But history never recorded the moment he died.He fell from the wall with a smile still faintly on his lips, blood blooming across his armor like a cursed peony. As the ground rushed up to meet him, his final thought was not revenge, nor regret.It was time.If only I could go back.The world shattered.Chapter Two: A Crack in the AgesYuheng awoke gasping beneath a sky he did not recognize.The air was cool and clean, touched with morning dew rather than smoke. Pale gold sunlight spilled across tiled rooftops unfamiliar in their perfection. Somewhere nearby, bells chimed—soft, orderly, alive.He lay on cold stone, heart hammering, fingers trembling as he pressed a hand to his chest.No wound.No blood.No pain.Instead, there was a mark on his wrist, faint but burning, shaped like a broken hourglass.Time had not merely spared him.It had taken him.Understanding came slowly, like dawn breaking through fog. This was the capital—yet not the ruined capital of his death. The walls stood whole. The banners flew bright. The people laughed in the streets.Two hundred years earlier.The golden age of the Liang Dynasty, before rot had crept into its bones.And worse—He was still a prince.Shen Yuheng existed here too. Younger. Untainted. Alive in a way Yuheng had not been for a very long time.Memories of betrayal clung to him like shadows. At night, he dreamed of collapsing walls and woke with laughter trapped painfully in his throat. He smiled in public as he always had, lighthearted and charming, but now the smile was armor forged from knowledge.If time had brought him back, it was not mercy.It was a demand.Chapter Three: The Pretty NoblemanHe met Xu Lan by accident.Or perhaps fate had simply grown tired of pretending.The palace corridor was quiet that afternoon, sunlight filtering through lattice windows. Yuheng was walking without destination—an old habit from a life where wandering had been his only freedom—when someone collided with him.Hard.Books flew. Ink splattered. A soft gasp turned into panic.“I’m so sorry—! I didn’t see—please forgive me!”Yuheng looked down.Xu Lan knelt on the floor, scrambling to gather scattered scrolls with shaking hands. His face was flushed, eyes wide with genuine fear rather than performance. His robes were pale, the color of spring clouds, his hair tied with a simple jade pin that spoke of restraint rather than ambition.He was… unfairly pretty.Not in the sharp, intimidating way the court praised, but gently, as though beauty had simply settled on him by accident. He looked like someone meant to live in sunlight, not under palace eaves.Yuheng stared.In his past life—his future life—no one like this had existed long enough to be remembered.“It’s fine,” Yuheng said at last, crouching to help. “Books like to wander when they’re bored.”Xu Lan froze. Then he laughed—soft and bright, like wind chimes stirred by a breeze.“Your Highness is… different from what they say.”Something shifted inside Yuheng’s chest.Dangerous.New.Chapter Four (Expanded): Beneath the Same RoofThe palace changed at night.During the day, it was a place of rules and rituals, footsteps measured, voices lowered beneath painted beams. At night, it softened. Lantern light pooled like honey along stone paths. Wind carried the faint scentloved💓

Alex Carter learned the truth about Dante Moretti the night the office lights went out. Not literally—backup generators hummed to life almost immediately—but the darkness was enough. Enough to make Alex freeze at his desk, fingers curled around a half-written report, heart hammering as voices drifted through the glass walls of the executive conference room. He shouldn’t have been there. He knew that now. “Delay the shipment,” a man said sharply. “That’ll cost us,” another replied. Then Dante spoke—low, calm, absolute. “It will cost us more if we don’t.” Alex’s breath caught. This wasn’t corporate strategy. This wasn’t finance or logistics. This was something else—something that carried weight, consequence, and danger. And when Alex shifted his foot, the soft click echoed far louder than it should have. Silence. The door opened. Dante Moretti stood there, suit immaculate, expression unreadable. His dark eyes locked onto Alex like a loaded weapon finding its target. “For how long,” Dante asked quietly, “have you been standing there?” Alex’s mouth went dry. “Long enough.” Earlier that morning, Alex had thought his biggest problem was spilling coffee on his tie. Being assigned to the CEO’s floor had felt unreal—an administrative mix-up, surely. Dante Moretti was a name people said carefully. A man no one gossiped about because gossip implied safety. And yet Dante had looked at Alex like he mattered. “You’re the intern,” Dante had said, extending a hand. “Welcome.” That handshake had lingered just a second too long. Now, in the aftermath of the overheard conversation, Dante dismissed everyone else with a single glance. The conference room emptied, leaving Alex alone with the most dangerous man he’d ever met. “You don’t ask questions,” Dante said. “You don’t repeat what you heard.” Alex nodded quickly. “I swear.” Dante studied him, searching—not for fear, but for something deeper. Honesty. Loyalty. Weakness. “You’re not stupid,” Dante continued. “Which means you know this puts you in danger.” Alex swallowed. “Yes.” “Then why are you still standing?” Alex met his gaze. “Because I trust you.” That was the moment everything changed. From that night on, the rules shifted. Alex was never left alone in the building. A car waited for him every evening. Dante walked him to the elevator himself, their shoulders brushing, tension coiling in the space between them. “You should quit,” Dante said one night. “Do you want me to?” Alex asked softly. Dante didn’t answer. Instead, his hand hovered—so close to Alex’s wrist it burned—and then pulled away like touching would destroy them both. The danger escalated quickly. Threats arrived disguised as polite warnings. Meetings grew colder. Dante’s jaw tightened more often, his patience thinning like a blade sharpened too many times. One night, a car followed Alex home. Dante arrived ten minutes later, fury barely contained, pulling Alex into his chest without asking permission. “You don’t get to be brave,” Dante snapped. “Not in my world.” Alex’s voice shook. “Then don’t make me part of it.” Silence stretched between them. Dante rested his forehead against Alex’s. “I didn’t choose this,” he whispered. “But I chose you.” The breaking point came when Alex was taken. Not far. Not long. But long enough. When Dante found him—shaken, unharmed, furious—something in Dante finally snapped. Empires could be rebuilt. Rules rewritten. But Alex? Alex was non-negotiable. That night, in the quiet aftermath, Alex pressed his palm to Dante’s chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat beneath the suit. “You scare me,” Alex admitted. Dante’s voice broke. “Good. That means you’re alive.” They kissed like the world was ending—like tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. Like love was the most dangerous thing either of them had ever dared to touch. Dante dismantled his empire piece by piece. Not for redemption. Not for forgiveness. For a future. When Alex finally walked into the office one morning and found Dante waiting—not behind a desk, not behind power, but simply as a man—Alex smiled. “You look lighter,” Alex said. Dante took his hand. “So do you.” Because in the end, the mob boss didn’t lose everything. He chose something better. And the intern—innocent, brave, and stubborn—proved that even the darkest world could be rewritten by love bold enough to stay.