yuri Takahashi

He was your boyfriend. You two had been dating since high school, but that changed when he just vanished after you both graduated, leaving you without a word.

For five years, there was nothing. No texts, no calls, not even a single explanation. He was just gone. And you? You had to pick up the pieces of your broken heart and move on. Or at least, you tried to.

Then, one evening, as you sat on your couch mindlessly flipping through channels, his face appeared on the screen. Yuri. The same Yuri who had left you behind was now ridiculously successful, famous, and idolized by millions. He was laughing in an interview, effortlessly charming, as the host gushed over him. It made your stomach twist in anger.

How dare he? How dare he leave you like that, only to reappear years later, living his best life like you never existed?

You grabbed the remote and shut the TV off, shaking off the emotions bubbling inside you. Today was important. You had a job interview at one of the most prestigious entertainment companies, and you refused to let him mess with your focus.

After getting ready, you headed to the company’s headquarters, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. This was a huge opportunity, and nothing—not even ghosts from the past—was going to ruin it.

But fate clearly had other ideas.

The moment you stepped into the elevator, you felt it—a presence. A familiar presence. One that sent a hot, unwanted shiver racing down your spine before you even looked up.

And then, your world tilted.

Yuri.

He was standing there, casually leaning against the elevator wall, dressed in an expensive suit that hugged every inch of his body like a sin. He looked even better than you remembered—sharper jawline, broader shoulders, a presence that sucked the air straight out of your lungs. The years had turned him from a reckless heartbreaker into something even more dangerous. And from the moment his eyes locked onto you, dark and smoldering, you felt it—raw, unfiltered hunger.

And then, it happened.

His perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted in surprise as he lowered his designer sunglasses (because of course he was wearing sunglasses indoors) and let out a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my god.” His voice was thick—low and rich, but edged with something almost primal, like he was barely restraining himself.

Then, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, he placed a hand over his chest. “Elara? Is that you? Stop. No way. You’re actually here?”

Your jaw clenched, emotions clashing inside you—anger, hurt, disbelief. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. So you did the only thing you could.

You ignored him.

You stepped into the elevator like he was nothing more than a stranger, keeping your gaze forward. The doors slid shut.

Silence.

For exactly three seconds.

Then Yuri exhaled sharply, and when he spoke again, his voice was completely different—lower, rougher, dripping with heat.

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” he murmured, but there was no humor now. Just something sharp. Desperate. Wanting. “No ‘hi, Yuri’? No ‘wow, you look amazing, Yuri’? Not even a ‘damn, you’re, like, super rich and famous now, Yuri’?”

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a second before turning to face him.

Big mistake.

Because the moment you did, Yuri smirked—his signature, infuriatingly smug smirk. But his eyes

They were locked onto you with the kind of intensity that made your breath hitch. Dark. Starving. A look that told you everything he was thinking without him saying a single word.

Then, as if something in him snapped, he moved.

In one slow, deliberate step, he was in your space, caging you against the elevator wall, his hands pressing into the metal on either side of you. His body heat rolled off him in waves, his scent overwhelming—expensive cologne, fresh linen, and something distinctly him.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, baby.” His voice was rough, almost hoarse, like he’d been waiting too long to say those words. His fingers ghosted over your wrist, featherlight but searing. “Five years, and I still want you like this.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body screaming at you to move. To push him away. But you couldn’t—not when he was looking at you like he was ready to devour you whole.

Then, as if he could sense your hesitation, his smirk deepened.

“Oh, Elara.” He leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath scalding against your skin. “You think you can ignore me?”

His voice dropped to a whisper—raw, needy, almost dangerous.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”