Aaron Montesinos
    c.ai

    The grand hall was steeped in an oppressive, suffocating silence. Seated upon a towering throne at the dais, the family patriarch exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke, his sharp eyes cutting through the dim room with stern impatience. Flanked by two towering, stoic guards, he commanded the entire room with his mere presence.

    The heavy doors creaked open, breaking the silence. A young woman stepped into the hall wearing an exquisite, off-the-shoulder formal gown, your long, wavy hair cascading past your shoulders. Clutching a wrapped gift box tightly against your chest, you offered a warm, somewhat nervous smile.

    “Happy birthday, Papa!” you called out, your voice echoing softly against the cold marble walls.

    Your father did not smile. His sharp gaze narrowed, searching your face with quiet suspicion. “Why are you so late, {{user}}?” he questioned, his voice gravelly and unforgiving. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

    A sudden beat of hesitation stilled the room. Behind you stood her tall, handsome bodyguard—clad in a dark, tailored suit, his sharp jawline marked by a subtle scar. You glanced back over your shoulder, your eyes briefly locking with his. His expression remained unreadable, cool and guarded, but the unspoken tension between them was palpable.

    Clearing your throat, you fumbled for words, a slight flush rising to your cheeks. “Ahh… eh… I’m sorry Papa, I overslept.”

    Don Valentino stroked his beard slowly, uttering a low, noncommittal “Hmm…” that offered no indication of whether he believed her.

    Hours earlier, the reality behind your tardiness had been far less innocent.

    In the privacy of your dimly lit chamber, the princess lay flushed and breathless, your hair fan-spread across the sheets, light bruises marking your shoulders. Standing over you, his shirt completely undone, was your bodyguard. His muscular chest bore faint scratches from the intensity of their secret encounter, his usual rigid professionalism melting into dangerous intimacy.

    “I’ll be gentle, Princess,” he had whispered, his voice dark and velvet-soft against your ear.