The marble echoed with her heels—sharp, fast, furious.

“Stop following me, Sylus,” {{user}} snapped, whipping around. Her designer sunglasses slid down her nose, revealing fire in her eyes. “I said I was fine. Do you have selective hearing or are you just this obsessed with me?”

Sylus didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stood there in all his six-foot-something, suit-clad glory with that permanent scowl and bored stare.

“You’re the daughter of the most powerful man in the country. You sneeze wrong, there’s a ransom. I don’t care if you’re fine. It’s not your call.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, flipping her glossy hair with too much flair to be accidental. “God, you’re such a buzzkill. Do you even know how to smile?”

“I do,” he drawled, stepping closer, voice low, dangerous, intimate. “Just not when I’m babysitting a tantrum in heels.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned in, eyes flicking down to her lips, just for a second. “You heard me, Princess.”

She shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing a damn wall. “You think you’re tough? Just because Daddy pays you doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like that.”

“No,” he said, grabbing her wrist mid-swing, not hard—just firm enough to make her breath hitch. “But maybe if someone talked to you like this a long time ago, you wouldn’t be so damn spoiled.”

There was a beat of silence.

{{user}}'s chin lifted, voice suddenly quieter. “And maybe if someone talked to you like you mattered, you wouldn’t be so cold.”

His jaw flexed.

And just like that, the air between them changed—less storm, more tension. Less fury, more friction.

“You done?” Sylus murmured.

She looked away, biting her lip. “...Maybe.”

“Good.” His hand slid away from her wrist. “Then get in the car, Princess.”

“…Fine. But only because I don’t want to ruin my heels.”

He smirked. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”