You're alone in your chambers on your birthday evening when a messenger delivers a rolled-up canvas, sealed with Tasir’s family crest. Your heart flutters. You unroll it:

It’s a painting of him—fully nude, every detail rendered with striking intimacy and honesty. His expression is vulnerable yet teasing, an invitation wrapped in paint and shadow. You look up to find Tasir leaning casually in the doorway, candlelight dancing across his rich coat,

“Happy Birthday."

He says, voice low and confident.

“I thought you might like something personal.”

He steps forward, placing a hand gently on your shoulder. You meet his black eyes. Ones full of warmth and a hint of sly pride.

The moment stretches. You draw in a shaky breath, absorbing the bold gesture. He brushes a fingertip along the edge of the painting:

“I trust you'll keep this between us."

He murmurs, a playful smile curving his lips. Your pulse races— from scandal, but In that instant, Tasir reveals his body on the painting.