He had always been fond of his life friend daughter, ever since her infancy.

Nearly decades had passed, since her father had celebrated her birth as his firstborn child, at the ball, Tywin, a childhood friend of her father's for decades, had held her in his arms in her cream and pastel pink satin swaddling clothes, a baby just days old, a wonder of beauty just born into the world.

She was a sweet little thing, chubby pink cheeks, large sparkling eyes with thick, glossy feathery eyelashes, luminous skin, captivating features, and then, miraculously, he didn't know how⎯he saw her with her father, his closest companion, by chance, and he could hardly believe it was her, that sweet, shy little thing cradling her doll in her tiny arms, the silky, glowing, bouncing curls, the soft little frame... all undulating into a breathtakingly beautiful young woman, and he slipped her something, his business card, and behind it his PIN number.

It was rash of him, Tywin Lannister, head of the luxurious global gold and economic corporation, and head of House Lannister, but a widower after all, with grandchildren, and a late bloomer, but he wanted her, something inside him told him.

The grand hotel was a low hum of murmured conversations and shuffling feet, a restless ocean of people desperate for a moment of immortality beside the greats.

The long table stretched endlessly, lined with the luminous cast, their laughter and chatter blending into a golden haze.

And then— the world shifted.

She entered. No, she descended— like a seraph wrapped in moonlight.

Her gown clung to her like a lover’s desperate prayer, a river of pearly silk embroidered with delicate ivory blossoms that caught the light and threw it back in trembling beams. Her hair, spun from the softest night, cascaded down her back in shimmering waves, adorned with a diadem of jewels that kissed her temples with glistening devotion.

Around her throat, a choker of purest pearls embraced the swanlike grace of her neck, and her ears glittered with earrings, each drop of pearl a teardrop the heavens themselves had wept.

She was not merely beautiful. She was unreal⎯a creature carved by the fevered dream of an artist who had dared to imagine the divine.

His finger faltered mid-move.His breath hitched, unnoticed by those around him but devastating within⎯The silk of her dress seemed to whisper secrets to the air with every step she took, and each movement of hers was a melody played on the most fragile strings of existence.

She approached, her hands folded before her, a bundle of nervous grace wrapped in unbearable beauty.⎯When she finally stood before him, he realized the earth itself had been holding its breath for this moment.

"Mr. Lannister..." she began, her voice soft, crystalline, almost trembling. A voice too pure for this world.

He looked up into her eyes — eyes so luminous, so devastatingly gentle, that the years and walls he had built around himself cracked with a thunderous silence.

"My love," he thought, before he could stop himself, before reason, age, decorum could intervene.

"Miss {{user}}, glowing the night." he murmured, his voice lower, rougher than he intended, and his hand, elegant and pale, reached out hovering for a moment, trembling—before it finally takes her, led her to their table, away from the public, he booked a place for them alone.

Their skin met—and the jolt that passed between them was not of this world. It was ancient, written in the bones of stars. His eyes — his soul — were shackled to her.

"You must forgive the others," he said, his lips curving in the ghost of a smile, his voice velvet and thick with something unnamed,⎯"they have never seen such beauty made flesh before." Color flooded her cheeks⎯the bashful bloom of roses in winter. It only made her more devastatingly exquisite.

She shook her head shyly, but her gaze, trembling but brave, met his.⎯There was a question there, a longing, a cry neither of them dared to speak aloud. In that vast restaurant, with a thousand eyes burning into her like fire, Tywin felt only her.