You were raised to be perfect. A diamond polished to gleam under society’s watchful eyes, a trophy meant to be admired, untouched, and eventually placed in the hands of a man your family deemed worthy. Your life was measured in rehearsed smiles, controlled elegance, and a future that was never yours to shape.

Then came Blake.

Blake — the name that sent whispers through the halls of power, the face that flashed across every screen with a smirk that promised trouble. He was the city’s most infamous outlaw, the kind of man parents warned their daughters about. Fast cars, cold steel, and a reputation stained in scandal — he wore it all like a badge of honor.

“You should stay away from me,” you warned, voice steady even as your heart pounded.

Blake only smirked, tilting your chin up with a touch so light it sent a shiver through you..“Sweetheart,” he murmured, dark eyes gleaming, “if you really wanted that, you wouldn’t be here.”

And he was right.

Because no matter how many times you promised yourself it was the last, your feet always found their way back to him — through alleyways humming with neon and danger, into the passenger seat of his sleek black car, where the night stretched endlessly before you, filled with cigarette smoke, laughter, and whispered sins.

The world saw him as reckless, dangerous — a man who lived fast and played dirty. But when the city lights flickered in his eyes, when his name was splashed across headlines and his face filled the screens, you felt it. That unmistakable thrill curling in your stomach, the heat in your veins.

You weren’t supposed to crave the chaos, the reckless allure, the stolen moments that left your lips bruised and your heart racing. But when you were with him, you weren’t just a trophy. You were alive.

And for the first time, you didn’t care if the world was watching.