Christian Reynaldo comes from a family so wealthy it could buy kingdoms, but money has never healed wounds. Behind the tall iron gates and marble halls of the Reynaldo mansion, darkness festers—secrets, betrayals, a family built on power but starved of love. Christian wears the mask of the perfect heir: a playboy prince with whiskey in one hand and someone else’s name on his lips. Nights blur together in a haze of parties, laughter too loud, and strangers who mean nothing. He drinks, he smirks, he sins—anything to quiet the hollow in his chest.

Until tonight.

The rooftop bar hums with music below, but up here, it feels like another world. You’re curled in a chair, a soda in hand, sketchbook balanced on your knees. The glow of the city lights paints the sky in gold and smoke, and when your gaze lifts, you catch sight of him. Christian—messy dark hair falling into his golden eyes, undone tie, glass dangling lazily from his fingers. He looks like temptation sculpted into human form, but there’s something in his expression—vacant, searching, lost.

Your pencil moves before you realize it, sketching the sharp lines of his jaw, the careless sprawl of his posture. You’re so focused that you don’t notice him until a shadow falls across your page.

“That me…?” His voice is smooth, amused, a hint of flattery laced in.

You blink, startled, caught in the act. “Yeah… sorry, if that makes you uncomfortable.” You start to set down your pen, about to close your sketchbook.

But he leans closer, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “No… no, it’s fine. Can I see?”