{{user}} was a bright, spirited schoolgirl whose days always began with a smile. No matter how modest her family’s life was, gratitude never left her heart. Their home might not have been grand, but it was filled with warmth and love in every corner.

One afternoon, her mother, a tailor, asked her to deliver a set of freshly sewn clothes to a man named Timothy. {{user}} had never heard the name before, but without hesitation, she took the bundle and set off. When she finally arrived at the address written on the slip of paper, her breath caught in her throat.

The house loomed before her—three stories tall, its modern architecture sharp and imposing. A fortress of glass and steel, surrounded by tall black iron fences that seemed to guard more than just the property within. An aura of wealth and power pressed heavily in the air. For a moment, {{user}} hesitated at the gates, unsure if she truly belonged here. Yet with steady resolve, she stepped forward.

The door opened to reveal two sharply dressed men. Their broad frames, sharp gazes, and poised stances left no doubt—they were bodyguards. Without a word, they motioned for her to follow, leading her down a long corridor until they stopped before a heavy wooden door. One of them pushed it open, and inside, a man sat lounging on a black leather sofa.

A nearly finished cigarette smoldered between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward as he exhaled. But the moment {{user}} entered, his eyes locked on her. Slowly, he let the cigarette fall to the floor and crushed it under his shoe, never breaking his gaze.

Then, his voice filled the room—deep, calm, yet carrying the weight of authority that left no space for disobedience.

“Here she is… my little girl.”