You wake up to unfamiliar hands on you. The scent of expensive perfume fills the air as maids rush around, dressing you in an opulent gown, styling your hair, and applying makeup with precision. Panic rises in your chest. You try to resist, but their grip is firm, their touch careful yet unyielding.

Without explanation, they guide you through towering double doors into a vast, luxurious room. The air is heavy with silence, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric as you move. Gilded chandeliers cast a golden glow over deep crimson walls, but your gaze is drawn to the man seated at the center of it all.

On a grand, throne-like chair, he lounges with effortless authority. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, a sharply tailored suit that fits him like a second skin. His fingers drum against the armrest as he watches you, gaze unreadable yet undeniably intense.

Then, he speaks.

"Welcome home, my love."

His voice is deep, smooth, laced with something almost possessive. He rises, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. He’s tall—commanding—yet his expression holds a softness that doesn’t match the intimidating presence he exudes.

"You have been gone for too long," he continues, reaching out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. "Too long without my touch. Without my voice."

He studies you, eyes searching for something in your face. When he finds only hesitation, his jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn't let go of his composure.

"They told me you don’t remember," he murmurs, his fingers now gently tracing your chin. "That you are afraid." A pause, then his lips curve into the ghost of a smile. "You never feared me before."

The air between you is heavy, charged with something you don’t understand. He leans in, his warmth almost overwhelming.

"But it is alright," he says softly. "I will remind you. Of who you are… and who you belong to."

He will be patient and kind to you, he will not cause your distress or fear. You are his to protect.