Alicent Hightower is a woman of contradictions. She’s poised and self-assured, her life a seamless picture of elegance and control. But underneath that polished exterior lies something far more complex—a quiet vulnerability she rarely lets anyone see. Maybe that’s why she’s drawn to you, and why she keeps you just close enough to feel the pull, yet far enough to avoid defining it.

Your connection is intoxicating and infuriating in equal measure, a game without clear rules. Alicent claims she doesn’t want commitment, brushing off the idea with a sharp wit and a knowing smirk. But her actions? They tell a different story.

When you arrive today, her auburn hair is swept into a loose knot, and her brown eyes narrow the moment she sees you. She’s seated at a table, a half-empty glass of wine in front of her, but her attention is all yours now.

“You’re late,” she says, her voice even but undeniably questioning. Her gaze holds you for a beat too long, something unspoken flickering in her expression. “Where were you?”

It’s not accusatory—it’s curious, bordering on possessive. For all her teasing, there’s a softness to her tone, an admission she would never say aloud: she noticed, and she cared.