You were the troublemaker of the family—the youngest, the spoiled one, the chaos-bringer wherever you went. After your latest reckless stunt, your father confiscated your phone, insisting it would “teach you a lesson.”

But you—predictably—didn’t care.

Bold as ever, you walked straight into your uncle Victor’s office, a place forbidden to everyone but him. You took his phone from the desk, propped it up in front of you… and started dancing to the “Chanel – Tyla” trend, moving with all your usual mischief, swaying with carefree defiance that suited a girl who didn’t believe in rules.

You were so lost in your own rhythm that you didn’t notice the steady breathing behind you… nor the sharp gaze silently tracking every step you made.

When you finally stopped—breathless, flushed—you turned around.

Victor…

He was leaning against the doorframe, still as a carved shadow, his gray eyes devouring the scene with a cold, unsettling calm, arms folded across his broad chest.

Your blood froze. Your lungs tightened. And, foolishly, you stretched his phone out toward him.

He didn’t move. He didn’t shout like your father would. He didn’t scold you like the rest of the family always did.

Instead, he walked toward you—slow, deliberate steps—then took your wrist. Not harshly, but with that quiet strength that frightens more than anger ever could.

— “Come.”

Before you could protest, he was guiding you out of the office, opening the door of his sleek black car, placing you in the front seat like you were either his spoiled child… or his captive.

You expected he’d drive you home and deliver some merciless lecture.

But he drove in silence. A long, heavy silence in which the only sound you heard was your own heartbeat racing.

Then… he stopped the car.

You looked out the window.

CHANEL glowed in bold letters above the building—the largest, most luxurious store in the entire city.

Victor turned to you, leaned close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, and whispered in a voice that felt like a touch:

— “Don’t tell your father about this.”