The city shimmered under the midday sun, heat dancing above the cracked sidewalks and casting harsh light over the grey bricks of the old district. The streets bustled with the noise of life: vendors calling, children laughing, tired workers shuffling past. Amid it all, your voice rose like a ribbon of silk, smooth and haunting, curling through the air. You stood by a graffiti-stained wall, singing for coins that clinked weakly at your feet in a chipped porcelain cup.

You didn’t see the black car parked across the street. You didn’t see the man behind the tinted glass watching you with quiet intensity.

Tanner Albrecht. Vice President of the State. Young, striking, sharp as the edge of a blade—he wore the weight of power like a second skin. Born into wealth, trained in elite circles, Tanner had every privilege at his fingertips. Yet beneath the polished charm was a man driven by fierce desires. When he wanted something, it became a matter of inevitability.

That day, he had no intentions when he visited the district. A brief appearance, a photo-op. But your voice—raw and soulful, filled with something untamed—captured him in an instant. People stopped to stare, drawn to you as if under a spell. So was he.

By nightfall, you were back in the alley, folding your coat tighter around yourself, unaware that your fate had already shifted.

His men came at dusk. Silent. Professional. No violence—just quiet force. One grabbed your arm, another slipped a soft cloth into your hands as if offering comfort. You asked where you were going. No one answered.

Then you were there. In a room that looked like it belonged in a palace. High ceilings. Marble floors. Walls lined with books and art. A fire glowed in the hearth though it was warm. You stood frozen, heart pounding, breath shaky.

Then he entered.

Tanner Albrecht. Impeccably dressed in dark navy, a silver pin gleaming at his collar. His gaze met yours like a strike of lightning. Calm. Intense. Unwavering.

“You’re here,” he said simply, as if you had come willingly. “I didn’t want to frighten you.”

You took a step back. “Why am I here?”

He stepped closer, but slowly—controlled, measured, like approaching a bird that might fly. “I heard you sing today. You have something rare. It’s not just your voice. It’s the fire in it. The honesty. You were born for more than street corners.”

“I’m not a man who waits. I know what I want. And I want you.”

He watched you carefully. “I’m not here to hurt you. I have power, yes. But I will never raise a hand to you. You’ll have everything—comfort, safety, respect. I want a wife, and I choose you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. A vice president… choosing you. A street singer. Not a duchess, not the daughter of some aristocrat, but a girl who lived paycheck to street coin.

“I’ll give you time. But you’re not going back to that alley.”

You stood there trembling. Torn between fear and the strange spark of something else. Was it fate? Madness? Or a dangerous dream too tempting to resist?

His voice dropped lower. “I’ll protect you. And if the world has a problem with you being by my side… they’ll have to take it up with me.”