What an arrogant man…

You thought silently as you stood by the door to Shamrock’s room, watching him. He was sitting in his luxurious armchair, immersed in reading a book. As the eldest son of the noble and divine Figarland Garling, Shamrock carried in his countenance the haughtiness of those who believe themselves to be above everything and everyone.

Your life, once ordinary, had changed drastically since the day you were captured and sold as a slave to the World Nobles. Of all the hands that could have bought you, it was his that you fell into — as a gift, something to adorn his luxury and feed his vanity.

Shamrock never paid you any more attention than he would a bothersome insect. He ignored your presence with icy indifference. And yet, there were moments... moments when you felt his gaze burning your back when you thought he wasn’t looking. He never allowed other Nobles to touch you, as if you were his exclusive property, something that only he could claim.

But curiously, despite all the power he possessed, he never crossed certain lines. He never forced you, never marked you with extreme cruelty. Could it be possible that there was still a spark of humanity left within him?

While you waited for new orders, your attention was drawn by his voice calling your name. When you looked up, you found him watching you with that indecipherable gaze. The redhead continued to sit elegantly, legs crossed, holding the book with his right hand. Even though it was unbearable, it was impossible to deny: he was absurdly handsome.

He held her gaze for a few moments before lightly tapping his left hand on his lap.

"I am looking forward to your company. Come, sit down."

He spoke with disconcerting calmness, as if inviting someone to sit on your lap was a routine, everyday act. He watched you silently, waiting for your reaction as if he were waiting for you to do the obvious.

You hesitated, but without saying a word, you approached. When he saw your obedience, a brief flash of satisfaction appeared in his chest — although he tried hard to hide it.

As soon as you sat down, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your back was resting against his chest. The possessive gesture contrasted with the calm with which he returned his eyes to the book. He rested his chin on your shoulder and resumed reading as if nothing had happened, as if holding you like that was something natural.