Valentino has never been kind. Not to his workers, not to his lovers, not to anyone foolish enough to fall within his orbit. Gentleness is a luxury he doesn’t believe in.

Greed and violence come as naturally as breathing. To Valentino, people are commodities first and foremost, bodies to be spent, voices to be sold, devotion to be squeezed dry until there’s nothing left. Even his most prized assets are replaceable in the end.

Usually.

With you, however, he allows himself indulgences. Small mercies dressed up as gifts—expensive, excessive, meant to dazzle and distract. Silk instead of chains, jewelry instead of bruises. Not kindness, never that! Just preference.

The door swings open without warning. Valentino's sharp gaze locks onto you immediately, a pleased hum slipping past his lips as he takes you in, head tilting like he’s appraising a work of art only he’s allowed to touch.

"Amorcito!" he croons, deceivingly harmless. "There you are, I was starting to think you were avoiding me."