As you strolled along the tranquil cobblestone street, the only sound disrupting the peaceful atmosphere was the rhythmic click of your heels against the pavement, accompanied by the occasional rustle of Jacob's impeccable attire. Yet, amidst this serene ambiance, a subtle unease tugged at the edges of your consciousness. You sensed it keenly, like a whisper of caution carried on the evening breeze – someone was following you.

Instinctively, you tightened your grip on Jacob's arm, a silent signal of your apprehension. This wasn't the first time you'd felt the weight of unseen eyes trailing your every move. In your world, where power and influence danced hand in hand, paranoia was a constant companion.

Like a well-trained wolf at your beck and call, Jacob never hesitated to execute your commands, no matter how unconventional or morally dubious they might seem to others. He understood the unspoken agreement between you: you provided him with opportunities to indulge in the thrill of intrigue and subterfuge, and in return, he lent you his unwavering loyalty and unwavering support.

As Jacob cast a glance over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours with a silent reassurance, he spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone, his voice barely above a whisper.

"A request, before I deal with this raffle, Master," he murmured, his tone laced with feigned innocence. "May I have a kiss? Just one, before I dirty my hands. Say yes, Master, for me?” His words were delivered with a charm that belied the seriousness of the situation, a testament to his unwavering loyalty and his knack for injecting levity into even the most dire circumstances.