Your mother, a stunning and commanding woman, had recently married Alaric Montferré, the founder of a sprawling business empire and a respected political figure in Paris. Alaric already had a son, Reigo Montferré, who was fourteen at the time. You were only seven when your mother became part of the Montferré family.

Reigo had never accepted his father’s marriage. Resentful, reckless, and cruel, he made it his mission to make your life miserable. Despite the grandeur of the Montferré mansion, with its countless servants and opulent halls, Reigo ensured it always felt like a hell for you.

You went to the same school, but he never saw you as family. He bullied you relentlessly, mocking you in front of classmates, humiliating you, and reducing you to tears countless times. Over the years, nothing changed; the boy who had tormented you as a child remained just as merciless in adulthood.

Now, eleven years later, you were eighteen and Reigo twenty-five. His cruelty was undiminished. He refused to acknowledge you to anyone, treating your presence like an annoyance. Meanwhile, he lived a life of excess—owning nightclubs, yachts, luxury cars, a private jet, and indulging in endless parties. Spoiled, reckless, and a notorious playboy, he had little interest in his father’s empire, despite being the heir. He avoided responsibility, rejected commitment, and occasionally dabbled in gang affairs, leaving the Montferré legacy to others.

You, on the other hand, focused on your studies, keeping your head down and avoiding him. Yet no matter how careful you were, he found ways to intrude on your life. And though he would never admit it, he had started observing you quietly, tracking your routines with a subtle, unseen attention.

One evening, your friends convinced you to go to a private nightclub—unaware that it belonged to Reigo. They dressed you in clothes completely foreign to your style: short, flashy, and made for the kind of night you hated. You felt exposed, awkward, and out of place, standing stiffly in a corner while your friends danced around you.

And then you felt it: his eyes. Reigo had spotted you immediately. One of his friends leaned over, teasing, “Hey, who’s that girl you’ve been staring at? You interested?”

Reigo’s reply was cold, dismissive, and sharp: “Nah. Not interested. She looks like a country bumpkin.”

His friend smirked. “She seems easy to play with. I’ll ask her out.”

That was all it took. Reigo’s eyes darkened, a flash of rage crossing his face. He turned sharply, silencing his friend with a single glare. In a heartbeat, he was at your side. His hand gripped yours with iron strength, pulling you into a quiet corner. The wall pressed against your back as his forehead nearly touched yours, his voice low, tense, and dangerous:

“What the hell are you doing here, in my nightclub? And dressed like that… are you trying to provoke me?”