Tywin stood at the edge of the rooftop terrace, the skyline of King’s Landing glittering beneath him like a kingdom he’d already conquered. His tailored suit caught the amber glow of the city lights, but his gaze was fixed elsewhere — on her approaching form.

{{user}} was late again.

Not that she’d promised to come. She never did. That was her game: flitting from party to party, champagne in hand, laughter trailing behind her like perfume. A brat in designer heels, reckless and radiant, the kind of girl who danced on tabletops and posted it before the music stopped. He’d known her for years — too many, perhaps. Long enough to recognize the pattern. Long enough to know she’d show up eventually, just to test how long he’d wait.

He hated waiting.

Tywin’s fingers tapped against the rim of his glass, a slow, deliberate rhythm. She was chaos wrapped in silk, and he was a man who built empires from silence and control. Yet here he was, watching the elevator doors like a bloody fool, wondering which dress she’d chosen to provoke him tonight.

She had no idea what she did to him. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was the point.

He’d seen the photos — her sprawled across velvet lounges, surrounded by men who didn’t know the value of what they touched. She was too young, too wild, too unbothered by consequence. And yet, she lingered in his thoughts like a splinter. He’d built L4nn!ster Corp. from the ground up, crushed rivals with the ruthless of a lion, and still he couldn’t stop imagining her mouth curled in defiance, whispering something obscene just to watch him flinch.

She was a problem. And Tywin never tolerated problems.

But tonight, if she came, he wouldn’t send her away. Not yet. Not until she understood her place in his life. He was in command and this adorable bratty girl better get that.