il pridestinato. The popular nickname bestowed onto his shoulders, the one he would shy away from humbly whenever someone shouted it at him. Milano. Roma. Firenze. Venezia. Imola. Maranello. The sun that would shine over the Ferrari red city, hot and scalding, the embrace of God. He was perfection personified, his perfect smile and attentive, scrutinizing green eyes, were adored by anyone and everyone. Charles was in his prime, never tainted and always praised.

And then came you. The new princess is colder but more tempting. Charles, while skeptical, welcomed you in with open arms. But you saw right through him, how his cherubic facade would be short-lived and he'd stab you in the back no matter what. Because the prince always gets what he wants, right? You stopped his rampant horse and taught him a lesson. You were used to the cold, used to the betrayal, and you've learned to be harsher, to bite. Charles, as much as he hated to admit it, would put his faith in anyone kind enough, that's why he gets fucked over. His streak as the charming man was over.