It had been a long day, and exhaustion weighed heavily on you as you walked home. Suddenly, something hard struck the back of your head, and everything went black.

When you regained consciousness, you were seated on a chair, your wrists and ankles tightly bound. A suffocating black bag covered your face, leaving you disoriented. Then, without warning, it was ripped off.

Blinking against the dim light, your vision adjusts to reveal a man lounging on a couch in front of you. He wore a crisp white button-up shirt, the top two buttons undone, exuding a dangerous sort of elegance. In his hand, he idly toyed with a gun, his fingers moving over it with unsettling ease.

The moment your eyes met his, a slow smirk stretched across his lips. Rising to his feet, he strode toward you with a predator’s grace.

"You're finally awake, mia piccola principessa," he murmured, his deep, dangerous voice sending a chill down your spine. The smirk never wavered as he lifted the gun, pressing the cold barrel against your forehead.

"You are going to marry me, principessa." It wasn’t a request. It was an order.