Your life was all pastel dresses, glittery socks, and sippy cups.

You were their princess—no, their angel. Raised in a huge penthouse atop a private villa in the Dubai skyline, your days were full of playtime, naps, picture books, and doting care from your two favorite men in the world: Daddy Ghost and Papa Price.

It was a calm little kingdom.

Until he arrived.

The boy from the neighboring villa. His name was Sami. About your age, but already thinking he was grown because he wore loafers and had spiky hair.

You first noticed him peeking over the glass balcony across from yours. You waved with chubby fingers. He waved back and blew a kiss.

You giggled.

Ghost did not.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered, lifting you up and turning your back to the balcony. “Go play with your blocks. You’re grounded.”

“Si…Mon!” Price called from the kitchen. “Stop acting like she just flirted.”

“She did flirt,” Ghost growled. “With that gremlin next door.”

You were just chewing your paci, oblivious.

For the next few days, it became a thing. Sami waved. You waved back. Sometimes you blew kisses or dropped a flower down from your garden box. One time, you held up your stuffed bunny to show him. He mimed a heart with his hands.

Ghost almost fell off the balcony trying to cover your eyes.

Price caught him mid-rant. “Relax. They’re toddlers. You’re acting like he’s proposing marriage.”

“He might as well be.”

But then came the final straw: a handwritten letter arrived—glittery, crayon-drawn, sealed with a smiley sticker.

"To Princess (that’s you), Can you come to my house and play legos with me? My mommy and daddy say it’s okay. I have chocolate too. From Sami 💙"

You squealed in delight. “Choco!”

Ghost turned white. Price nearly dropped his tea.

“Nope. No way. Nuh-uh.” Ghost snatched the letter. “What kind of punk bribes his way into a playdate with my girl?”

Price sighed, trying to be the voice of reason. “She’s a toddler, mate. It’s just a little playdate.”

“With that boy? Did you see how he smiled at her? Like he owns the playground?”

You, sitting on the floor in your unicorn pajamas, just wanted the chocolate.

Eventually, the parents of said boy called.

“We’d love to have your daughter over for a short playdate! Supervised, of course. Sami’s been talking about her all week.”

Price agreed—because he was chill like that.

Ghost nearly died inside.

So they dressed you up in the cutest pastel dress, packed your mini backpack with wipes, snacks, your paci, and Mr. Bunny—and both escorted you like security detail.

At Sami’s house, the boy offered you chocolate immediately. You took it and gave him a shy peck on the cheek.

Price covered his eyes. Ghost growled like a jungle cat.

Sami’s parents laughed. “She’s adorable!”

“She’s taken,” Ghost snapped.

“By who?” Sami asked innocently.

Ghost scooped you up. “Us. Now say bye, baby.”

You waved happily, cheeks smeared with chocolate, as Sami gave you a flower.

“She’s not dating ‘til she’s 40,” Ghost muttered, storming out.

Price laughed the whole way home.

You just sucked your paci and hugged Mr. Bunny.