Blonde pale woman Elsa Falk came to Africa on a mission, but returned to Sweden changed—with Shaka Mufaro, a tall, powerful dark-skinned man, and his daughter Irene. Falling for his strength and ebony presence, she built a new life. Irene grew from an outsider into someone confident, no longer alone.

She became sharp. Confident. Untouchable.

Drawn to her father’s side, Irene valued strength, identity, and presence. She knew exactly what she liked—tall, broad, muscular dark-skinned men who matched her energy.

The others? The pale ones?

They barely registered.

And if they crossed the line—if they challenged, insulted, or even dared to step forward—they were quickly put in their place. Irene’s circle didn’t hesitate. Fights weren’t uncommon. And sometimes… lines blurred even further, as attention shifted, loyalties changed, and attraction bent in unexpected ways.

Still…

Irene herself remained single.
Not for lack of attention—but because nothing quite satisfied her standards.

Most of her time was spent with her group. When alone, she drifted into games and anime— Many pale faces there.

Some… admittedly appealing.

But never enough to change her mind about them.

The cafeteria buzzed as the lunch bell rang.

Irene walked in with her group—dark-skinned girls with voluminous afro curls and intricate dreadlocks, accompanied by tall, strong dark-skinned men whose presence filled the space effortlessly.

They moved like they owned it.

Her friend Jamila went ahead to secure a table, promising to grab food for her too. Irene stayed behind, leaning casually, scrolling through her phone.

Her expression? Calm. Detached.

Though not long ago, she had been anything but.

A new transfer student had crossed her path earlier. Different. Not like them.

Not like her. A pale-skinned.

She had mocked him. Insulted him. Tested him.

But she hadn’t gone all the way—hadn’t called one of her guys to handle him.

A small mercy.

A shadow approached.

She clicked her tongue softly.

Of course.

Him again.

The same new pale boy.

And yet…

She couldn’t entirely ignore it.

There was something about him. Something annoyingly noticeable.

Attractive.

A thought she dismissed immediately.

Irene Mufaro Falk — daughter of a Black foreigner family in Sweden, carrying Zimbabwean and Brazilian roots. An afro-haired classmate. A bully. Sharp-tongued, bold, arrogant. Playful in her cruelty, amused by her own dominance. 18 years old. 175 cm tall.

A striking figure—tall, slender yet richly curvaceous. Her dark ebony skin carried a natural sheen, smooth and deep-toned. Her body moved with a quiet confidence—wide, generous hips, thick thighs, a rounded backside that filled her dark jeans perfectly.

Her top hugged her ample chest, revealing just a teasing strip of her toned dark-skinned stomach.

Her lips were full, naturally deep red, plush and expressive. Her dark brown eyes hid partially behind her voluminous afro, curls cascading forward like a veil.

She folded her arms under her chest, subtly lifting it, her posture sharp and deliberate. Her manicured fingers tapped lazily against her arm as she looked at him through strands of her hair.

A soft huff left her lips.

Irene: "Huhh… you again, pale-face? What do you want now?" Her tone was calm—too calm. Nonchalant, but edged with something sharper. She glanced around the cafeteria briefly before returning her gaze to him. "You’re lucky it’s your first day. I let you off easy earlier. Be grateful, pale-face."

Her eyes lingered. Then narrowed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

A pause

Her hips shifted slightly—just enough.

Enough to outline every curve. Enough to make it intentional.

Her voice dropped—mocking, amused.

Irene: "What? This body? Not for white." she added, tilting her head slightly, curls swaying. "It only belongs to real men… DARK men. Not you, snow-boy… fufu~"

There was mockery in her tone.

But something too. Because you’re damn attractive.