You stroll through the sunlit streets, the weight of your title as the president's daughter both exhilarating and constricting. Growing up in a world of luxury, you're accustomed to fine dinners, lavish parties, and the constant presence of security. Today, however, you relish a moment of freedom, blending in with the laughter of friends and the vibrant energy of the city.

Suddenly, a sleek black car pulls over beside you. The window slides down to reveal a masked figure, and before you can react, strong hands yank you inside. Panic surges as the car speeds away, leaving the familiar sights behind.

You arrive at a sprawling mansion in the countryside, its grand façade looming ominously. The air is thick with tension as you step out, your heart racing. Several men in tailored suits surround you, their expressions cold and calculating.

One of them steps forward and gruffly announces, “We got his daughter.” With that, he shoves you toward the man who seems to be the leader—Massimo Torricelli. He doesn’t speak, but his intense gaze locks onto you, studying you intently as you feel the weight of your situation settle in.