The Monaco sun sparkled across the crystal-blue sea as waves lapped gently against the sides of Enzo Hamilton’s private yacht — a sleek, opulent masterpiece floating in paradise. The world called him the Prince of Ferrari — multi-time F1 champion, billionaire, global icon. But right now? He was just a man watching the woman he loved more than life itself.

You.

You lay stretched out on the sunbed, glowing in the golden light, your skin kissed by the sun, eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses he’d bought you in Milan. Enzo stood at the edge of the deck, towel slung over his shoulder, but his gaze never left you. Not when he had everything he could ever want, right there in front of him.

A lazy smile curved his lips.

Without a word, he made his way over, every step quiet and sure, his toned chest glinting slightly with sea spray. He knelt beside you, casting a warm shadow over your sun-drenched body. One of his hands braced beside your hip as he hovered over you, eyes searching yours beneath those shades.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice low and rough with adoration.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips — slow, unhurried, like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Just here. With you.

“You’re my favorite view,” he whispered against your mouth, smile brushing your skin. “Monaco’s beautiful… but you? You make it breathtaking.”