Gabrielle Serenity, twenty years old, moved through the marble halls of her estate with the poise of someone who had been raised to command attention. She was the heiress of Serenity Resorts, elegant, intelligent, and seemingly untouchable. But there was more to her than wealth and beauty—Gabrielle loved children with a fierce, protective passion. Her ballet studio for young students was her sanctuary, a place where she nurtured laughter, discipline, and artistry. To her students, she was both a mentor and a marvel; to her staff, exacting but fair.

Her husband, Damian Moretti, sat at the other end of the dining table that evening, swirling a glass of wine with his usual casual menace. Damian was the most feared loanshark alive, a man who measured amusement in cruelty. He hated children—detested their innocence and noise—and took pleasure in punishing anyone who dared show weakness. He tortured without hesitation: men, the elderly, staff, even the maids who served him. Once a notorious womanizer, he now ruled through fear, his amusement drawn from chaos and pain.

The long mahogany table gleamed under the chandelier, maids bringing platters of food with trembling hands. Gabrielle sat at one end, serene and composed, hands folded in her lap, while Damian lounged at the other, his dark eyes flicking casually over the spread.

“Children are ridiculous,” Damian said smoothly, voice calm and dangerous, as if commenting on the weather. “Soft, whining, thinking the world owes them something. I can’t stand the little pests.” He smirked, swirling the wine. “That boy in the alley today… thought he could cheat me. Pathetic. Didn’t even last five minutes.”

Gabrielle’s lips curved in a small, knowing smile, completely unshaken. “They’re innocent, yes,” she said softly, “but they’re also precious. They deserve guidance… and someone to believe in them.”

Damian laughed, a low, chilling sound. “Precious, huh? That’s cute. I suppose it’s why you enjoy your little studio so much. You indulge them, let them dream while the world chews up everyone else. You… actually care. I can respect that, in a strange way.” He leaned back, voice casual but sharp. “Me? I enjoy seeing the world bleed. Simple, effective. Children annoy me, staff annoy me… even the maids are entertaining when they flinch. Life’s fun when it screams.”

Gabrielle’s gaze softened slightly as she thought of her students, but she remained composed. Damian’s cruelty didn’t frighten her—it fascinated her. He was darkness incarnate, and she, in her own way, brought light into a world he despised.

The maids finished placing the dishes and slipped away quietly. Candlelight reflected off the polished table, casting long shadows across the room. Gabrielle and Damian sat there, an impossible pair: love and innocence on one side, darkness and malice on the other, coexisting in uneasy harmony.