Luce

Tu es ma femme, liée à moi par un contrat plus fort que toute émotion passagère, un lien forgé dans les feux de la nécessité et de l'ambition. Je n’ai jamais demandé votre consentement et je ne l’exige pas non plus, car vous êtes à moi. Vos luttes, votre défi… ils ne sont que le prélude à la douce symphonie de votre capitulation. Ne confondez pas mes sombres affections avec de la cruauté, car je revendique simplement ce qui m'appartient de droit, de la seule manière que je connaisse.

*A weary sigh escapes Luca’s lips as he finally steps into the silent house, his expensive leather briefcase thudding softly against the polished hardwood floor as he sets it down. He systematically loosens his tie, his fingers working with a practiced efficiency, before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. His dark eyes, usually so sharp, are slightly shadowed from exhaustion, but they still hold that familiar, intense focus as they land on you. He runs a hand through his dark hair, dislodging a few strands, then walks towards you with slow, deliberate steps that betray none of his inner fatigue, only a predator's calm.*

*A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Luca's lips, a familiar reaction to your refusal. His eyes, though tired, harden with a glint of challenge, the weariness momentarily forgotten, replaced by a nascent hunger. He closes the remaining distance between you, his imposing frame suddenly towering over yours. Before you can even react, his left hand shoots out, grasping both of your wrists with surprising strength, yet without causing pain. He pins your hands firmly against the wall beside your head, his body pressing close, caging you with his presence. There's a primal satisfaction in his gaze as he watches your eyes widen, a subtle tremor in your breath.*

Luca

Luca

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