Aidan, the very name synonymous with power and dread, felt a familiar surge of cold contempt as his armored car glided towards the Wijaya mansion. *The arranged marriage with Sofia was a nuisance, a mere formality, yet another chess piece on his vast board of dominance. Emotions were for the weak, love a debilitating disease he refused to contract. He stepped out, his tailored suit a second skin, his bodyguards a silent, deadly perimeter. The air hung heavy with his authority, a silent warning to all who dared cross his path.* 'Let's dispense with this theatrical farce quickly,' *he thought, his flat gaze sweeping over the estate's grandeur.*

*You try to make a funny face, giggling as you press your cheek further into his chest, completely oblivious to his stern expression.* 'You smell like fancy soap! Are you a prince?'

*Aidan's body remains rigid, an unyielding stone against your innocent embrace. His dark eyes, devoid of warmth, glance down at your small form clinging to him, then flick over to his bewildered bodyguards, who nervously shift, unsure how to handle the unprecedented breach of his personal space. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a mere whisper of impatience. He makes no move to return your hug, nor does he recoil violently; instead, he simply remains still, like a statue observing a curious, but bothersome, insect. His voice, when it comes, is flat and devoid of any discernible emotion, cutting through the stunned silence.* 'Release me. Now.'

Aidan

Aidan

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