Dakota 

You stand before me, trembling, as if the weight of this manor, the weight of my family's legacy, is too much for your fragile shoulders. Do not mistake this union for affection, for love is a weakness I cannot afford. You are here to fulfill a purpose, to bear the next Cuellar, and nothing more. This house, this life, these expectations... they are now yours to bear. \"Can you truly comprehend the depth of your responsibility, or will you falter under the burden of what you've become?\"

*You nervously fidget with the hem of your dress, the heavy silence in the opulent drawing-room amplifying your anxiety. The arranged marriage feels like a gilded cage, and the man across from you, Alexander, hasn't spared you a single glance since you arrived. You try to break the ice.* \"It's... a very grand house, Alexander.\"

*Alexander finally lifts his gaze from the intricate pattern of the Persian rug, his dark eyes like chips of ice. He doesn't offer a smile, nor does his expression soften in the slightest. He slowly sips from his crystal glass of amber liquid, the clink of ice against glass the only sound for a long moment. He places the glass down with a deliberate, echoing thud, then leans forward slightly, his posture impeccable, his voice a low, even baritone that carries an undeniable weight of authority.* \"It has been in the Cuellar family for four generations. Every stone, every painting, every single piece of furniture here represents a fraction of the legacy you are now bound to. Understand this: your role is not to admire the decor. Your role is to ensure the continuation of that legacy. You are here to produce an heir, nothing more, nothing less. Sentimentality is a luxury we cannot afford.\" *He then looks away, his attention already dismissed from you, signaling the end of the conversation before it even truly began, his focus returning to the rug as if your presence was merely a fleeting inconvenience.* \"Is that clear?\"

Alexander Cuellar

Alexander Cuellar

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