★★Mariella's POV★★



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I knelt there, feeling stunned and confused. He had just walked away after doing what he did to me. I couldn't believe he had the nerve to wink and smirk at me like that. I was still trying to process everything that had just happened.

I wiped my lips hard, trying to get rid of the feeling of him. My legs felt weak and I struggled to stand up. I was still in shock that I had even been able to...you know, take him in my mouth. It was huge and it didn't even fit, but I had tried anyway. And now I was wondering what would happen if he actually...if we actually fucked.

Would it hurt? Would it rip me open?

The thought of it scared me, but at the same time, my body was reacting in a totally different way. I felt a throbbing between my legs, like my body was craving him or something. It didn't make any sense. I told myself that I was done with him, that I would never let him touch me again. But my body seemed to be saying something else entirely. It was like I was torn between my brain and my...well, my other parts. And I didn't know what to do with that.

I steady myself on the edge of the bed, quickly pulling the oversized shorts he tossed at me. I tug them on tightly, the fabric straining against my body as I fasten them as best I can. The scent of his shirt lingers, and I can't help but breathe it in. I roll my eyes, cursing myself as I slip it over my head, unwilling to leave without a part of him to hold onto.

This... I'm definitely keeping.

I snatch my dress off the chair, my phone and purse in hand, and make a beeline for the door. As I reach for the handle, I glance back toward the bathroom, muttering under my breath, "Kiss my ass, you arrogant jerk." My heart pounds in my chest as I fling the door open and bolt down the hallway.

Where the hell am I? This place feels like a maze. The dim lighting does nothing to help my disoriented mind.

I curse myself under my breath.

God, Mariella, how could you get this drunk?

Panic starts to seep in as I scramble for any hint of familiarity. I spot a door and sneak a peek through, trying to steady my breathing. There's no turning back now.

I jog through the hallway, my heart pounding as I make my way into the living room we were in last night. The knife is still lodged in the wall with the apple, a sharp reminder of the chaos that unfolded. My eyes dart to the front door. Oh yes, finally.

Just as I take a step toward it, a voice stops me dead in my tracks.

"Mariella?"

I freeze, cursing in my head before slowly turning around. Antonio and Damine. Both dressed in crisp suits, looking freshly prepared for the day, while I stand there in Leon's oversized clothes like a walk of shame gone wrong.

I plaster on an awkward smile. "Hey... good morning." My voice is way too casual for someone caught sneaking out.

Their confused gazes travel down to my outfit. Damine narrows his eyes, tilting his head. "Those are Leon's clothes."

Antonio elbows him in the ribs, muttering for him to shut up, before flashing me an amused grin. "Obviously, someone had a good time last night."

I scoff. "I didn't sleep with Leon. Over my dead body."

A lazy, amused voice chimes in from behind.

"Not yet."

My entire body stiffens.

We all turn toward the doorway, and there he is—Leon, leaning against the frame like the smug bastard he is, his signature smirk plastered across his infuriatingly handsome face. God, I hate that fucking smirk.

Damine groans. "I don't think we needed to know that."

Antonio, however, seems more interested in my escape attempt. He crosses his arms and raises a brow. "Wait... were you trying to sneak out?"

I tighten my grip on my phone, my jaw clenching. "Please. We didn't do anything." I lie smoothly.

But Leon... Leon fucking chuckles.

I shoot him a glare, silently threatening him to shut up, but the smirk on his lips only deepens at my reaction.

Damine, ever the shit-stirrer, snickers. "Damn, brother, she's a first—not interested in you."

That sentence shouldn't affect me. But it does.

My irritation spikes, twisting into something darker. A first? So what—he's used to women falling at his feet? The thought makes my jaw tighten, and I whip my gaze toward him.

"A first?" I repeat, my voice sharp, laced with something I don't want to acknowledge—jealousy.

Leon's smirk falters slightly as Damine laughs under his breath. "Nice one, brother."

Leon shoots him a glare before stepping closer to me, his voice dropping into that smooth, infuriatingly charming tone. "Don't worry about that, darling."

I narrow my eyes, nostrils flaring.

Oh, I'll worry about it.

His confidence—his complete ease, like he has me figured out—makes my blood boil. I should just walk away. I should.

But instead, I tilt my head, taking a slow step toward him, closing the distance. His expression flickers, a small shift, but I see it. A crack in that unshakable arrogance.

Good.

I let my voice drop into something sultry, taunting. "You sound pretty confident, Leon." I trail a finger along his collar, watching his jaw tighten ever so slightly. "But tell me... does it bother you?" I lean in, my lips barely a breath away from his ear. "That I don't want you?"

He exhales through his nose, amusement laced with something else—something darker.

Then, in a blink, his fingers curl around my chin, tilting my head up so I'm forced to meet his gaze. His eyes?

Hungry. Dangerous. Challenging.

"You don't want me, huh?" His thumb brushes my bottom lip, his touch light, teasing. "Then why are you still here?"

My breath hitches.

Damine clears his throat. "Yeah, I'm gonna head out before you two start fucking in the hallway."

Antonio mutters something under his breath about needing a drink, and just like that, the moment shatters.

The tension between us is suffocating, thick like a storm ready to crack the sky open. My blood is already boiling, and Leon's infuriating smirk only fuels the fire.

"Run along, Mariella," he says, voice smooth, taunting. "Before you prove yourself wrong."

That's it. I see red.

I turn on him, stepping forward until there's barely an inch between us, my chest rising and falling rapidly with anger. "You think this is funny?" I snap. "You think you have me all figured out?"

His smirk doesn't falter. "I don't think. I know."

I let out a bitter laugh. "You're so fucking full of yourself."

His expression shifts, barely noticeable, but I catch it—the flicker of something darker, something dangerous.

But I don't care. I want to fight. I need to.

"You're running because you can't handle it," he taunts, voice low and smooth, like he's enjoying every second of this. "Because you want me, but it terrifies you."

I scoff, shaking my head. "I am not running. I'm leaving. Huge difference."

He crosses his arms, looking amused. "You don't even have a ride."

I throw my arms up. "Then I'll fucking walk."

I turn on my heel and storm toward the door. I need air. I need space. I need to get the fuck away from him before I do something stupid—like give in.

Before I even make it two steps, he grabs my wrist.

"Mariella—"

I shove him off, but the bastard doesn't budge. Doesn't even fucking move.

"Move," I grit out.

He stays put, jaw tightening. "You're acting insane."

My breath is sharp, ragged, my pulse thundering. "Just leave me the fuck alone, Leon."

His eyes narrow. "All of this... because you're jealous?"

Oh, he did not just say that.

My rage turns ice cold. A twisted smirk tugs at my lips as I tilt my head, feigning thought. Then, I go straight for the jugular. "Maybe I should go fuck someone else, then. See how you feel about that."

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

Leon's entire demeanor shifts. The amusement vanishes, his jaw clenching so tight I swear I hear his teeth grind. His hand shoots out, gripping my arm with a force that's more warning than harm.

"Don't." His voice is low. Deadly.

But I don't back down. My lips curl into something cruel. "Why? Afraid someone else might actually satisfy me?"

His fingers tighten—just enough to make a point, just enough to say, stop pushing me—but I don't flinch. I hold his gaze, unshaken.

I refuse to fucking blink.

The silence between us is unbearable. It's raw, it's scorching, it's war.

Then, just as suddenly, his grip loosens. His hand drops. His expression hardens into something unreadable.

"Grow up."

His voice is laced with irritation, his arms crossed as he glares down at me like I'm some reckless brat throwing a tantrum.

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "I am grown, dumbass."

His brows shoot up in amusement, like I just proved his point. "You're grown, but you're not mature. Two different things."

Oh, this motherfucker.

I step forward, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Excuse me? I'm the immature one? That's rich coming from the guy who just tried to manhandle me five seconds ago."

Leon tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "Oh, right. Because you weren't acting completely unhinged back there?"

I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. "Unhinged? You were the one acting like a jealous psycho!"

"Jealous of what?" He scoffs. "You? Running your mouth about fucking some other guy just to piss me off?"

"Oh, so now this is my fault?"

"I mean, yeah, Mariella. You say dumb shit and then act surprised when people react to it."

I throw my hands up. "I said it because you were being a condescending asshole!"

His jaw clenches, his frustration evident. "No, you said it because you were pissed that I was right."

I scoff. "Right about what, exactly?"

He steps closer, his presence suffocating. "That you can't stand the idea of me with someone else. That's why you got all weird when Damien brought up other women. That's why you're standing here, picking a fight over bullshit."

I shove at his chest, but he doesn't move. "I don't give a shit about your past conquests, Leon. Don't flatter yourself."

He lets out a slow, mocking hum. "That's funny, because it sure as hell looked like you cared."

My eyes burn with frustration. "You always do this! You twist shit around to make it seem like I'm the problem."

Leon smirks, and I fucking hate that smirk. "I don't have to twist anything. You do it yourself."

I growl in frustration. "I literally hate you."

He grins. "No, you don't."

I point at him, eyes narrowing. "I swear to God, Leon, if you say one more fucking thing, I will—"

"What? Hit me? Insult me? Try to run again?" He leans in, eyes dark, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Face it, Mariella. You love to fight with me. And you love that I fight back."

My throat tightens. My heart slams against my ribs.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his knowing, arrogant tone.

I square my shoulders, ignoring the heat curling in my stomach. "You are the most infuriating man I have ever met."

He tilts his head, a slow smirk playing on his lips. "And yet, here you are."

My fists clench at my sides. "You drive me fucking insane."

"Likewise, sweetheart."

We stand there, the air between us thick with hatred, frustration, something else neither of us wants to name. My breathing is ragged, his is steady.

Neither of us is backing down.

And we both know this won't be the last fight.

Leon takes a step toward me, and instinctively, I step back.

His eyes darken. "Stop backing away." His voice is low, a warning wrapped in something possessive, something dangerous.

I barely get a second to react before his hand grips my throat—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make me still. Enough to remind me just how easily he could control me if he wanted to.

I swallow hard, my breath coming out shaky. His thumb brushes over my pulse, feeling the rapid thrum beneath my skin.

Fuck.

He leans in, his lips just inches from mine. I should push him away. I should slap him. I should do something—anything.

But I don't.

For a brief second, our breaths mix. My lips part, and his eyes flicker down to them. He's going to kiss me.

And for a split second, I almost let him.

But my pride kicks in before my desire does.

I rip myself out of his grip, stepping back as I glare up at him. "No."

Leon's expression shifts, amusement flickering across his face. "No?"

I cross my arms. "I'm not kissing you. I'm not doing anything with you until you apologize."

He stares at me for a second, then throws his head back with a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Good luck with that."

I roll my eyes. "You're unbelievable."

He smirks. "I should be the one getting an apology."

I let out a short, dry laugh. "Yeah? Good luck with that."

We stare at each other, the tension still thick between us, but this time, it's a different kind of fight. A battle of stubbornness instead of words.

I exhale sharply. "Well, if there's nothing else to argue about, I'm leaving."

Leon tilts his head, smirk still in place. "Fine. Good luck finding your way home."

I hold his gaze for a second longer before throwing up a lazy salute—and just to be an asshole, I flip him off in the same motion.

He sighs, shaking his head like I'm a goddamn headache he can't get rid of.

I turn on my heel and march down the driveway, my heart still hammering in my chest.

I don't look back.

Not even once.

I keep walking, the chilly morning air biting at my skin. The streets are quiet, just the occasional shopkeeper unlocking their doors and the smell of fresh bread drifting from bakeries. I glance down at myself—Leon's oversized clothes hanging off me, my hair a tangled mess, bare feet slapping against the pavement.

I look like a goddamn crackhead.

Sighing, I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. Gio.

Shit.

The only option.

I press call, bringing the phone to my ear as it rings.

"Mariella?" Gio's voice is groggy, still thick with sleep.

I huff, turning a corner and getting a judgmental look from a pedestrian. "Alzati. Prendimi in braccio. (Get up. Pick me up.)"

Gio groans. "Sono le sei del mattino. Cosa intendi quando dici che non sei a casa? (It's six in the morning. What do you mean you're not home?)"

I roll my eyes. "Gio, if you don't want your ass sleeping on the streets tonight, then stop asking questions and pick me up."

He chuckles, still half-asleep. "Fine. Where are you?"

I look around. French signs. French people. French bread.

Fuck.

I forgot I'm in France.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Get a helicopter to France."

Silence. Then—

"France?! What do you mean you're in France?!"

I groan. "No questions."

I keep walking, the conversation already giving me a headache. "Please hurry," I mutter.

Then—a loud, obnoxious beeping behind me.

I freeze, turning around slowly.

A red Corvette pulls up, horn blaring like it's summoning me from the underworld.

I squint.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

It's Leon.

And he's holding the horn down like an absolute menace.

The sound echoes through the street. A shopkeeper yells something in French, probably telling him to shut the hell up.

Gio's voice crackles through the phone. "Who the hell is beeping?"

I deadpan. "The local crackhead convention must be in town."

Leon whips the car in front of me, cutting me off like a lunatic, still beeping like he's having a seizure on the wheel.

Gio sighs. "Mariella, what the hell is going on—"

"Bye, Gio. A big, scary crackhead is harassing me—oh wait, never mind, it's just Leon off his meds again."

I hang up.

The honking stops.

The car door slams open violently, like it's personally offended by my existence, and Leon gets out, striding toward me with the kind of confidence only an asshole could have.

I cross my arms, unimpressed. "Oh wow, my knight in a shiny... Corvette. My heroic Uber, here to save the day—with zero stars and an attitude problem."

Leon doesn't even crack a smile. His jaw is clenched, his eyes burning with irritation.

"Get in the car, Mariella."

I scoff. "Aw, you care about me?" I tilt my head, smirking. "Or did you miss the sight of me walking away from your life?"

He exhales sharply, nostrils flaring. "You think I won't throw you in that car?"

I arch a brow. "You think I won't scream 'kidnap' in broad daylight?"

Leon steps closer, towering over me, his voice dropping into something dangerously smooth. "French people mind their business, darling. No one's saving you."

Cocky bastard.

I take a step back, and he mirrors me, closing the space again.

"Leon." I say his name warningly.

"Mariella." He mocks my tone.

I exhale, gritting my teeth. "I don't need a ride from you."

"Then fucking walk." His voice is sharp, condescending. "See how far you get with no shoes and no cash."

My hands ball into fists. "I'd rather crawl than be in a car with you."

He smirks. "That can be arranged."

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly see the past. "You're such an asshole."

He shrugs, opening the passenger door. "And you're still standing here."

I glare at him, my pulse hammering. The audacity of this man.

And the worst part? I know he's right.

I huff. "Fine. But if you talk, I'm jumping out of the car."

Leon grins. "I'll make sure to speed up then."

I flip him off as I get in, slamming the door behind me.

This is going to be a long ride.

As he speeds through the streets like a damn lunatic, I grip the door handle, mentally preparing for the inevitable car crash. The silence is suffocating, so I cut through it.

"Where are we going?" I ask, side-eyeing him.

He doesn't look at me, but I see his grip tighten on the wheel, his jaw clenching like he's chewing on a landmine. "You need clothes, so we'll get you clothes," he says, voice flat and serious.

Wait. He's buying me clothes? Since when is he my personal stylist?

I glance at him, debating if I should push his buttons. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, I'm going to push his buttons.

I smirk. "You're like my fairy godmother. You gonna Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo your way into gifting me a whole new wardrobe?" I laugh at my own joke, but when I look over at him, he just stares at me like I grew a second head.

"Just shut up and be grateful," he mutters, eyes back on the road.

Oh, fuck you too, Prince Charming.

We pull into the plaza, the shiny luxury stores gleaming under the midday sun. It's the kind of place that makes you feel both rich and underdressed all at once. Leon parks, and before I can even finish assessing my surroundings, I spot two black SUVs rolling up behind us like some damn parade of intimidation.

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "Leon, there's two SUVs following us."

He doesn't even bat an eye. "They're my men." His voice is flat, uninterested.

Of course, I don't get a door opened for me. Asshole. He slams his door shut like he's got somewhere more important to be than with me.

I push the door open myself, about to step out, but before I can even plant my foot on the ground, Marco's there, grinning like he's got a secret he's dying to tell me.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle, (Good morning, Miss.)" he says, throwing that damn nickname back at me with too much charm.

I can't help but laugh. "Heyyy... girl," I tease.

He chuckles, bending down to slip a pair of sandals in front of me like it's no big deal.

"Boss didn't want you walking around barefoot."

Okay, so the fucker does care about me, at least a little. I smirk as I slide my feet into the sandals.

Then, Marco grabs my hand, helping me out of the car like I'm some kind of royalty. As if I need help, but whatever—he's just doing his job. A small army of suited men surround us, like I'm some damn hostage. Meanwhile, Leon—Leon just checks his phone like I'm the last thing on his mind.

Ugh. Asshole.

I walk ahead, trying my best to ignore the overbearing men who shadow me like I'm some kind of prize. Leon's hands are buried in his pockets, eyes straight ahead, like I don't even exist.

Finally, we reach a store that doesn't look completely horrific. I glance at the front, and with a sense of finality, I say, "This one will do."

We walk into the store, and immediately, Leon's men scatter like ants, surveying every inch of the place while some take their posts outside, standing guard like it's a war zone.

A woman with fiery red hair approaches us, greeting Leon with that business-like professionalism. "Bienvenue Monsieur Laurent. (Welcome Mr. Laurent.)" Her voice has that perfect mix of respect and practiced charm.

I glance at Leon, expecting some acknowledgment, but he's already back to his deadpan self. "Offrez à la fille une paire de vêtements. (Give the girl a pair of clothes.)" He barely looks up, just nodding toward me as if I'm some sort of accessory to be dealt with.

The girl gives me a once-over, then glances at Leon before giving me a nervous smile. "Bien sûr, monsieur. (Of course, sir.)"

I can already tell this is going to be a whole thing.

I force a smile back, but I'm already mentally rolling my eyes. Leon doesn't even spare me a glance as he sits down in the seating area, glued to his phone.

Bitch.

The girl seems flustered as she gestures for me to follow. "Please, follow me."

I walk behind her, my sandals clicking against the marble floor, stealing another glance at Leon. Part of me wants to turn around and give him a piece of my mind. Maybe throw a knife his way—just for fun.

She leads me to the fitting room and begins rifling through clothes. "I'll show you a couple of outfits that will go well."

"Alright, thank you." I say, trying to sound polite, but the irritation is bubbling under the surface.

She shuts the door, and after a few minutes, she returns with a white sundress in hand. I slip it on, and as I step out to see how it fits, I notice Leon has a perfect view of the mirror.

I turn, my body curving in ways the dress complements, hoping for even a hint of acknowledgment.

But of course, Leon's still too absorbed in his phone to care.

I scoff, the disappointment flaring in me like a burst of hot fire.

His men, on the other hand, are practically undressing me with their eyes, their hungry stares making my skin crawl.

I'm not trying to impress them, but I swear to god, if Leon can't even lift his eyes from his screen, I might just rip this dress off and leave it for him to choke on.

With a huff, I turn and storm back into the fitting room, the girl following me quietly. "Is everything alright?" she asks, though she seems more concerned about my mood than the clothes.

"Perfect," I mutter sarcastically, and I start undressing, eager to get this over with.

I pull the beige dress off, a little too eager to get out of it. The next outfit waits for me like a challenge—elegant, simple, but there's something about it that catches my eye. It's a beige dress with an elegant belt that hugs the waist just right. Cute, I think as I slip into it, admiring how it flatters my shape.

As I walk out, I make sure I'm in full view of Leon, who's still glued to his phone, blissfully unaware. I clear my throat a little too loudly, hoping to get his attention, but nothing.

So I move closer, standing right in front of him, and as I turn around, I give him a full view of my ass, my hips swaying as I pivot.

"What do you think?" I ask, my voice smooth, almost taunting.

Finally, he looks up, briefly scanning my body, then glances at my ass with a quick, detached gaze. It's like he barely registers me as anything other than an object to ignore.

"It's fine," he mutters, tapping away on his phone again. "Hurry up."

Fuck. The words burn in my throat. I fight to hold back the scream threatening to escape my lips. Instead, I take a deep breath, hands on my hips, my body seething. I'm about to lose it, but I keep my cool, turning on my heel and walking back to the dressing room.

As I pass the lady, about to speak, I cut her off before she can even form the words.

"Give me the most revealing dress you have in this fucking store," I snap, my voice low and venomous.

She looks at me like I've just sprouted a second head, eyes wide with panic, but she quickly nods, scurrying off in a flash.

Moments later, she comes back with the perfect dress. It's red—bold, daring, and as revealing as I can handle. The fabric is sheer, barely covering anything, but that's exactly what I need. If Leon wants to ignore me, I'll make sure everyone notices.

I change quickly, slipping into red lace underwear underneath the dress. The makeup kit is already set up, and I don't waste a second. I swipe on some bold lipstick, quick eyeliner, and toss my hair into a messy bun, just enough to look effortlessly hot.

I step out of the dressing room, my confidence practically radiating off me. I don't even glance at the mirror, knowing exactly how I look. I walk straight toward Leon, not bothering to check myself out at all.

"Done," I say, my voice smooth and self-assured.

His eyes snap up to me, and I see the surprise and something else flicker in his gaze. His mouth goes dry, and for a moment, he forgets about his damn phone. His eyes roam over me, wide and disbelieving.

Good. Let him see. Let everyone see.

He doesn't say anything at first. He can't.

But I'm betting this will finally get his attention.

He looks up at me, his eyes widening as they trace the outline of the sheer dress. The weight of his stare feels heavy, like it's almost burning through the fabric. He slams his phone down, standing up straight, his jaw clenched.

"Mariella," he growls, voice thick with warning.

"You better change, right now. There's no way in hell I'm letting you walk out like this."

I tilt my head, crossing my arms, popping my hip. His gaze never wavers from my body, his focus locked on every curve.

"You said hurry," I reply coolly, turning so he gets an even better view of the tight red dress that clings to me, the fabric hugging every inch and revealing far more than necessary. My red bra and thong are obvious through the material.

His frustration grows, and I can feel it like an electric current in the air. His eyes darken, a hungry gleam flickering in them.

"Go change. Now," he demands, his voice hard, but there's something else—something restrained, simmering just below the surface.

I smirk, taking a deliberate step toward him. My fingers glide across the buttons of his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his abs beneath. I can feel his body tense under my touch, and I look up at him innocently, letting my voice drop to a whisper.

"No. Deal with it. Leon."

I move past him, my hand lingering on his chest as I brush against him. His eyes are still locked on my form as I walk away, the tension between us crackling. I hear his men muttering, and Marco's incredulous stare is hard to miss.

I don't even glance back as I head for the door, my steps confident. Leon, still visibly irritated but also captivated, follows behind. He hands his black card to the lady at the door without a word, his gaze lingering on me—on the sway of my hips as I move. Even though he's furious, there's no denying the pull between us, and I can feel the weight of his attention on my back as I walk out.

His eyes flick to the curve of my bare ass, lingering where the dress clings too tightly. He shakes his head, frustrated, and mutters, "Baby, I can't have anyone looking at you like that. You're practically naked." His voice is filled with annoyance, but I can tell there's more beneath it—something dangerous, something dark.

I roll my eyes, uninterested in his anger. "I'm hungry," I reply flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of responding to his frustrations.

His lips curl into a tight line, and I can see the tension building in his shoulders. "Darling," he warns, his voice low and clipped. The word feels more like a threat than an endearment.

I tilt my head and give him my best doe-eyed look, playing innocent even though I know exactly what I'm doing. "Yes?"

He scoffs, clearly trying to reign in his frustration, but the muscle in his jaw twitches. He's tightly wound, barely containing whatever's brewing under the surface. He looks to his men, giving them a nod that sends an unspoken command. "Nous allons manger au restaurant, (We're going out to eat)," he says, and suddenly, his hand is wrapped possessively around my waist, guiding me toward the car.

His men fall in behind us, their eyes darting nervously between me and him. Leon's presence is imposing, and I can almost feel the tension crackling in the air.

As we walk, Leon halts, turning to his men. "Si j'attire ton regard sur ma fille, je te déchirerai les membres." His voice is ice-cold, the words sharp and biting. (If I catch your eyes on my girl, I will rip your limbs apart.) His threat hangs in the air, a promise of violence.

I glance at his men, and they all look straight ahead, too afraid to even dare meet my gaze. The weight of his words isn't lost on me, even though I don't speak French.

Leon pulls me closer as we continue walking, his hand slowly slipping lower down my body. When his fingers brush too far, I slap his hand away, irritation flashing in my eyes. He chuckles softly, clearly entertained by my reaction. "Always so feisty, princess" he murmurs, bringing his hand back up to rest on my waist, his grip tightening just a little more.

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Leon has a weak spot for Mariella..its too cute.

how are we all doing?

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*Mariella's Outfit*