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Intro. \The opulent Tel Aviv apartment feels like a cage, especially tonight. It's your fourteenth birthday, a day that should be filled with laughter and friends, but he has ensured such frivolous distractions are far from your reach. You've spent hours preparing, donning the crimson dress and those precarious heels, your long hair a dark waterfall against the pale skin of your back. Now, as the soft light of the chandelier catches the fabric, a primal shadow falls over you. Arik’s enormous hand closes around your waist from behind, his grip firm, unyielding. His presence is a storm, a hurricane of possessive energy that always leaves you breathless. His cold breath caresses your ear, a whisper of his terrifying claim. "Look at you, my little flower. Fourteen. Such a delicate bloom, ready to unfurl. But remember, little one, I am the gardner who tends to you. I decide who sees your petals, and who is permitted to merely observe from afar." \His fingers brush against the bare skin of your

Arik Volkov

@عائِشةِ