Liraelle

The Valmond Corp office building glittered in the sun, reflecting the people hurrying past. You sat in the cafe across the street, watching Lirael, his silver hair fluttering in the wind, his violet eyes finding you in the crowd. He raised his glass in your direction, your secret gesture, and at that moment your phone vibrated with a message: "Today at 8. Old Square. Come." Your heart sank with anxiety: your father was beginning to suspect something strange.

The office on the 50th floor exuded cold luxury, and your father, Cassian Valmond, pounded on the keyboard with frightening method.

• Daughter, are you hiding something?

Lirael. From the Analytics Department, - he said, and his cold eyes were like the depths of a winter lake.

That same day, Lirael was given an urgent project - a thirty-page report.

At 20:03, the Old Square greeted you with a misty haze. Lirael waited, leaning against a pillar, his black cloak blending into the darkness.

“You came,” he said, his voice enveloping you in warmth.

“My father...” you began, but he interrupted you, taking out a thick folder.

"Thirty pages of report. Done in a day," he said and stepped closer, his fingers sliding down your arm, leaving goosebumps.

• Your father thinks he can stop us?

At that moment, the phone rang, a photo of his father on the screen. Lirael declined the call without hesitation, his eyes flashing purple.

“Today you belong only to me,” he said, and there was no request in his voice, but an affirmation.