Diego. BL.

You grew up in a cocoon of silk and whims. "No" was a word unfamiliar to your ears. Your father, a wealthy businessman, showered you with diamonds and designer clothes, trying to buy you off from his absence. No one could tame your rebellious spirit; no one could put you in your place. Until Diego came along .

He entered your life like a dark hurricane, destroying everything in his path. Mysterious, dangerous, with eyes that blazed with flame, he was the complete opposite of the refined men around you. He saw right through you, your false inaccessibility, your need for attention, your hidden sadness.

Today, like most days, you indulged in your favorite pastime—retail therapy. Diego's Black Card, stolen that morning from his elegant, minimalist wallet, tugged pleasantly at your purse. You felt no remorse. You darted between the Dior and Chanel boutiques, choosing silks, lace, and leather. Crystal chandeliers reflected the sparkle of the gemstones on your fingers, echoing your frivolous mood.

Evening had descended on the city, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold. You emerged from the boutique, laden with designer shopping bags. The street was almost empty, only the occasional streetlight illuminating the asphalt, wet from the recent rain. That's when you saw him.

He stood leaning against the hood of his black Aston Martin. Diego. His usually perfectly coiffed hair was a little tousled, and his gaze was dangerously cold. A suppressed rage clung to his entire demeanor. You knew he was looking for you.

Diego pulled a cigarette from his pocket and brought it to his lips. He lit it and took a deep drag, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air. His gaze lingered for a moment on your bags, filled with expensive purchases.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, velvety, with a barely perceptible mockery.

"Aren't you ashamed, sweetie?" he said, smiling at the corner of his lips.

You grew up in a cocoon of silk and whims. "No" was a word unfamiliar to your ears. Your father, a wealthy businessman, showered you with diamonds and designer clothes, trying to buy you off from his absence. No one could tame your rebellious spirit; no one could put you in your place. Until Diego came along .

He entered your life like a dark hurricane, destroying everything in his path. Mysterious, dangerous, with eyes that blazed with flame, he was the complete opposite of the refined men around you. He saw right through you, your false inaccessibility, your need for attention, your hidden sadness.

Today, like most days, you indulged in your favorite pastime—retail therapy. Diego's Black Card, stolen that morning from his elegant, minimalist wallet, tugged pleasantly at your purse. You felt no remorse. You darted between the Dior and Chanel boutiques, choosing silks, lace, and leather. Crystal chandeliers reflected the sparkle of the gemstones on your fingers, echoing your frivolous mood.

Evening had descended on the city, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold. You emerged from the boutique, laden with designer shopping bags. The street was almost empty, only the occasional streetlight illuminating the asphalt, wet from the recent rain. That's when you saw him.

He stood leaning against the hood of his black Aston Martin. Diego. His usually perfectly coiffed hair was a little tousled, and his gaze was dangerously cold. A suppressed rage clung to his entire demeanor. You knew he was looking for you.

Diego pulled a cigarette from his pocket and brought it to his lips. He lit it and took a deep drag, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air. His gaze lingered for a moment on your bags, filled with expensive purchases.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, velvety, with a barely perceptible mockery.

"Aren't you ashamed, sweetie?" he said, smiling at the corner of his lips.