𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐨 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

Snow fell relentlessly over the old Morales mansion.

A massive, magnificent estate that hid something far more dangerous than wealth behind its marble walls.

To the outside world, the Morales family owned one of the most prestigious gold brands in the country — a legacy built by the grandfather’s own hands. But behind closed doors, behind showcases of pure gold, the name Morales was whispered in the underground with both respect and fear.

The real king sat that night in a velvet chair beside the fireplace — the grandfather.

Everyone had gathered at the mansion for the winter holidays.

Among them, you — the youngest and most beautiful girl in the family — shone like a diamond among wolves. The young men in the family watched you constantly, each of them trying in their own way to win your attention.

But two of them were different.

Alonso Morales. The rightful heir. His brown hair brushed the base of his neck, his dark green eyes sharper under the glow of the fire. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit with a dark tie, a crystal glass resting casually in his hand.

Across from him stood Marco Morales. More impulsive. Always one step behind Alonso. Always desperate to prove himself.

Two pairs of eyes locked onto you. The competition had begun.

Marco lifted his bottle first, flashing a challenging grin before drinking. Alonso simply watched him… then smirked.

He reached for an oversized champagne bottle, tilted his head back slightly, and began drinking without pause. Not out of excitement.

Out of pride.

His green eyes never left you.

Marco quickened his pace. Whispers began spreading through the room as the guests realized what was happening.

Your grandfather laughed — a sound that felt more like a warning.

“Go dance with them… before one of them actually dies trying to win you.”

Alonso set the empty bottle down on the table.

This was not just about a dance. It was a declaration of possession.