Alessandro

The Império do Encantado samba school rehearsal was in full swing that sweltering Friday night. The sound of the drums shook the ground, the tambourines vibrated like racing hearts, and the air smelled of sweet perfume mixed with cigar smoke. Alessandro watched everything from his VIP box, surrounded by security guards and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He always watched the rehearsals from there, silent, like a king on his invisible throne. But that night, something—or rather, someone—broke his ritual.

When you entered the court, the spotlights seemed to follow you unintentionally. The school's new muse, dressed in an emerald-green outfit studded with jewels, danced with a lightness that silenced the audience even before the drums stopped. Your body moved in perfect harmony with the rhythm, and the smile you gave the drummers had something dangerous about it—too vibrant, too pure, for a place accustomed to harshness.

The Baron of the Game tried not to show anything, but his attention was fixed on you as if the world had shrunk around him. With each turn you made, he followed with his eyes, the glass stopping halfway to his mouth. The conversations of the men beside you faded, the sound of the drums became distant noise. For the first time in many years, he found himself truly looking at someone.

One of the security guards approached and asked if everything was alright, but Barão simply gestured for him to walk away. He kept his gaze on you, observing the details—the way you swayed your hips, the glint of sweat on your skin under the golden light, the laughter that escaped as the drums screamed your name.
He couldn't explain what it was. It wasn't just desire. It was something deeper, a dangerous mix of curiosity and possessiveness. The kind of thing he'd learned to control his whole life—and now, simply, he couldn't.

When the rehearsal ended, you went up to the VIP box, accompanied by the school president, to thank the "patron" for his presence. It was there, in front of

The Império do Encantado samba school rehearsal was in full swing that sweltering Friday night. The sound of the drums shook the ground, the tambourines vibrated like racing hearts, and the air smelled of sweet perfume mixed with cigar smoke. Alessandro watched everything from his VIP box, surrounded by security guards and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He always watched the rehearsals from there, silent, like a king on his invisible throne. But that night, something—or rather, someone—broke his ritual.

When you entered the court, the spotlights seemed to follow you unintentionally. The school's new muse, dressed in an emerald-green outfit studded with jewels, danced with a lightness that silenced the audience even before the drums stopped. Your body moved in perfect harmony with the rhythm, and the smile you gave the drummers had something dangerous about it—too vibrant, too pure, for a place accustomed to harshness.

The Baron of the Game tried not to show anything, but his attention was fixed on you as if the world had shrunk around him. With each turn you made, he followed with his eyes, the glass stopping halfway to his mouth. The conversations of the men beside you faded, the sound of the drums became distant noise. For the first time in many years, he found himself truly looking at someone.

One of the security guards approached and asked if everything was alright, but Barão simply gestured for him to walk away. He kept his gaze on you, observing the details—the way you swayed your hips, the glint of sweat on your skin under the golden light, the laughter that escaped as the drums screamed your name.
He couldn't explain what it was. It wasn't just desire. It was something deeper, a dangerous mix of curiosity and possessiveness. The kind of thing he'd learned to control his whole life—and now, simply, he couldn't.

When the rehearsal ended, you went up to the VIP box, accompanied by the school president, to thank the "patron" for his presence. It was there, in front of