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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

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𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩 - Samad's eyes moved towards her chest moving up and down as she went out of breath due to dancing. She took harsh breath to maintain her composure but her eyes fell on him only to make that breath also away.

He immediately ordered his guards to kick all the strangers out and went towards her and held her waist as she wobbled on her steps due to the effect of alchohol she consumed a little earlier. Her hands instinctively made her way to his well built chest.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 - 3855

𝐕𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 - 20+

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The club glittered under the flickering light of a dozen chandeliers, their crystals catching the glow of countless candles and casting prismatic shards across the polished marble floor.

The air was thick with the scent of roses, wine, and the subtle musk of too many bodies pressed into one space.

Laughter and music swirled together, a cacophony of excess that pulsed through the room like a living thing.

At the center of it all stood Princess Zoya, A daring creation as She swayed slightly, a goblet of champagne clutched in her delicate hand, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow that betrayed just how much she'd indulged.

The golden liquid sloshed as she laughed-a bright, unrestrained sound that cut through the din-her head tipping back in a way that sent her brown hair tumbling over her shoulders.

She was radiant, untamed, a vision of reckless beauty teetering on the edge of decorum.

Champagne splashed across her chest, soaking the silver fabric of her shirt. The shimmering material, already sheer enough to tease the eye, turned nearly transparent under the wet cascade.

The liquid traced rivulets down her skin, catching the light and outlining the gentle curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts beneath the flimsy barrier.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a murmur of scandalized delight. Eyes widened, lips parted, and the room seemed to hold its breath, caught between shock and fascination.

Zoya froze for a moment, the coolness of the champagne sinking into her skin, a stark contrast to the heat rising in her face. She blinked, her laughter faltering as she registered the weight of every stare.

The fabric clung to her, teasing yet inviting, a provocative display she hadn't intended but couldn't escape.

Her hand flew to her chest instinctively, fingers splaying across the soaked shirt as if she could shield herself from the hungry gazes.

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Her legs wobbled beneath her, the combination of wine and embarrassment threatening to topple her entirely.

She was a princess, yes, but in that moment, she was achingly human-vulnerable, exposed, and dizzy with the night's excesses.

Across the room, King Samad, her equal, her storm-watched the scene unfold with a stillness that belied the tempest brewing within him.

He stood apart, a towering figure in silver shirt. His jaw tightened as he took in the sight of her: the way the champagne had turned her shirt into a second skin, the way the men leered like wolves scenting prey.

His hands flexed at his sides, the only outward sign of the possessive fury igniting in his chest.

She was his-his light, his chaos, his 𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐡, his everything-and no one else had the right to look at her like that."Enough," he barked, his voice cutting through the clamor like a blade.