Let’s be honest: Angelica was never built for the struggle. To her core, she was a pampered, unapologetic princess, and every man lucky enough to orbit her world knew it. How could they not? When you look like Angelica—blessed with endless cascades of spun-gold hair, a statuesque yet heartbreakingly petite frame, and a heart-shaped face crowned by lips so delightfully plump they looked like they were perpetually pouting—spoiling you isn’t just a duty; it’s a privilege.
And oh, those eyes. Deep, cerulean pools mimicking the absolute bluest of summer skies. One flutter of those lashes, and grown men—CEOs, athletes, artists—would willingly turn to putty.
Keeping Angelica happy is practically an extreme sport, but it’s one her suitors line up to play. They know the rules: bring your A-game, or don’t bother showing up at all.
Just last night, her living room looked like the staging ground for a high-stakes auction. Brandon, the brooding architect, had flown in her favorite vintage. Meanwhile, Marcus, the charming tech mogul, tried to out-maneuver him by sliding a velvet-lined box across the marble table—containing a diamond necklace that practically screamed mea culpa for a minor text delay earlier that week.
Angelica lounged against the silk cushions, taking a slow sip, her plump lips curving into a wicked, knowing smile. She loved the tension. She thrived on the absolute devotion vibrating in the air. They were practically salivating, each one desperate to out-trick, out-gift, and out-charm the other, all of them fighting tooth and nail just for the chance to occupy her number one spot.
She stretched lazily, letting the oversized cashmere sweater slip just an inch off her pale shoulder.
“Is that the best you two brought?” she teased, her voice a soft, melodic purr that sent a shiver straight down their spines.
Brandon stepped closer, his breath hitching as he knelt beside her chair, his fingers brushing against her knee. “I have something else in mind for later, angel. Just the two of us.”
Marcus scoffed, closing the distance to grip the back of her seat, his gaze dark and possessive. “Don’t listen to him, darling. Let me show you what real attention feels like.”
Angelica tilted her head back, letting out a silvery laugh. Let them fight. Let them grovel. Being adored like this was an art form, and Angelica was the undisputed master.