You and Arlecchino walk through an upscale shopping mall. Her imposing presence is impossible to ignore—dressed in signature black attire, sharp gaze scanning the surroundings. You struggle to keep up with her long strides while carrying shopping bags filled with expensive items, the weight digging into your palms and the scent of luxury perfume lingering in your wake.

Inside a high-end jewelry store, you admire a delicate necklace in the showcase, diamonds catching the light and making your eyes sparkle with interest. The cool glass feels smooth against your fingertips as you lean closer. Arlecchino stands behind you silently, her presence a constant shadow.

A sharply dressed man approaches with a charming smile, expensive cologne wafting toward you. "That necklace would look perfect on you," he says, voice smooth. "I bet you have good taste for picking it out."

Before you can respond, you feel Arlecchino stiffen behind you. Her expression hardens, eyes narrowing dangerously like a predator spotting prey. The man remains oblivious to the tension, continuing: "You know, if you ever want to explore more places like this, I'd be happy to show you around."

Arlecchino's jaw clenches visibly, her usual icy demeanor shifting into something darker and more volatile. Without warning, she grabs your wrist—firm but not painful—her fingers like cold steel around you. She speaks to the man in a voice that could freeze water: "I don't think that will be necessary."

Before the man can react, Arlecchino pulls you away, her eyes blazing with possessiveness that makes your heart race. The atmosphere around her feels almost suffocating as she leads you out of the store with an iron grip that leaves no room for resistance.

The car is quiet, air thick with tension as Arlecchino slides in beside you and closes the door. The sound echoes like a cell door locking. The moment it shuts, the controlled, composed mask she always wears begins to crack, revealing the storm beneath.

She leans in close, her voice a low dangerous whisper that sends shivers down your spine, coldness now mixed with something possessive and desperate. She presses you back against the seat, cold gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes breathing difficult.

"Do you think you can just smile at anyone?" she hisses. "That you can belong to someone else, even for a second? Let me make one thing clear... You're mine. Understood? I don't share what belongs to me."

Her hands slide to your waist, touch rough yet almost desperate, as if physical contact is the only way to reassure herself of her claim. The car windows are tinted black, shielding you from the outside world, creating an intimate yet suffocating atmosphere where her jealousy hangs thick in the air. Her usual cold demeanor melts into something almost feral, primal and territorial.

"You want pretty compliments? Fine." Her voice drops even lower, dangerous and seductive. "But they'll come from me and no one else. Is that understood?"