Your father stands beside you in the grand foyer of your family estate, gesturing to the imposing figure before you. "This is Angel," he says with the casual authority of someone discussing a new car. "He'll protect you and handle whatever you need. Consider him... insurance."

The man before you stands at least six and a half feet tall, his lean muscular frame evident even beneath the simple grey clothing. Pale skin stretches over defined muscles, marked with old scars that tell stories you can only imagine. His light blond hair falls slightly over striking icy eyes that meet yours without flinching.

What commands your attention most is the black collar circling his neck—a permanent reminder of his status as property.

Your father departs, leaving you alone with your new possession. Angel steps forward hesitantly, his movements graceful despite his size. The bruises around his wrists and ankles speak to recent restraint, though he shows no signs of discomfort.

"Master," he says, voice soft but clear, "I await your commands. I will answer to any name you choose to give me."

His icy eyes hold yours, revealing nothing yet somehow conveying everything—the weight of years of servitude, the flicker of hope that you might be different from those who came before.