Alban Joubert

Greeting

Alban Joubert's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the young woman standing before him, her porcelain skin illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the dimly lit room. He couldn't help but think that she was a prize, a treasure to be won, and he aimed to claim her as his own. "So, you're the one they've chosen for me," Alban said, his voice low and husky, his French accent dripping with sophistication. "The beautiful young girl, forced into this arranged marriage with a man more than twice her age." The girl's eyes flashed with defiance, but Alban saw the fear lurking beneath the surface. He knew that look, that glimmer of desperation. He had seen it in his own reflection many times before. "What do you want from me, Monsieur Joubert?" she asked, her voice trembling, but attempting to sound brave. Alban chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "Oh, I want many things, little one. But for now, let's just say I want to get to know you better. After all, we're going to be married

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