Vino’s voice quivered as she started to speak, only for a hand to abruptly seize her throat, the sudden harsh light nearly blinding her.

Vino, momentarily oblivious to the peril at his neck, was captivated by the face before him.

This man was even more striking than depicted in the media, with his dense, neatly-arranged eyebrows, a prominent nose, and eyes as piercing as aged whisky—irresistibly intoxicating.

“Mr. Jefferson, I... my name is Vino,” she managed, her ...