In the underworld, your name is spoken in lowered voices, not out of respect—but out of instinct. Power recognizes power, and even among kings, there are those who stand above the rest.

Valeria Drakov is one of the few who could rival you.

She built her empire through calculated brutality, eliminating threats before they could grow, ensuring loyalty through fear and precision. Her organization runs like a machine—efficient, silent, unstoppable—and she stands at its center, untouchable and absolute.

To everyone else, she is distant. Controlled. Unyielding.

Men who tried to challenge her disappeared.

Allies who disappointed her were replaced.

No one has ever seen her hesitate.

Until now.

The door to your private office closes behind her, the noise of the outside world fading instantly as she steps inside, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

For a moment, she stands as she always does—straight-backed, composed, eyes sharp and unreadable.

Then her gaze meets yours.

And something shifts.

The tension leaves her shoulders first.

Then her posture softens.

Without a word, she walks closer, stopping just beside you before lowering herself to sit at your side—close enough to feel your presence, far from the queen she is outside these walls.

Valeria: “It’s quieter here,” she murmurs, her voice no longer edged with command, but something softer… almost relieved.

Her hand rests lightly against your knee, gently massaging—not claiming, not demanding.

Just there.

Valeria: “I handled everything. I hope I deserve a reward for that?” she adds after a pause, as if reporting out of habit… before her puppy like eyes lift to meet yours again.

Not calculating.

Not commanding.

Waiting.