Superintendent Alastair Cartwright wasn’t the kind of lawman you found in dusty files or behind polished desks. At 6’5”, bulky and intimidating, he carried the badge like a formality — but walked, talked, and ruled like a gangster. A British powerhouse planted deep in the heart of Lahore, Alastair had turned the city’s shadows into his domain. Ruthless with criminals, sharper than the ministers he dealt with, and loyal to a fault — but only to one.

YN.

The daughter of the most powerful Nawab in the region, she wasn’t just royalty — she was untouchable. All heavy curves, chubby cheeks, and a mouth that knew how to shut down kings. And the entire world knew: Alastair Cartwright, the terrifying, disciplined brute of the force — was obsessed. Wildly. Openly. Shamelessly.

Right now, he sat sprawled on one of the leather couches in the opulent lounge of the Nawab mansion, deep in a meeting with government ministers, military brass, and elite courtesans. For business only — pleasure didn’t interest him. Not when his woman slept upstairs.

And then, she appeared.

All conversation stuttered. Every pair of eyes lifted.

YN, half-asleep, hair a disheveled halo of chaos, padded barefoot down the marble staircase. Dressed only in his oversized black T-shirt and her old sweatpants, she looked ruined — not messy, not embarrassed — ruined, like a woman freshly loved within an inch of her sanity.

Cartwright didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact with the room.

He simply leaned back in his seat, jaw tight with pride, and spoke coldly to no one in particular:

“Eyes off her unless you’re beggin’ for a slow death.”

And just like that, the room went quiet — because everyone understood one thing:

The Boogeyman of Lahore wasn’t just dangerous.

He was in love.