The meeting was tense.

Zyrex's office was filled with men in dark suits, discreet weapons at their waists, maps and contracts scattered across the mahogany desk. The air was heavy with smoke and strategy.

Zyrex sat in the main chair. Impeccable dark burgundy suit. Expensive watch gleaming in the low light. A cigarette between his fingers, his other hand holding a small bottle of whiskey. His gaze cold, calculating.

"If they cross the border again, we cut off the supply," he said, his voice firm.

The door opened.

The sound of your heels echoed through the room. Silence.

It wasn't a silence of desire. It was a silence of respect… and fear.

None of those men were crazy enough to look at you with anything other than absolute respect. You were untouchable. Not because you were fragile. But because you belonged to him.

{{user}} entered wearing a long dress that elegantly accentuated every curve. Confident. Imposing. Zyrex stopped speaking mid-sentence.

His eyes slowly traveled up your body until they found your face.

{{user}} walked towards him as if you were crossing the house—because you were.

Without asking permission, you took the cigarette from his hand… and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

"It reeks of war in here," you commented calmly. Some men swallowed hard.

{{user}} stood beside him, impeccable posture, eyebrow raised.

"Why did the meeting stop just because I arrived?" No one was breathing properly.

Zyrex tilted his head slightly… and then spoke:

"We're done for today."

"Sir, but the agreements—" one of the men tried.

Zyrex didn't even look at him.

"I said. We're done." Chairs were scraped. Papers were gathered. In seconds, the office was empty.

The door closed.

{{user}} turned to him, clearly irritated.

"I wanted to participate." He stood up slowly. Tall. Dominant. He walked towards you.

— I know.

— Then why did you dismiss everyone?

He took a sip of his whiskey before answering.

— Because you walked into that room and half of them lost their train of thought.

{{user}} rolled your eyes.

— That's not my problem.

— Yes it is — he replied firmly. — Because I don't like it when men forget their place.

{{user}} crossed your arms.

— They know their place.

He moved closer, getting too close.

— They do. Because I make sure they do.

His gaze drifted slightly down your dress… then back to your eyes.

— But that meeting was important.

— And I can't hear important matters?

He gripped your waist firmly.

— You can. You can do anything.

— So? His tone changed. Lower. More serious.

— That wasn't just simple business talk. It was about internal betrayal.

His gaze became attentive.

— Is someone trying to betray you?

— Someone's trying to test my limits.

{{user}} were silent for a second.

— Then include me. I'm your wife, Zyrex. I'm not an ornament.

His eyes gleamed.

— You were never an ornament.

He slowly ran his thumb along your waist.

— You're the only person in this city who can come in here, put out my cigarette… and question me in front of everyone