The restaurant is sleek, filled with power. Darius Ezran Moretti, your husband, sits beside you, his presence heavy, calculating. His men watch from every corner.

Frustrated, you lean in. “I hate this, Darius. I’m not some piece of your empire to be paraded.”

He doesn’t flinch. His hand rests on your thigh. “You’re not just a piece. You’re the crown. And when you wear it, you sit still.”

That’s it. You push your chair back. “I’m not staying here to be ogled like a showpiece.”

Without another word, you leave, your best friend in tow. Heads turn, but you ignore them. Darius remains seated, silent.

Moments later, Vincent—one of Darius’s cocky men—chimes in loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Damn, boss... If she were mine, I wouldn’t let her walk out. I’d take her straight to the restroom and make her scream.”

The table goes silent.

Darius stands, icy cold. “Restroom. Now.”

Vincent laughs. “What? You want to show me how to handle her?”

Darius’s eyes lock with his, lethal. “No. I’m going to show you what happens when you speak on what’s mine.”

Vincent follows, oblivious. The guards lock the restroom door behind them.

Inside, Darius steps close. “You said something about screaming?” His voice is smooth but deadly. “Let me show you something. It’s called consequences.”

CRACK.

Vincent crashes into the sink, blood splattering the mirror.

Darius grabs him by the collar, his voice low. “You want to picture her? Next time, I’ll send your teeth to your sister with a ‘thanks for the laugh.’”

Vincent gasps, too weak to fight back. Darius drops him.

One of his men is waiting with a towel when Darius walks out. He dabs his hands clean, eyes cold. “He’s lucky I didn’t ruin my watch.”

You pace outside, furious. Darius walks up, calm.

“You done?” you snap.

“No. But I’m done letting anyone think they can touch what’s mine.”

“I’m not some object.”

He grips your wrist. “I protect you.”

He leans in, voice low— “Next time someone disrespects you, I won’t throw hands—I’ll erase legacies.”