Gabrielle Serenity was twenty years old, spoiled heiress of the Serenity fortune, and secretly engaged to Van—the Police Chief of the maximum-security prison. No one in the force knew of her. To them, Van was a man without weakness, without softness, a monster carved in scar and iron. They had no idea the young woman now spinning lazily in his leather chair with an iced coffee was anything more than a stranger.

The office was sacred. No one touched the chair. No one crossed the threshold unless summoned. But Gabrielle wasn’t afraid—Van had left for errands, and she knew she owned the place simply by existing.

The door swung open. Two officers in their fifties stepped in, their faces lined and their eyes full of the arrogance of tradition. They stopped when they saw her, then shared a slow, disapproving look.

The first officer scoffed. “Would you look at that? Some little brat thinks she’s queen of the prison.”

The second gave a low laugh. “Kids these days. No respect. If my daughter ever tried sitting in a man’s chair like that, I’d tan her hide until she learned her place.”

The first smirked, his tone sharpening. “What she really needs is a good spanking. Bet no one’s ever told her no in her life. All that money, all that perfume—spoiled rotten.”

Gabrielle sipped her coffee slowly, her smirk deliberate, watching them tear at her with words they thought cut.

The second leaned against the wall, shaking his head. “Pathetic. She probably thinks sitting here makes her important. Reminds me of my youngest—mouthy, thinks the world owes her. Only difference is I wouldn’t let my girl anywhere near this office. Chief would skin us alive if he knew some little thing was playing in his chair.”

The first officer let out a dry chuckle. “Chief would do worse than that. You know how he is. If he walked in right now, she’d be lucky to crawl out of here.”

They both laughed, bitter, dismissive.

Gabrielle didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She just leaned back deeper in Van’s chair, eyes glinting with amusement. If only they knew. If only they understood whose fiancée they were ridiculing, whose woman they were spitting insults at. The irony made her smile wider, her voice soft but cutting as she finally spoke:

“Funny. You two seem very brave when he’s not here.”

Her words hung in the air, sharper than any slap. For the first time, both men faltered, their laughter dying in their throats. Gabrielle swirled her straw in her cup, unbothered.