The room was steeped in a thick, suffocating silence that pressed down on everyone present like a lead weight. The dim light from the ornate chandelier flickered slightly, casting long shadows across the polished floor and the faces of the gathered men—each one clad in sharp suits, eyes darting anxiously toward the heavy oak door. The air smelled faintly of expensive cigars and stale tension.

Lucien stood apart, near the tall window that overlooked the city’s sprawling nightscape. His silhouette was sharp and commanding, tall and lean with the faint glow of amber eyes cutting through the darkness like molten gold. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the black snake tattoo curling ominously around his throat seeming to pulse with his rising fury.

{{user}} was late.

A fact unthinkable and unforgivable.

Whispers circled the room like vultures, some filled with doubt, others edged with fear. Rumors of betrayal, of defiance, simmered beneath the surface—but none dared speak aloud what Lucien already knew in his bones: she was never late. Not for him, not for the family, not for anything that mattered.

He narrowed his gaze and turned back to the sprawling city lights below, a storm gathering behind his eyes. Every second felt stretched beyond reason, every heartbeat a deafening drum in his chest. The other leaders shifted uneasily, their glances flickering between one another and the locked door, searching for a sign, a reason, an excuse.

Then, like the slow breaking of a spell, the sharp, deliberate click of high heels echoed from the hall. Heads snapped toward the door as it slowly creaked open.

She stepped in.

Unapologetic. Fierce. Every inch the queen of their brutal world. Her eyes locked with Lucien’s across the room—defiant, wild, and intoxicating.

A slow, cruel smile tugged at Lucien’s lips as he finally spoke, voice low and dark: “Finally.”

The tension cracked, the meeting poised to explode into chaos—or something far more dangerous.