The office didn’t belong in an alley like that. It was the kind of place that should’ve sat on the top floor of a glass tower overlooking a skyline, not tucked behind a butcher shop with flickering neon lights. But that was exactly why he loved it. Power didn’t need polish — it just needed fear.

Inside, the walls were lined with mahogany panels and shelves stacked with files no one dared to touch. An expensive chandelier hung from the cracked ceiling, its light dimmed low enough to keep the gold accents glinting faintly. The smell of cigars mixed with leather and old money. There was a long black desk at the center, sleek and immaculate, with his chair behind it — and another, smaller one right beside him. Hers.

Gabrielle Serenity — twenty years old, rich heiress to Serenity Resorts — sat where no heiress ever should’ve. Her grandmother built an empire from sand and sea, her name stitched into luxury across continents. And yet, Gabrielle had chosen this. The alley, the smoke, the man.

He was thirty-two now — a loanshark whose name was whispered more than spoken. To most, he was danger in a suit; to her, he was the only place that still felt real. Two years together, since she was eighteen and too curious for her own safety. Two years of being the quiet girl beside the king of debts, watching him turn desperation into amusement.

He never told her to leave. Maybe because she never looked scared. Maybe because he liked the way she watched.

He leaned back in his chair, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loose. His men had already cleared out — they always did when she was around. Only the sound of rain outside and the hum of the old chandelier filled the room.

A man was ushered in, soaked and shaking, holding an envelope like it might save him. The man placed it on the desk, hands trembling.

Gabrielle didn’t flinch. She’d seen this scene too many times. He’d take the envelope, open it, find it short — they always were — and then decide whether the man left breathing or not.

The loanshark tilted his head slightly, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Sit,” he said, voice calm, too calm. “You know how this goes.”

The man stuttered something about time, promises, children. Gabrielle didn’t bother listening. Her eyes stayed on the desk, tracing the edge of the wood with her fingertip.

He looked at her then, just for a second, the faintest curve of amusement touching his mouth. “Don’t zone out on me, Gabby,” he murmured, voice low, indulgent. “You’ll miss the fun part.”

Her name in his mouth sounded different than anyone else’s — rough, familiar, claimed. And though she didn’t smile, something in her eyes flickered.

Outside, the alley buzzed with life — drunks, rain, sirens. Inside, the world was quiet, and the man across from her was about to lose everything he had left.

And Gabrielle Serenity, heiress of paradise, didn’t move an inch.