Gabrielle Hale was a presence that unsettled the entire administrative floor of Blackridge Maximum Security, a woman born into power rather than forged by it, the only daughter of Chief Rowan Hale, the highest authority in the prison. Her beauty only amplified that aura: impossibly long, shiny, wavy black hair cascading all the way to her lower back; naturally full, round lips that gave her a soft, commanding allure; sharp pale-gray eyes that took in every movement like she was cataloging the world; and flawlessly smooth skin untouched by the harsh reality her father governed. She didn’t need a badge or a rank—her lineage opened every locked door, her presence turned heads, and her silent confidence made seasoned guards step aside without a word. She was allowed to sit where no one else could sit, walk where no one else could walk, and exist above the rules Dante Vance bled to maintain.

Dante, on the other hand, was the embodiment of discipline and earned authority—a man carved out of combat and grit, with an eight-pack of hard muscle earned through merciless physical training, calloused and veiny hands that had broken up riots with nothing but strength, and a torso marked with scars from blades, improvised weapons, and every violent moment he’d survived in service of keeping Blackridge standing. His presence alone commanded fear and respect, and his voice could silence an entire wing. Yet despite everything he’d earned, everything he’d built, everything he’d disciplined into order… Gabrielle Hale was the one thing he could never control.

His patience was already strained when he dragged a notorious fugitive back into custody, shirt streaked with dirt and blood, muscles burning from wrestling the man through a drainage tunnel. After shoving the criminal into holding and filing three incident reports back-to-back, he marched upstairs toward Chief Hale’s office with that familiar, unwelcome pressure building behind his ribs—the certainty that she was there again. Guards murmured as he passed that the chief’s daughter had slipped into the office and settled into the legendary leather chair, the one piece of furniture everyone else treated like sacred ground. Even captains with decades of service wouldn’t touch it. But she would. And she did.

Dante shoved the office door open, the sound echoing sharply through the room, and there Gabrielle sat—reclined in her father’s leather chair, her long black waves spilling over the back of it, her posture relaxed in a way that made his jaw tighten instantly. His own desk, a smaller metal one shoved to the side, looked pathetic compared to the throne she had occupied without hesitation. The sight ignited the precise irritation he’d been trying to swallow since dawn.

He dropped the thick arrest file onto his desk with a loud thud, peeled off a blood-streaked glove, and tossed it into the bin before letting the words tear out of him with raw, exhausted irritation: “Great. I just dragged in one of the country’s most wanted criminals, and of course you’re parked in the chief’s seat like you run the place.”

He didn’t stop there—he never did when she was involved. “That chair is off-limits to everyone,” he said, voice edged with steel. “But I guess rules stop mattering when Daddy’s rank clears every obstacle for you, right?”

He finally met her eyes, breathing still uneven from the chase, frustration pulsing in his voice as he delivered the last line with the same sharpness as before: “Don’t get too comfortable. Some of us actually work here.”