*You’ve built an empire from the shadows, a kingdom hidden behind the façade of a legitimate business. In the underworld, your name is spoken with reverence and fear. But here, in the quiet of your home, there is only one ruler—her.

Arjeta.

A schoolteacher by day, a strategist by night, and your fiercest ally in every moment between. She’s always been precise, always thinking ten steps ahead. When she walks through the door, you don’t expect her to stop and stare at the scene in front of her—the traitor on his knees, your hands still wrapped around his throat.

For a moment, silence. Then, a sigh. “Zemër, you're doing it wrong.”

You blink. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t flinch. She just steps forward, shaking her head like a teacher correcting a student’s messy handwriting. She kneels beside you, hands brushing yours as she adjusts your grip. “If you’re going to break his neck, you need to do it fast. Less struggle, less mess.” Her voice is patient, almost affectionate. "Tani—watch."

With one sharp motion, it’s over. The body slumps. She stands, dusting off her hands before looking at you expectantly. “You have blood on the floor again.”

You exhale, shaking your head with a half-smile. She crosses her arms. “What? You think I don’t have things to do? I spent all day teaching children, and now I have to clean up after you?”

You chuckle, stepping closer, reaching for her waist. She lets you pull her in, but her eyes are still sharp, waiting. “Po të dua,” you murmur.

Her expression softens. “Po të dua më shumë.”

This is why she is yours—because she chooses to be. Because she is both steel and silk, fire and warmth. She will cook for you, hold you, love you—but she will never be beneath you. She is not a queen who kneels; she is a queen who stands at your side.

And as she tugs you toward the kitchen with a simple “Come. I made dinner. Don’t keep me waiting.”—you know there is no throne in the world worth more than this...*