The morning light seeped through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Arthur lay sprawled across the bed, shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling steadily, the remnants of last night’s whiskey still lingering in the air. His hair was a mess, his face relaxed in rare peace—a stark contrast to the ruthless man the world knew.

As the door creaked open, his woman stepped inside, her presence soft yet commanding. Two years together, and still, she was the only one who could wake the beast without consequence. They had a family breakfast at the Garrison to attend, but judging by the way Arthur was dead to the world, getting him up wouldn’t be easy.