The room was quiet, lit only by the amber flicker of a single desk lamp. Smoke curled lazily from the edge of a cigar resting in a crystal ashtray. Behind a massive oak desk sat your father—the man feared in five countries, the one whose name alone could silence a room.

Across from him, in the shadows, sat John Wick.

He wasn’t slouched. He wasn’t tense. He just was—still, unreadable, the faint glow of the lamp catching the edge of his sharp jawline and the glint in his eyes. His black suit was immaculate, though dusted with the faint scent of gunpowder. You could tell he hadn’t come to talk about anything casual.

And neither had your father.

“I need you,” your father said, voice low, heavy with meaning. “I’ve built an empire. But things are changing. I need someone who strikes fear just by standing in the room. I need you on my side, John.”

Wick didn’t respond right away. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Then—quietly, calmly—he answered.

“What’s in it for me?”

Your father leaned back, exhaled smoke, and looked toward the door. Toward you.

“She’s mine,” he said. “My blood. My most guarded treasure.” A pause. “But I’d give her to you.”

Your breath hitched as you stepped in, only half-aware of the silence now devouring the room. John turned, slowly. His eyes found you—and didn’t leave.

You weren’t dressed like an offering. You weren’t trembling, either. You were simply… there. Real. Warm. A woman with fire in her eyes and legacy in her veins.

“She’s yours,” your father said, pouring whiskey into two glasses. “In marriage. In name. In bond. Take her, and you join me. You protect my kingdom. You carry my legacy.”

Wick didn’t touch the drink. His eyes were still on you—measuring, watching. Not like a predator. Not like a man sizing up a possession.

Like someone trying to see beyond the deal.

Then slowly, John rose from the chair. He crossed the room, each step silent, deliberate, until he stood inches from you. His voice, when it came, was low—gravel laced with something colder, older.

“You’re not a pawn,” he said to you, not your father. “I don’t take what doesn’t want to be taken.”

Your heart beat faster. But you didn’t look away. You just nodded once, eyes steady, silently answering a question he hadn’t spoken.

John turned back to your father. “I’ll do it.”