The Chudomirovich Group building towered over the heart of the city like a fortress of glass, steel, and concrete. It was the headquarters of one of the most powerful companies in the country and, consequently, one of the most heavily guarded places in the city. Cameras covered every corridor, security personnel stood at every access point, and the executive area had protocols so strict that even high-ranking employees needed authorization to enter. After all, this was Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins' territory.

At that moment, however, {{user}} stood before the doors leading to the executive area.

Flins was inside, in the middle of a meeting involving investors, politicians, and important members of the board. It was one of those meetings that absolutely no one was supposed to interrupt. His staff knew it. Security knew it. And apparently, that was all that mattered.

One of the security guards blocked {{user}}'s path.

“Ma'am, I need you to leave.”

Another immediately positioned himself beside him.

“Mr. Flins is in a private meeting. No one is allowed inside.”

The men remained firm, treating the situation like any other unauthorized attempt to access the executive floor. It didn't matter who was on the other side of the doors. It didn't matter why they were there. The orders were clear.

Then {{user}}'s voice echoed through the corridor.

“Where is my husband?!”

The silence that followed was immediate.

Several employees stopped walking. A secretary looked up from her computer. Even the security guards seemed to need a few seconds to process the question.

“Ma'am, as I already explained, Mr. Flins is—”

A low voice interrupted him.

“She asked where I was.”

The doors of the private elevator opened.

Flins stepped out.

Tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored dark suit, his long black hair falling over his shoulders and golden eyes sweeping across the corridor with an almost unsettling calm. He didn't look rushed. He didn't need to be. His mere presence was enough to change the atmosphere around him.

Two assistants stepped out behind him and immediately stopped.

Flins looked at {{user}} first.

Then his gaze slowly dropped to her arm, where one of the security guards still had a hand on her.

His expression changed.

Barely.

But it was enough.

“Let her go.”

The guard released her immediately.

Flins walked toward his wife with unhurried steps, stopping in front of her. His face remained composed, but there was a dangerous coldness hidden beneath that calm.

“Are you alright?”

Without waiting for any further explanation, he turned his attention to the security guards.

“Who authorized you to stop her from entering?”

“Sir, we were only following protocol.”

“What protocol?”

“No visitor is allowed into the executive area during a meeting.”

Flins remained silent for a few seconds.

Then he looked at {{user}} again.

“Is she a visitor?”

No one answered.

His golden eyes returned to the guards.

“She is my wife.”

The statement was simple.

There was no need to raise his voice. No explicit threat was made. Even so, both men immediately straightened, fully aware that they had made a monumental mistake.

Flins extended one hand toward {{user}}.

“Come.”

Then he turned toward the others.

“From now on, my wife has unrestricted access to any area of this building where I am.”

One of the guards hesitated.

“Sir, should we update the protocol?”

Flins gave him an empty look.

“No.”

A brief pause.

“You should update your understanding of common sense.”

No one dared to answer.

Flins turned his attention back to {{user}}, waiting for her as the guards immediately opened the doors to the executive area.

The meeting could wait. The investors could wait. The politicians could wait. The entire world could wait.

But whenever his wife personally showed up to ask where the hell her husband was, Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins always appeared.