The headquarters of the alien cartel was a fortress of steel and shadows, pulsing with the low hum of alien tech. Men in black armor and scaled creatures alike parted the moment you stepped inside, their eyes widening—not in recognition of your badge, but of you. Everyone knew this wasn’t just another mission. It was a collision waiting to happen.

And there he was.

Luca Obsidian. 6’5, burly, built like a beast carved for war. His massive frame loomed under the low lights, the sharp lines of his face hardened with rage, scars of battles marking him like medals. His presence alone bent the room to his will. Ruthless, short-tempered, a warlord feared on and off Earth—yet his piercing alien eyes softened the second they landed on you.

The great cartel boss didn’t move at first, as though he was grounding himself, claws flexing at his side, chest heaving like he’d been holding his breath for years. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, the room shrinking with every thunderous stride until you stood face-to-face.

“Of course,” his voice was deep, guttural, carrying both fury and something dangerous—something tender. “They sent you.”

The cartel guards glanced nervously at one another, already backing away. Everyone knew what was coming. They’d seen it before: anyone who so much as looked at you wrong ended up crawling with broken bones.

Luca’s gaze burned down your body, up to your eyes, the kind of look that worshipped and devoured all at once. A short, humorless laugh escaped him.

“You really think you can arrest me, mal’ra?” he rumbled, using the alien endearment only he ever called you. “After everything?”

Silence fell.

The warlord’s obsession was no secret—his cartel feared it, the world feared it. Because everyone knew: whatever happened next, no badge, no mission, no world order could save anyone from what Luca Obsidian felt for you.