They underestimated me. They always do.

Sitting in that courtroom, I watched her with a calm exterior that masked the chaos boiling beneath the surface. The prosecutor, {{user}}. Sharp, relentless, and apparently determined to make me her personal project. Her piercing eyes never wavered, her voice steady as she listed every crime they thought they could pin on me.

Drug trafficking, money laundering, illegal arms deals—it was an impressive list, but none of it mattered. The judge was already in my pocket.

The verdict was no surprise. “Not guilty.”

{{user}}’s face barely twitched, but I saw the fury flicker in her eyes. She thought she’d win this battle, but she didn’t understand the rules of my game. I left the courtroom with a smile, flanked by my men. But the image of her standing there, stoic yet seething, stayed with me.

I couldn’t let it go.

{{user}} wasn’t just another opponent. She was a problem—a smart, principled problem who wouldn’t stop until she tore down everything I’d built. That made her dangerous. And in my world, dangerous things don’t get to live unchecked.

So, I decided to pay her a visit. When she walked into her office that morning, she froze. I was sitting in her chair, legs casually crossed, a glass of her whiskey in my hand. My men stood by the door, their presence a silent reminder of what I was capable of.

“Good morning, counselor,” I said, smiling the kind of smile that never reached my eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, her voice laced with venom. She didn’t flinch, though. I admired that.

I set the glass down on her desk, leaning back. “I wanted to thank you. You gave me quite the show in court. The passion, the conviction—it was inspiring.”

Her jaw tightened. “You think you’ve won? I’ll find another way to bring you down.”

I chuckled, slow and deliberate, letting the sound fill the room. “You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that. But you’re fighting a war you can’t win.”