The King’s Favorite Sin

Before The Door Opens

Scott's POV

I heard the clack of boots echoing against the cold, sterile floors. Two guards in blue uniforms walked down the row toward me, their faces unreadable. I didn’t bother looking up immediately, not out of disrespect, but because I already knew what they were here for.

"Scott," the first guard called, his voice low, barely carrying across the distance.

The second guard spoke, his tone equally flat, "Warden wants to see you."

They cuffed me and led me to the warden’s office. I sat silently in the chair across from Axel, waiting for the guards to leave.

Axel leaned back in his chair, eyeing me with a smirk. “I’m surprised you had the balls to come into my territory for a negotiation, Fischer. It’s brave.”

The public didn’t know it, but Warden Axel didn’t just run the prison. He leveraged his control over it to gain a significant foothold in the city’s underworld.

“I’ll be out soon enough,” I said, keeping my voice calm but resolute.

Axel arched an eyebrow. “We’re not done here yet.”

“We need to talk about Conan,” I said, my eyes narrowing.

“Conan?” Axel scoffed. “He’s chicken shit.”

“He’s just a kid, but he’s making moves in the h****n game,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “The problem is, he doesn’t have the grit or the resources to back it up. He’s being backed into a corner, and it’s turning him into something ruthless. He’s not showing up for family meetings anymore, and he’s killing whoever gets in his way—made men, wise guys. It’s chaos.”

Axel’s expression hardened as my words sank in.

“He has to be stopped,” I said, my voice firm. “Or he’s going to wreck everything we’ve built.”

I sat across from Axel, keeping my posture steady. If he smelled even a hint of hesitation, he'd use it against me.

He studied me for a second, then let out a low laugh. “You’ve got guts, Fischer. I’ll give you that. Most guys wouldn’t last an hour on my turf, let alone push for a sit-down like this.”

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the armrest. “I’ve built walls around myself, kept out rats, heat, rivals, but you? You found a c***k. That’s something.”

I didn’t flinch. “I didn’t come here for compliments. I came for the deal.”

He grinned, slow and deliberate. “Then you’ve got it. We have a deal.”

I walked out of Axel’s office with the kind of calm that only came after a win—quiet, but sharp around the edges. The concrete corridor stretched long ahead of me, washed in the same washed-out fluorescent light as always. I had barely gone ten steps before one of the guards, the younger one from earlier, fell into step beside me.

“We’ve been instructed to take you in for your psychological evaluation,” he said, voice clipped, indifferent.

I looked at him, and I didn’t bother hiding the annoyance. Of course Axel would throw in one last move, one more hoop to jump through before I got out of this place.

The guard just shrugged like it was nothing. “Standard procedure. Everyone’s got to do it.”

I didn’t reply. There was no point. Instead, I let my thoughts simmer behind a blank face. Psych eval the day before I walk free. Axel’s not just flexing, he’s making sure I remember whose house I’m in.

The guards led me to the end of a long hallway, their boots echoing like a metronome against the cold concrete. I clocked my lawyer before I even reached the door, he was leaning against the wall like he had better things to do, rolling his eyes before pointing at his watch.

I’ll have you out in no time, his silent gesture said.

I gave him a nod, a flicker of trust, and turned to the door just as it clicked open.

And then, I stopped.

There was a girl standing in the room.

No. Not a girl.

A woman. Young. Twenty-five at most. Light brown skin glowing under the harsh overhead light, hair a soft curtain of curls she kept tugging at like it might anchor her. She was petite, delicate even, but her nervous energy made her seem twice as alive. Full lips parted slightly when her eyes met mine; eyes wide, unblinking, as though she hadn’t expected me.

Goddamn it.

My whole body went tight, like a string pulled taut. I felt something primal and sudden, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. She was beautiful. Not just pretty. Not just sweet. Perfect. And the worst part? She looked innocent. Like she had no business sitting in a room with someone like me.

“Um,” she said, clearing her throat. “My name is Kendra Wilson? I’m here to do your preliminary interview for the state psychological assessment?”

Every word came out like a question. Like she wasn’t sure of her place here. I gritted my teeth, fighting the slow, dangerous grin trying to rise. The part of me I keep on a leash, the one that knows how to twist the world to my will, wanted to see what she’d look like with a bit of the underworld’s dirt on her. Something messy.

“Hello, Kendra,” I said, my voice low, smooth. Laced with just enough hunger to make her chest rise a little too quickly.

I stepped forward, deliberate, and dropped into the chair across from her. My eyes didn’t leave hers.

“Where do we begin?”

Kendra’s POV

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat as my eyes finally landed on his face. My mouth went dry, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away.

I’d seen this man before. Earlier today, actually. On Caleb’s phone. A face I hadn’t thought much about until now.

So that means Caleb is the son of the Mafia King. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat as the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I shifted uncomfortably, glancing at my notes, trying to focus on anything else but him, but it was no use.

I hesitated before taking a seat across from him, my pulse quickening. This man exuded an aura of danger, as if he could leap across the table at any moment and swallow me whole. His presence was suffocating, like I was a fragile little doe in front of a wolf. The weight of who he was hit me, and I could feel the air around me grow thick with tension.

This is why Caleb is hiding his sexuality. A gay son would never be accepted in a family like his, especially not an only son.

My mind raced, pity seeping into my chest. God, Caleb really did want me to be his beard. How sad. Poor Caleb, having to bury everything he truly is to fit into this world. The realization weighed on me like a thousand pounds.

But just then, I noticed something. This man was smiling, his eyes roaming over me, not with kindness, but with something else. Something darker. Something predatory.

I clenched my jaw, reminding myself that he was the villain here.

“Mr. Fischer,” I said, clearing my throat and straightening the form on my lap. “Let’s begin. I’ll start with some basic questions.”

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just kept watching me with that unsettling calm.

“Can you please state your name and place of birth?”

He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging in what might’ve been a smirk. “I believe you’re already aware of my history.”

I looked up sharply, glaring at him before I could stop myself. Arrogant bastard.

He wasn’t wrong… but still.

With a clipped breath, I lowered my gaze and began to fill in the form, the tip of my pen scratching harder than it should.

Still, something about sitting across from him now, hearing that voice in person, made it all feel heavier. More real.

I glanced up again, and it hit me like a slap. I was struck by the resemblance. It wasn’t just the bone structure or the storm-grey eyes, the proud line of the nose, the same dark brows, it was the way he held still, like the world could tilt and he wouldn’t flinch. Where Caleb’s expression often softened at the edges, Scott’s face seemed carved from something unyielding. Caleb carried his beauty like a secret. Scott wore his like a warning.

I dropped my gaze again, quickly, but it didn’t help. A shiver curled through me, thin and precise, dragging its fingers down my spine. In my mind, they were his fingers.

“The rest of the questions I ask you today will be of a personal and psychological nature. The state does require that you answer fully and honestly as part of the assessment. Do you understand?”

He did not answer.

I looked up, reacting on instinct the way anyone would when a subject gave nothing in return. His face was unreadable, but there was that smirk again. His eyes were fixed on me, cold and unflinching, as if he was already dissecting me from the inside out.

Then he spoke.

“Little girl, what gives you the right to ask me anything about my history and my mind?”

I replied, "Mr. Fischer, the state did, and I am not a little girl! The state has hired me to administer these examinations."

My voice faltered slightly, but I forced my words out with more confidence than I felt. He studied me, his eyes narrowing in a way that made my heart skip a beat.

"Do you have a degree, some kind of certificate?" he asked, his tone mocking.

I felt a sharp sting of irritation. My hands clenched at my sides, and I reached behind me to grab the certified paperwork from the state that qualified me for this position. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled the document from the back of my waistband, but I quickly recovered.

“If you are so curious,” I said, placing the papers on the table and leaning forward to hand them to him.

But just before he reached for it, I realized my mistake.

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist before I could pull away. His fingers closed around it with force, pulling me forward, my chest hitting the cold surface of the table. I was frozen, caught in his grip, unable to pull back.

His hand was warm. Rough. Firm.

The moment his skin touched mine, a strange feeling spread up my arm. I felt it in the center of my chest too, an unexpected flutter that had no business showing up here of all places. I should have yanked my hand back immediately, should have reminded him of boundaries, of protocol. But instead, I stayed there, my wrist held captive in his palm, and for a second too long, I let it happen.

My body betrayed me in the smallest, most humiliating way. I stiffened, forcing myself to break the silence.

"Mr. Fischer, I am a professional, and I would like to be treated with respect."

He brought my hand closer, so close I could feel his breath against my skin. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled, slow and deliberate, the tip of his nose brushing the inside of my wrist.

“Vanilla,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And something warmer underneath... cinnamon.”

My breath caught. My body went stiff, but he did not let go. When he opened his eyes, they locked onto mine.

“You must be a virgin,” he said, his voice low, wickedly calm.