Reining in the arrogant milf boss, breaking Arianna.

Osiris Champion's Gamble – A Queen’s degradation

The late morning sun cast long, accusing shadows across the Egyptian Museum’s marble floors as Stefano strode through its hallowed halls, his polished Oxfords clicking with deliberate, predatory rhythm. The Osiris ring pulsed against his finger, its golden hieroglyphs shimmering with barely restrained hunger.

Arianna Sforza’s office loomed ahead—a glass-walled fortress of power, its occupant perched behind her mahogany desk like a pharaoh’s widow guarding her tomb.

Stefano didn’t knock.

"Hot damn..."

The door swung open with a whisper of displaced air, and Arianna’s head snapped up, her ice-blue eyes flashing with the fury of a woman who had spent the last twenty-four hours drafting his termination papers.

“Bianchi.” Her voice was a whip-crack, sharp enough to flay skin. "Do you have any idea how much work piled up while you were—?"

"Let’s talk business, shall we?"

Stefano’s voice cut through the blonde haughty milf's tirade like a scalpel, layered with hypnotic harmonics that made the air itself vibrate. The Osiris ring flared, its power slithering into Arianna’s mind, coiling around her thoughts like a serpent around prey.

Arianna stiffened. Her lips parted—then closed. A flush crept up her neck, her manicured nails digging into her desk.

"Reasonable," she muttered, though the word tasted like ash. "W-what do you want?"

Stefano smirked, stepping forward until his thighs brushed the edge of her desk. The scent of her perfume—something expensive, floral, and utterly wasted on her—clashed with the salt-tang of her sweat.

"A raise," he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "My own office. And Emma—the new trainee—as my personal assistant."

Arianna’s breath hitched.

"Emma?" Her voice cracked. "The Filipino girl from archives?"

Stefano leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Her duties will be… specialized."

The Queen’s Rage – A Storm Unleashed

Arianna exploded from her chair, the fake blonde's J-cup tits heaving beneath her silk blouse, her face a mask of outraged nobility.

"You insolent little shit!" she snarled, her Italian accent thickening with fury. "Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? My husband is on the city council’s board! I could have you blacklisted from every museum in Europe!"

Stefano inhaled—deep, deliberate.

Her rage was intoxicating.

But beneath it?

Something darker.

Wetter.

"You’re dripping, Arianna."

Her breath stuttered.

"I can smell you."

A flush burned down her chest, her nipples pebbling against silk.

"Get out," she hissed, but her voice trembled.

Stefano moved like lightning.

His hand slammed onto her desk, his body caging her in, his other hand fisting in her fake blonde hair.

Kneel

The command wasn’t a request.

It was a divine edict.