a/n: this exists because i need paul heyman girl!charlotte. and because i wanted charlotte to be roman's partner if he ever did a mix tag match because – even though he's a face and so is sasha – he and charlotte make more sense to me.

~*~even angels have their wicked schemes~*~

pairing: roman reigns/charlotte

summary: the queen would do anything to regain her throne, even making deals with a silver tongued devil, unless an unsuspecting ally makes her think twice – or charlotte/roman/paul heyman post raw 10/10/16

rating: t

This was unacceptable... A rage Charlotte hadn't felt since she had first lost her title to Sasha consumed her as she left a temper tantrum throwing Rusev behind while Sasha and Roman celebrated in the ring. The fact that she was forced to compete in the ridiculous mix tag match in the first place, was a joke. And with that snarling disgusting caveman as her partner... In what world could that beast even carry her robe, let alone set foot in the same ring as her? Especially after the disrespect he and his little harpy wife dared to show at the beginning of the show?

She could feel an uncharacteristic sniffle linger in the back of her throat. Her eyes were starting to sting... She had tapped again. She was forced, again, to watch that violet haired troll strut with her title. She had mounted no offense against her, not even so much as a slap... It was humiliating.

Her stomach churned and bile coated her tongue.

"Well..." A sing-song tone oozing like slime reaches her ears. "That was certainly a most interesting outcome to that mix tag match, was it not, Ms. Flair?"

Whirling around to her left, Charlotte's eyes narrow as she takes in the rotund figure of Paul Heyman. Her nose scrunches and she gives him a scathing glare. "Oh, it was very interesting," Her voice is high and her back is arched, she doesn't want to be but she can't help her defensiveness. "Wasn't it? Yes, interesting is the word that I would use about a match where I could mount no offense against a ratchet pesant whose bones are as brittle as a corpse's."

Heyman chuckles low in his throat. The wheels in his head are spinning. Everything about the woman in front of him said champion. Her lineage in this business was unparalleled. Her father a two time hall of famer and a sixteen time world champion. Her atheticism, unlike he'd ever seen in any woman to come before her. Her look... Classic beauty.

Charlotte was the total package.

He was pracitcally salivating.

"It is a travesty, I must say, of the highest order that someone like Sasha Banks – who, in my humble opinion – is nothing more than a flash in the pan is wearing your title around her waist."

"You think it's a travesty?" He could sense her skepticism and his lips twisted into a cunning grin. "Yes, yes I do. Ms Flair... May I call you Charlotte?" Her frown deepens as she crosses her arms ove her chest, which he takes as a no. "My apologies. I shouldn't have been so forward in asking to address you as anything but Ms. Flair." He clears his throat. "As I was saying, it is a travesty of the highest order that a flash in the pan is wearing your championship around her waist. While Ms. Banks is certainly exciting and takes risks, she is not half the woman you are. You are Charlotte Flair, you are genetically superior, you were born for this... For the spotlight, for greatness. Who is Sasha Banks? Certainly not someone whose name cannot be mentioned in the same breath as yours..."

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Charlotte holds up her hand, cutting Heyman off. Her father warned her about Heyman. How he was nothing more than a two-bit hustler in a nice suit. A snake in the grass. That he wasn't to be trusted. Of course everything he was spewing was true, but still...

"While I agree with everything you said, what exactly do you want? What is the point of telling me things I already know."

"My point..." His beady eyes lit up, his pudgy hands rubbing together as he circled her. "Is that something – if I may be so bold as to say so – seems to be missing. Sasha who is not on your level in any way shape or form, has bested you several times now, including twice in championship matches. But here you are going into a match – the first ever women's match inside the vaunted Hell In A Cell – as the underdog..."

A vicious slap across his heavy jowls stops Heyman mid sentence. "I am a Queen and a Queen is never, ever," She emphasizes. "An underdog. Sasha may be the conquering hero returning home to her precious Boston, but at Hell In A Cell, I will destroy her. She does not stand a chance against me."

He rubs his cheek as he nods vigorously in agreement. "Oh, I agree and I meant no disrespect by my previous statement, but you have to admit – yes, even you – that Sasha has the upperhand going into this match up. She should not. You will be in your element inside the cell. But confidence... It is a tricky thing, it can propel someone to heights they would not be able to reach without it..."

Charlotte sighs heavily, already tired of this conversation. "And what exactly is your point? My time is precious..."

"Of course your time is precious. As if it would be anything but. My point is, Ms. Flair, I am offering you my services as an advocate. You should be nothing less than the favorite heading into this most historic event and you should walk out as a three time champion. I think – if I may be so bold in saying so – that your confidence is lacking, slighlty – only slightly – and a bottom feeder like Sasha will captialize on that. Like she did tonight. Her frenzied pace, her quick offense, it took you out of your element. With me by your side, I can help you achieve heights you've never dreamed and I will start by helping you take back your championship."

"You're offering me your services?" A haughty bark of laughter and a flip of her golden locks. "In what universe would I even need them? Unlike your beast, I can string more than two words together. I know exactly what I'm going into at Hell In A Cell, thank you very much. That match was made for me and not a fragile little thing like Sasha. I will do exactly what I did at Summerslam, expose her for the fraud she is."

"And if you don't?"

"If I don't what? If I don't win? Don't make me laugh, Heyman. Her days as champion, her feel good story, they're numbered. She'll be leaving the most demonic structure in WWE history in a body bag. You can," A sarcastic chuckle as she bends, doing Sasha's signature dip. "Bank on that."

"Here is my card, Ms. Flair," Slipping the cream colored cardstock into her feminine palm. "If you do reconsider your position."

Charlotte's first instincts are to rip the card into pieces. She's torn an edge when she hears an all too familiar grating voice from behind. "Look who it is... Queen Charles," Her hands turn into fists, nails digging into her palms. "Though, you don't look like much of a queen," Giggling as Sasha finally steps in front of Charlotte, so they're face to face. "You look more like a loser."

Red surges through Charlotte's veins. Who does this little rat think she is? The blonde swallows thickly, struggling to regain her composure. It's a comical sight Sasha presents. The title – so beautiful with its glittering rhinestones and smooth white strap – sliding off her shoulder, looking too large for her body, as if she's struggling to keep it in place. She looks like a child. A little girl pretending to be a champion. Not a woman who could carry the weight of being champion.

"Look at you..." Charlotte circles the smaller woman, slowly, like a jungle cat stalking its prey. "You can barely hold the title on your shoulder. You look like a little girl coming to a signing with her replica championship. You don't deserve to even look at the title. At Hell In A Cell, there's going to be no celebratory homecoming for the Boss," She bends her head, so they're nose to nose. "Only a burial. Your weak little bones, this pathetic excuse for a body," She shoves her opponent to the floor. "Is going to fail you like it did at Summerslam."

As Sasha moves to get up, Charlotte shoves her back to the ground. Stepping on her stomach, she keeps her pinned to the floor, not exerting much effort at all. "This is going to be your reality, Sasha in three weeks. Me, standing over you. Except I will have my championship around my waist again. You can beat me at these meaningless championship matches on RAW that no one cares about and you can make me tap in a joke of a mix tag match, but on the biggest stages, you'll do what you do best, fail. At Wrestlemania, I beat you. At Summerslam, I beat you. And at the first women's match ever to take place inside Hell In A Cell, I will beat you. I was born for this and you... You're just a little girl playing pretend."

Another stomp to Sasha's gut for good measure and with a flip of her golden locks, Charlotte walks away.

Heyman's card feels like a hot coal in her hand. She's changed out of her gear and is wheeling her suitcase out of her locker room. His words keep running through her head.

Her frenzied pace, her quick offense, it took you out of your element. With me by your side, I can help you achieve heights you've never dreamed and I will start by helping you take back your championship.

Heights she's never dreamed of... A shiver unfurls along her spine and she can feel goosebumps rise along her skin. It's so vivid... The image crossing her mind's eye; standing in the ring in her robe or a beautiful dress, even a suit... The heat from the crowd, their boos ringing down and then... Her lips curl into a smirk as she hears... "Ladies and gentlemen my name is Paul Heyman..."

It would be so perfect; Heyman as her advocate. She had been making history since she set foot in NXT and as the first – the only – Paul Heyman girl, oh the possibilities. No more dealing with an incompentent joke of a general manager like Mick Foley. No more being at the beck and call of a screeching banshee like Stephanie McMahon who was always going to be beholded to her husband.

The rest of the division would do what they should have done a long damn time ago, fall at her feet.

Looking down at the card, she flips it between her fingers and as the card flips to its front, a looming shadow casts over her shoulder.

"Don't tell me that snake's sniffin' around you?" A low bass rumbling from an expansive chest, an all too familiar sound from day's gone by. There's a different kind of shiver going up her spine as she turns on her pencil thin heel and meets... At first she expected grey eyes to be staring back at her, but she remembered he hadn't been wearing his contacts since the fatal four way Universal Championship match back in Kansas City.

Deep brown eyes, like melted chocolate, stare back. She remembers how caramel would appear around the irises, how they would light up when they saw her. Now – post heel turn – those eyes, even when they were hidden under a mask of grey, would regard her with a hint of sadness. Her stomach twists; memories flashing across her mind. Popsicle stained faces from when they were children running around her family's spacious backyard in North Carolina, splashing each other as awkward pre-teens in his family's pool in Florida... How he was the first person she called after Reid had passed away, how he had wrapped her in his bulk and she felt safe.

Schooling her features, she remarks flatly, "And if Heyman is sniffing around me?"

Roman takes in a deep breath; he catches her scent, bergamont and vanilla. He remembers that heady and expensive scent lingering on his suit after all their Wrestlemania appearances. He remembers how she reminded him of the girl who fiercley declared she would finish what her brother started as she stared, in wonderment, at the Women's Championship in her arms. So close to the Charlotte he had shared so many important memories with.

And now... He studies her, eyes lingering on every shapely curve and toned muscle. That girl – the Charlotte he once knew – seems so far away.

"You'd be wise to keep your guard up. Everybody knows you can't trust Heyman as far as you can throw him. That guy could sell water to a fish."

"And you're sticking your nose in my business because..."

He bites the inside of his cheek and swallows thickly. His mind takes him back to the night JoJo was born. He was staring at her wriggling form through the plexi glass, terrified that he wouldn't be able to provide for her, that he wouldn't step up to the plate and be the father she deserved. He reached into his pocket and called the woman standing in front of him now.

He rubs the back of his neck and stares into the familiar sable hue of her eyes. "You know I care about you. I may not agree with the choices you made after winning the Diva's Championship, but that doesn't change how I feel."

"How you feel?" She repeats, her voice going shrill. "How you feel? Just what the hell does that even mean? You don't care about me. You care about who I used to be before I realized what being in this business really entails. You care about the little girl who ate popsicles with you and ran around your yard back in Pensacola. The weak, insipid little girl who clung to you after she lost her brother, that's who you care about. Well, I hate it to break it to you, Leati," His Samoan name spat like it was so much bitter on his tongue. "But she isn't coming back. This is who I am, who I was born to be and even though I already warned your new play thing, Sasha, about what was going to happen to her at Hell In A Cell, you can remind her of what I said. Her days as champion are numbered and she'll be leaving Boston – not as a hero – but in a body bag."

"You don't need Heyman to..."

"Who said anything about needing Heyman? That greasy walrus, needs me and I am well aware of that fact. But just think... How prestiegous it would be, Charlotte Elizabeth Flair, the first and only Paul Heyman girl. With Heyman, I wouldn't be wasting my precious time dealing with an incompentent general manager like Mick Foley. That sniveling puppet to her husband, Stephanie McMahon, would answer to me – well, my advocate, really – and not the other way around. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a phone call to make."

Before she can turn on her heel, her wrist is engulfed by his fingers, which grip tight and stop her from taking a step. As she tries to tug out of his grip, he tightens his hold, pulling her against him. She fights the urge to go boneless and melt. Though, she has two divorces under her belt pre-35, he – Roman – is still the only man who can make her think such a frivolous thought. She hates it; how he makes her feel small and feminine, like a woman. He – in a strange reversal of roles for her – towers over her, the strength in his massive frame so obvious. There's not an inch of him that isn't muscle.

His strong smell – a mix of musk and leather with a hint of orange behind it – has her head spinning.

She sucks in a breath when his head bends and his nose slides along the curve of her neck.

There's the soft press of his lips – lush and full – against her pulse point and her knees lock.

"If you're gonna make any deals with Heyman," His expansive chest vibrates with the bass of his tone. "A queen could always use a knight."

Another press of his lips and then he pulls away. She's frozen in place, unable to move, until his footsteps fade away. Her lungs burn and she has no choice but to release the breath she's holding. Her thighs rub together as she catches the last of his scent, lingering in the otherwise stale air of the arena's hallway.

For the rest of the night all she hears are his words; if you're gonna make any deals with heyman, a queen could always use a knight.

It's disgusting, the sight of Sasha fawning over Roman, her garishly painted purple nails sliding up and down the traditional Samoan design covering his right arm. They're backstage at the Moda Center in Portland for a house show before the roster makes its way toward the East Coast in preparation for Hell In A Cell, in two weeks.

Charlotte, honestly, wants to gag at the pathetic display the other woman is putting on. Who did she think he was, Rollins? That egotistical little boy would be eating this up, but Roman was far from his former Shield brother. Unable to stand much more, she made her way toward the pair and without warning, gave the smaller woman a hip check, causing her to stumble backward.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Feigning shock as she whirled to face her violet-haired foe. "I didn't see you there, Sasha. But it's so hard to see you, what with you being down there," She points to her calve. "And all."

"How dare you put your man..." Charlotte cuts Sasha off with a vicious boot to her gut, sending the smaller woman straight to the ground. "I did you a favor," The blonde sneers, giving the vulnerable superstar's gut another shot. "You were embarrassing yourself. Now, go run along and find your little friend Bayley. Hopefully she has some milk and cookies to make your boo boo feel better."

"This is your plan, huh?" Sasha staggers to her feet, clutching her stomach. "Take shots at me backstage? Blindside me? Well, when we're locked up in that cell..."

"When we're locked up in that cell, what? You're going to show me that you're the Legit Boss? Who's the baddest? Tell your little sob story in your hometown and talk about Eddie Guerrero, your hero and how we're not Divas anymore and this is women's wrestling? Spare me. We both know what's going to happen, the second that cell is locked. I am going to destroy you. You wanted me inside Hell In A Cell, but it's going to be hell on earth for you, not me. You'll be lucky if you survive. Cling to my title like it's your little blankey, Sasha, because I'm going to be your worst nightmare."

After Sasha limps away, Charlotte turns back toward Roman. Per usual the handsome features of his sculpted face gives nothing away. Smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles of her robe, she flips her hair over her shoulder and smiles brightly.

"Aren't you going to say thank you? She was pracitcally humping your leg. I think you should say thank you."

"I can handle myself..."

"Clearly. That's why she was drooling on you and kept touching you. Don't insult my intelligence, Roman. You're not Rollins. The last thing you want is a woman who fawns all over you and falls at your feet. Anyway, enough about her. I've been thinking about what you said last night after Raw..."

"Have you?" His lips quirk into a lazy grin, his rippling arms crossing over his expansive chest.

"I have..." Charlotte falters, slightly, but regains her composure in the face of how his muscles flex with just the slightest movement. "And I want to know what you meant by a queen could always use a knight if I'm making any deals with Heyman?"

"You should have back up if you're doin' deals with someone as shady as him. I know you think..." He sighs heavily, taking several steps so the space between them is closed. "That I only care about who you used to be, that I'm not interested in the woman you are now, but that ain't true. I may not agree with the steps you've taken to get you where you are, but I got nothin' but respect for you. I know what you did to get here, what you went through, the weight that was on your shoulders. So if you're gonna go down this path – with Heyman – you're not goin' alone. I won't let you."

"Let me?" She scoffs, arching a perfectly shaped brow. "We both know no one lets me do anything."

"You know what I meant. If Heyman dared to double cross you, Ric and my Pops woud never forgive me for not being by your side."

"You make it seem that we're attached at the hip, that we're still children. We couldn't be further from that. I don't know what we are..."

Though, Roman knows Charlotte is trying to mask it, he can hear the note of sadness in her tone as her voice trails away. He doesn't know what they are either. They're not who they used to be, both of them have changed since they shared popsicles, but they're not as far apart as she makes them out to be.

He swallows thickly, taking in the beautiful figure she creates. The cut of her gear does wonders for her frame, showing off every curve. In the feather-like robe and with her hair pinned back and curling gracefully at the ends, flowing down her back like a golden waterfall spun by Rumplestiltskin himself, she does look like royalty.

"We're not as far apart as you think," He doesn't know when he reached for her, all he knows is her every curve is pressed against his hulking build. "I don't know exactly what we are, but I know that much."

"Roman.." Her voice is breathless, it's too much being completely surrounded by him, having those chocolate eyes completely focused on her.

"You do what you gotta do," His voice is tender, his large hand coming to cup her cheek. "But know that I'm backin' you 100%. If you feel like having Heyman in your corner is what's best, don't keep me out of the loop, that's all I'm sayin'."

"Okay..." Shaky because she's overwhelmed by his presence. They haven't been this close since... She remembers it so vividly, the aftermath of Reid's funeral. How he senses where her head is, she doesn't know, but as soon as a sniffle escapes, he's crushing her against him; his arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

Charlotte knows Roman wouldn't want this; he's too prideful, too intent on doing everything on his own, desperate to carve out his own legacy amongst the giants in his family. But she knows how much this would benefit him, becoming a Paul Heyman Guy. They've texted a few times since they were in Portland, but nothing more than that. She knows if they talked, he'd be able to see the wheels in her head turning, the path her brain was going down, and he'd thwart her.

But this is for his own good.

She spied – through WWE makeup artist Stella Kae – that Goldberg was here at the arena, which meant Heyman would be here. The challenge had been issued the week before and with Goldberg giving his answer tonight, Heyman wouldn't pass up the chance to goad the former champion.

Squaring her shoulders and smoothing out the silk of her pencil skirt, she approaches the advocate of The Beast.

"Ms. Flair..." As fake as Sasha's costume jewlery, but Charlotte could careless. All that mattered is Heyman could sell water to a fish and he would do whatever it took to elevate both her and Roman to the heights they deserved. "I hope that you have considered my offer to you..."

"I've done more than consider your offer," Her painted lips blooming into a smirk. "I'm accepting your offer, but there's one condition. One very important condition."

The caramel around the chocolate of his irises is back. Charlotte's heart can't help but skip a beat at the familiar sight. Ever the gentleman, he holds the door to his locker room open and doesn't shut the door until she's crossed the room's threshold. She can't help the shiver unfurling along her spine, he's already dressed in his gear. The vest is tight across the expansive muscle of his chest. His arms are on full display. The cargos hug his toned thighs perfectly.

Heat sizzles through her veins.

Briefly, she bites her lip, remembering what it was like when he had been inside her. Making her forget, like she had begged after Reid's funeral. And then she jolts back to the present, suddenly remembering why she knocked on his locker's door.

"Don't hate me..." She hates the quiver in her tone.

"If I didn't hate you for trying to cost me and Sasha the mix tag, I doubt there's anything you could do to make me hate you," There's the rich laughter tumbling off those gorgeous lips, his chest shaking with it, the vest moving slightly to reveal a sliver of the tattoo that spreads the circumference of his right pectoral.

"I know you wanted to be there when I spoke to Heyman, but I knew if you heard what my condition was to him in regards to accepting his offer, you would have said no. I had to go alone, so I did. I spoke to him just before I knocked on your door. I said I would accept his offer if he signed you as well."

Charlotte studies every inch of Roman's handsome face. Her heart is suspended in her chest. She's literally holding her breath.

"You said you would only let Heyman sign you, if he signed me?" The words are spoken with a slow and deliberate edge, the cut of his sculpted jaw ticking slightly. "Why in the hell would you think that I would..."

"I know being a Paul Heyman guy is the last thing you would want," She cuts him off. "Of course I know that. But, Roman, you said it yourself Heyman could sell water to a fish. Just think about what this could do for you. You wouldn't have to answer to Vince or Stephanie any more. You wouldn't be forced into this uncomfortable babyface role. Look at you.." She motions up and down at his hulking frame. "Everything about you says heel; the handsome face, the muscles, your walk, your moveset in the ring. You were born to be at the top of this company, just like I was. Don't give that up because you want to do everything by the book. Do the opposite; take it and don't let anyone stand in your way any more."

Out of the corner of his eye Roman could see the United States Championship laying across the bench in his locker room. The silver in the title shimmered and the red and blue was reflected in the lights. That title was so prestiegous, so important to this company and also to his legacy. He was a three time World Champion, a one time Tag Champion and now he was in the midst of his United States Championship reign, but all he could hear were the boos. He heard them even as he held JoJo in his arms while walking up the ramp post Wrestlemania.

He wanted to wear his family's legacy proudly, carrying their names on his shoulders every time he walked out to the ring and to represent them the best way he knew how.

But maybe... He turned his eyes from the title and back to Charlotte's familiar sable hue. Her words came rushing back to him; you wouldn't have to answer to vince or stephanie any more. you wouldn't be forced into this uncomfortable babyface role. you were born to be at the top of this company... take it and don't let anyone stand in your way anymore.

He knew there would be an uncomfortable conversation with his father in his future, as well as his mother, but he knew what he had to do. He wasn't Vince and Stephanie's puppet. His name – Reigns – carried the same weight as McMahon in this business. Only the names Flair and Rhodes could think to compare. He was done sitting back and waiting, being the good solider who took his orders and said "yes sir" and "no ma'am." He was taking his rightful place at the head of the table.

"I am Michael Cole along side Byron Saxton and Corey Graves and tonight we are coming to you live from the Pepsi Center here in Denver, Colorado," The lead announcer's reedy voice spoke to the viewers at home. "And word has just come down that the Advocate of The Beast Brock Lesnar, Paul Heyman has a very special annoucement to make. Could this be in response to Bill Goldberg accepting Heyman's challenge from this past week back in Oakland? That he will take on Brock Lesnar, any place, any time?"

"I don't know, Michael..." Byron started to say but was quickly cut off by Corey. "Shut your mouth, Saxton. No one wants to hear your rambling speculations. Either you have facts to present us with or you sit down and shut up and let Paul Heyman speak."

"Ladies and gentleman my name is Paul Heyman..." Came the familiar refrain and everyone in the arena and at home thought they could predict what was coming next. "I know why you all think I'm here tonight, to finalize a deal with Mr. Goldberg, but that will come at a later date. My Client, Brock Lesnar and I have terms to come to before we will present Mr. Goldberg with a time and a place."

Boos reigned down from the rafters of the Pepsi Center and Heyman just smirked.

He paced for a few moments before addressing the crowd once again. "No blood will be shed tonight. For now, Mr. Goldberg gets to sleep tight, curled up in his bed without coming face to face with The Beast Incarnate himself, and he should be thanking his lucky stars, really. It was so tough to convince Brock not to fly here to Denver." A low chuckle for good measure. "Now, as for why I am here... I am here to unveil something none of you nerds on your blogs and your podcasts could ever have predicted."

His lips curl into the familiar cunning grin. "Ladies and gentleman, I give you the first and only, Paul Heyman Girl, Charlotte!"

Her music hit and the satuesque blonde strutted down the ramp. She was dressed in her red and gold robe. She accepted Paul's hand once she had reached the steel steps leading to the ring. Slipping gracefully through the ropes, she smiled as he kissed her hand and bowed.

Giving a queenly wave to the crowd, she soaked in the roar of boos.

"How dare you!" Heyman bellowed. "You should be on your knees, thanking the Lord above that Charlotte has graced you lowlifes with her presence. This – you ungrateful ingrates – is Charlotte Flair, the only woman to ever hold the NXT Women's Championship, the Diva's Championship and the Women's Championship. When it is all said and done, her name will be etched in history as the greatest female Superstar to ever set foot in a WWE ring. And next Sunday in Boston, she will only add to her growing list of achievements by not just competeing in the first women's Hell In A Cell match, but by becoming a three time Women's Champion."

"That's right," Charlotte mouths, nodding enthusiastically at Paul's words.

"But this lovely young lady is not the only reason I am out here tonight. The other reason I am out here tonight is because she is not the only Superstar I have added to my roster. Please, Denver I do hope you show him the respect that he deserves... Welcome the newest Paul Heyman Guy, Roman Reigns!"

It's clear from the moment Roman steps from behind the curtain that he is not the same man he was the week before. There's no hint of a conflicted babyface. No hint that the boos – louder than ever – faze him. He gives the crowd a smirk and with his head held high, struts toward the ring. His US Championship is not slung over his shoulder, in a proud display, but gripped in his hand.

Stepping through the ring, he bends to give Charlotte a soft kiss to her lips. It's quick, not nearly as long as he or she wants it to be, but he doesn't want their first kiss since their one night together to be in an arena full of people. She deserves more than that. Breaking apart, he lets his fingers linger along the slope of her cheek, moving them up to trace the crystals along her eye and then he turns to Heyman.

Shaking the older man's hand, he keeps the title in his grip. Not displaying it at all for the crowd.

"My apologies, Mr. Reigns. I thought this crowd – after the dispicable way they treated Ms. Flair – would give you the reception you deserve as their United States Champion. You should all be disgusted with yourselves. Do you not know who is standing in this ring? All that Roman Reigns has accomplished? The most eliminations in a Royal Rumble, most dominate member of the greatest faction of all time, The Shield, a one time Tag Team Champion, a three time World Heavyweight Champion, Superstar of the Year in 2014, 8 time Slammy Award Winner, PWI's top wrestler of 2016 and you have the audacity to boo him? Oh, you should be ashamed. Ashamed, I say."

"I don't know about you, Byron and Corey, but I am stunned..." Michael Cole says from ringside.

"I have no words, Michael. No words..." Byron starts, but is again cut off by Graves.

"If you have no words, then shut your mouth, Booty Saxton. How can you two not appreciate what we're seeing here? That is the Queen, Charlotte and the Big Dog, Roman Reigns signing with the greatest manager in this business, Paul Heyman. This is history, that's what this is."

style and grace i'm never gonna be dumb now welcome to the queendom blasts through the Pepsi Center's speakers as a clearly angry Stephanie McMahon makes her way to the ring.

"Just what in the hell do you two think you're doing?" She all but bellows and Charlotte and Roman just smirk.

"Ms. McMahon, I suggest – if I may be so bold in this instance – that you choose your words very carefully. As the Advocate of Ms. Flair and Mr. Reigns, any questions and concerns you have about these recent developments are to go through me. Which brings me to... Hell In A Cell in Boston. My clients would like to renegoiate the terms of their contracts before the signings of said contracts take place."

"Excuse me?" Stephanie asks slowly, clearly balking at the idea.

"My clients would like to renegoiate the terms of their contracts before the contract signings in Minneapolis next week. If you decide not to renegoiate with them, Mr. Reigns has informed me that he will not be defending the United States Championship at any live events going forward, which includes tonight. Ms. Flair has informed me, that she will not participate in any matches going forward, including tonight."

"Are you threatening me?"

"If I may, Paul..." Charlotte says, holding out her hand for the mic to be passed to her. Heyman gives her the mic, smirking as he does. "Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie," Sickeningly sweet is Charlotte's tone. "A queen never threatens. As my Advocate stated, if you don't agree to the renegoiation sitpulation, I won't be participating in any matches going forward. The ball, as they say, is in your court. Though," She laughs haughitly, knowing Stephanie can't squirm out of this. "We both know you're going to agree. What else can you do? I am the biggest draw in your Women's Division. Sasha can barely hold up the belt, let alone defend it. Bayley is a little girl playing dress up. Dana," A bark of laughter and a scoff. "Learned nothing from me. Paige has all but disappeared. Nia hasn't faced any real competition and Alicia Fox and Summer are all washed up. So bring your lawyers out here, so I can tell them my terms and then I can sign on the dotted line."

"Why you little..." As Stephanie rears back, preparing to execute her infamous slap, her wrist is grabbed by Roman. "Get your hands off me, Reigns!" She all but growls, but Roman isn't fazed.

"You got yourself in quite the bind, didn't you, Steffy?" He taunts, letting go of her wrist. "You have the biggest draw of your Women's Division sitting out of matches and your US Champion won't be defending the championship. You know what you have to do. It's real simple, like Paul said, let us renegoiate our contracts for Hell In A Cell, and all your problems go away. Or you can try and play hard ball, and we'll be sittin' at home catching some rays on the last days of summer down in Pensacola."

"Who the hell do the two of you..." Stephanie starts to rant, but she knows it's useless.

The whole Paper-view will fall apart without Charlotte and Roman. Seething as she glares at all of them, she growls through gritted teeth, "Meet me in my office. We'll discuss the terms of your contracts."

Throwing the mic to the ground, she stomps from the ring. As her foot hits the top step, she falters due to her anger and nearly trips, which causes the crowd along with Roman and Charlotte and Paul to laugh.

There's a bottle of champagne chilling in the limo Paul as waiting for them after the negotiations took place. Charlotte pops the bottle, laughing at the sound and as the bubbly spills over. Roman smiles at the carefree look on her beautiful face. She looks more beautiful than ever. Like she's free and he can't help but feel the same way. He no longer carries the burden of being someone he isn't. He's carrying his family's name his way and that's the best way he could pay tribute.

Their glasses clink and he only allows her a sip before reaching for her waist. His lap is full of her, a startled giggle escaping perfectly painted lips. Heat surges in his veins from the look in her eyes. Her sable eyes are a dark, rich mahogany now and hiding behind thick lashes. Her lips part slightly and he takes the invitation.

It's everything; their lips touching, really touching for the first time since they're only night together so long ago. Their tongues tangle easily and when they break apart, they're breathless and their lungs are burning, but pleasantly.

"This is perfect," Her voice is throaty and breathless, sending a wave of pleasure through him.

"It is," He agrees, bending to taste the champange on her lips once more. "This is how it was always supposed to be, Charlotte, you and me at the top, together."