I dreamed about him, dark dreams where he hunted me through empty corridors, caught me, consumed me.
Even unconscious, my body knew its master.
Master.
The word comes unbidden, and I flush.
One night and I'm already thinking of him as?—
A knock interrupts my thoughts. "You have five minutes," a male voice calls through the door.
Not Cassius. One of his men.
I dress quickly in the robe, noting how it falls to mid-thigh, clearly chosen to display the bruises on my legs.
My hair is a disaster, my makeup long gone.
I look debauched. Ruined.
I look like myself for the first time in eight years.
The door opens exactly five minutes later.
One of the twins from last night—Peter or Paul, I can't tell them apart—gestures for me to follow.
He doesn't leer, doesn't comment on my appearance.
I'm Cassius's, and that apparently means something here.
He leads me through hallways I don't remember from last night, past doors that could hide anything.
Or anyone.
The building is massive, more than just the club.
This is Cassius's domain, his kingdom.
We stop at a set of double doors.
The twin knocks once, then opens them for me.
Cassius sits at a dining table, fully dressed in another expensive suit, reading what looks like financial reports.
He doesn't look up when I enter, just gestures to the chair across from him.
"Eat."
The table holds a full breakfast—eggs, toast, fruit, coffee.
My stomach rebels at the thought of food, but the look he gives me when I hesitate makes me reach for the fork.
I eat in silence while he reads, hyperaware of every movement.
The way the robe gaps when I lean forward.
The way his eyes track the movement of my throat when I swallow.
The way my body responds to his presence, already wet just from proximity to him.
