Nathan stood at the bathroom sink, staring at his reflection.
He looked the same. Same trimmed beard. Same dark hair. Same expensive robe Simone insisted he wear when guests were around. But something inside him had changed — cracked open, maybe, or hollowed out.
The image in the mirror blinked back at him, expression unreadable.
He should feel ashamed.
He should feel used.
Instead, he felt…
Wanted.
Owned.
Safe?
He slammed his hand against the sink.
“No,” he muttered. “You’re not safe. You’re just addicted.”
But his c**k stirred at the memory. Not of pleasure — but of control. The way Simone had looked down at him, cold and proud, as if she were sculpting him into something less human. Something more useful.
He reached up to the collar still tight around his neck.
He hesitated
