“You’re getting soft,” Helena’s voice cut through the phone like a surgical blade. “Because of that girl.”
Maybe I was. Definitely I was. But admitting that to Helena Brighton was like handing her a loaded weapon and asking her to aim for my throat.
“I’m handling the situation.”
“Are you? Because your father’s humiliation is trending on Twitter, darling. The stock price is in free fall. Our European contracts are being ‘reviewed’ by very concerned clients.” Her laugh was ice-cold satisfaction. “Perhaps your little pet isn’t as harmless as you thought.”
The line went dead before I could respond. Classic Helena—drop the psychological bomb and let the shrapnel do its work.
My hands were shaking. Actually fucking shaking like some amateur who’d never handled a crisis. But this wasn’t just crisis management.
This was personal annihilation, broadcast globally.
I found Floris in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, looking completely normal. Like she hadn’t just nuked my entire existence from orbit.
“We need to talk.”
She looked up, and for a split second, I caught something that might’ve been guilt flickering across her face. Or maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see.
“About what?”
“About the video that’s currently destroying my life.”
Her expression shifted to confusion. “What video?”
“Don’t.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “Don’t fucking lie to me right now.”
“I’m not lying. What video?”
I showed her my phone. Watched her face as she saw my father on his knees, my mother standing over him like some kind of domestic dictator.
“Jesus Christ, Eric.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “This is… this is everywhere?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re the only person who knew about these tapes.”
The words hung between us like an accusation and a death sentence rolled into one.
“You think I did this?” Her voice went small, hurt. “You think I leaked your family’s private business to the internet?”
“You’re a cybersecurity expert who’s hacked every system I have. You knew about the tapes. You had motive, means, and opportunity.”
“What motive?”
“Revenge. For everything I’ve put you through.”
She stared at me like I’d slapped her. “Eric, I would never—”
“Wouldn’t you? After everything? After the collar, the surveillance, the psychological games?” My brain was spiraling, logic and paranoia tangling together. “After I made you sign that contract with your fucking teeth?”
“Stop.”
“Why would you do this, Floris? We were… last night, I thought we were—”
“We were what? In love?” She stood up, anger flashing in her eyes. “You said you loved me, then twelve hours later you’re accusing me of destroying your life?”
“Because you’re the only one who knew!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know! But it wasn’t me!”
My head was a fucking mess. Emotions I didn’t have names for were crashing into each other, making it impossible to think clearly.
Love and betrayal and rage and fear all mixed up in a cocktail that was poisoning my ability to process anything rationally.
She was lying. Had to be lying. Except… Except she looked genuinely shocked. Genuinely hurt by my accusation.
Which meant either she was the best actress I’d ever met, or I was about to destroy the only person who’d ever actually loved me back.
“Eric, please. I swear to you, I didn’t leak those videos.”
“Then explain how they got out.”
“I can’t. But I didn’t do it.”
Something snapped. The careful control I’d spent decades building just… broke. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the silk ties from her dresser.
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice thin with confusion.
I didn’t answer.
“What I should’ve done from the beginning,” I muttered, already looping the silk around her wrists, yanking them above her head and tying them to the headboard with sharp, controlled movements.
She squirmed, but not to escape. “Eric, wait—”
“No.”
I shoved her legs apart and tied her ankles to the posts, fast—rougher than necessary—but I didn’t care. Her body stretched beautifully, open and helpless.
My jaw clenched.
“You don’t get to call the shots. You don’t get to run through my building like you’re untouchable. You don’t get to watch things you’re not ready to understand.”
Her breath stuttered. “I did not do it, I—”
“No,” I cut in, dragging my fingers up her thigh, forcing her focus back to the heat between her legs. “You wanted control. You thought you could take it without consequences.”
She moaned, hips jolting as I slipped two fingers into her—fast, unforgiving, deep. “Fuck—Eric—”
“Be quiet.”
She bit her lip hard, eyes glassy. She was already wet, already aching, like her body had missed me even while her brain played spy games.
“You’re not sorry,” I hissed, curling my fingers until she gasped. “But you will be.”
Her head fell back as I found her rhythm, then ruined it. Again and again, I edged her. Deep, then shallow. Fast, then cruelly slow. Every time her breath hitched and her hips rolled, I stopped. Pulled away. Waited. Then did it again.
By the third time, she was shaking.
“Please,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “Please just—”
“Just what?” I asked, kneeling between her legs and pressing my palm against the soaked heat of her, applying just enough pressure to make her cry out. “Say it.”
“Let me come,” she begged. “I need to—I can’t—”
“No. You’ll come when I say. Not a second before.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Her arms strained against the silk. Her legs trembled against the restraints.
“Please, Eric,” she whimpered.
I leaned forward and bit her inner thigh—not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to remind her. She screamed into the mattress.
“Every time you disobey,” I growled, thrusting my fingers back in, “I take something.”
She sobbed.
“I take your breath. I take your mind. I take your fucking will.”
Her body bucked, riding the edge, searching for the peak.
I denied her again. And again. And again.
Until her voice was hoarse, until her thighs were shaking violently, until she couldn’t speak—only cry.
“Tell me who owns you.”
“You do,” she gasped, barely audible.
“Louder.”
“You do!”
Only then did I push her over the edge, fingers slamming into her, thumb circling mercilessly until she shattered with a scream that clawed through her throat.
She convulsed around my hand, sobbing as she came—once, twice, again. Her body went limp. But I didn’t stop.
Not until she was begging with no words left. Just gasps. Just broken whimpers.
“Too much,” she finally whispered. “Please—please, Eric—”
I slowed.
Watched her blink at me with glassy eyes. Her lashes fluttered. Her mouth hung open. Sweat clung to her temple.
And then—she passed out. Just like that.
Silk-bound, soaked, spent. Every inch of her ruined because I made her that way. I leaned over her, brushing a kiss to her temple—not soft. Not sweet.
Final.
“You wanted the truth, little spy,” I whispered. “Now you know how it feels to be owned.”