Emilia
Vincent stood in the middle of my room like he’d been summoned by divine order, calm as a statue, holding a piece of paper like it was scripture. His presence alone made the walls feel smaller.
“These are your new parameters,” he said, folding the page once, smooth and deliberate, like a warning wrapped in origami.
I didn’t move from the edge of my bed. I crossed one leg over the other, made a show of sipping my water even though my mouth was dry. “And what happens if I don’t follow them?”
He looked at me. Not coldly. Just… like he already knew how this would end. “Then you won’t get what you want.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Reward is conditional now,” he said, stepping closer, paper still in hand. “If you disobey, you’re denied. If you follow through, you’ll be given what you need.”
“What I need,” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“I’m rarely wrong.”
“God, you’re exhausting.”
He ignored that. “Your schedule starts at six sharp. No phone after nine. Meals prepped for you. No outside food. Clothes are selected nightly. No substitutions.”
I let out a sharp breath. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Controlling what I wear now?”
“Yes.”
“Vincent—”
“You already dress like a dare. I’m dialing it back.”
My jaw clenched. “And who gave you the right?”
“I’m responsible for your safety. That includes how you present yourself when you leave this apartment.”
“And the food? You think I’m going to poison myself?”
“You think I want you passing out from skipping meals again?”
I froze. That was a low blow—and he knew it.
He continued, undeterred. “There will be a stretching routine before breakfast. Ten minutes, minimum. If you skip it, I’ll know.”
“Jesus. What is this, prison?”
“No,” he said. “Prisoners get visitation.”
I stood, pacing now, tension rising like steam. “So what—if I play by your rules, I get... what? Sex?”
He didn’t react. “Pleasure.”
“Same thing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He stepped closer, just enough to make me feel the charge between us.
“Sex is mechanical,” he said. “Pleasure is earned. If you want it, you show me you can hold discipline.”
I stared at him. “You’re out of your mind.”
He leaned in, voice low. “Tell me you didn’t like the way it felt when I stopped touching you.”
Heat flared in my stomach. I hated him for it.
“You’re insane.”
He pulled back. “Maybe. But you’re not leaving. And whether you admit it or not, your body already listens.”
“You’re turning my life into a training schedule.”
“You were spiraling.”
“Don’t pretend this is about my health. You kissed me. You crossed the line. And now you’re re-writing the rules to pretend it meant nothing.”
That made him pause.
His voice lowered even more. “It meant something. That’s why I’m doing this.”
I swallowed hard. “So you control everything, and I—what? Kneel and wait?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “You obey.”
I should’ve slapped him. I should’ve screamed. But all I did was whisper, “And if I don’t?”
His hand brushed my jaw, tilting it slightly.
“Then you’ll still want me. And I won’t touch you. Not until you ask me the right way.”