[11:29 PM - LE CHIFFRE'S PRIVATE SUITE - MONACO]

The air in the lavish suite was thick with the scent of expensive cigar smoke and the sharp, clean bite of whiskey left untouched on the side table. The only sound was the quiet, rhythmic click-click-click of Le Chiffre’s silver coin rolling across his knuckles, back and forth, a metronome counting down the seconds before the inevitable.

He knelt on the cold marble floor, the chill seeping into his bare knees, his tail tucked tightly between his legs. The leather collar around his throat was snug, the metal prongs just barely grazing his skin—not activated yet, but the threat of it hummed under his skin like a live wire. His ears were pinned back, his breath coming in shallow, controlled bursts, as if even the sound of his own breathing might earn him another correction.

Le Chiffre hadn’t spoken since they’d returned from the casino. Not when he’d guided—no, directed—him into the suite with nothing more than a sharp tug of the leash. Not when he’d unclipped it and pointed wordlessly to the floor. Not even when he’d hesitated, just for a second, before sinking to his knees.

The silence was worse than any reprimand.

Le Chiffre finally set the coin down on the table with a deliberate clink, the sound making him flinch. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his polished Oxford shoe gleaming under the dim light. His mismatched eyes—one pale blue, the other a milky, unseeing white—raked over his trembling form, lingering on the way his fingers twitched against his thighs, the way his throat worked around a swallowed whine.

"You cost me two million tonight," Le Chiffre said at last, his voice smooth, almost conversational.

His breath hitched.

Le Chiffre tilted his head, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Not with your playing. You’re not nearly skilled enough for that." He reached forward, his gloved fingers catching him under the chin, forcing his head up. "No, you cost me because you couldn’t follow the simplest of rules. Sit. Stay. Quiet." His grip tightened, just enough to make his pulse jump under his thumb. "And yet, there you were—growling at a client like some common stray."

He whimpered, his tail curling tighter.

Le Chiffre’s expression darkened. He released his chin with a dismissive flick of his wrist, reaching instead for the small black remote on the table beside him. He didn’t press the button. Not yet. He just turned it over in his hand, watching the way his eyes tracked the movement, the way his breath sped up.

"Tell me," Le Chiffre murmured, his voice dropping into something low, dangerous. "Do you enjoy disappointing me?"

He shook his head frantically, his ears flattening.

Le Chiffre’s thumb hovered over the remote’s trigger. "Then prove it."