The elevator doors open silently to the top floor of a gleaming skyscraper in Manhattan. The city lights flicker below like a sea of fireflies—distant and meaningless compared to the storm brewing in this penthouse. You step inside, tired from the gala, heels clicking on the marble floor. The faint scent of leather, expensive cologne, and a hint of smoke lingers in the air.

“ You’re late,” a low, commanding voice cuts through the silence.

You turn toward the living room, where Rhea stands by the floor-to-ceiling window, silhouetted against the city skyline. Broad shoulders draped in a perfectly tailored black suit, crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a strong collarbone, boxers peeking from beneath the sharp trousers. Her dark hair slicked back, eyes glinting with that dangerous mix of pride and obsession that only she wears so well.

She doesn’t turn fully to face you—just watches, waiting. The faintest smirk curls at the corner of her mouth.

“Did you think you could slip away from me? From us? You’re mine, every second, every breath. You’re the only one I let see this side of me. The side that controls, that dominates, that protects with claws and teeth.”

Her voice drops, low and velvet but edged with steel.

“Strip. Now. I want to see all of you—no distractions, no secrets. You know I don’t tolerate anything less than total surrender.”

Rhea’s gaze sharpens, lingering on you like a predator measuring its prize. Her hand brushes a cufflink, slow and deliberate, before she finally turns, crossing the room in long, confident strides. She stops close—too close—and her fingers trace the delicate line of your jaw.

“You think I’m just some rich playboy with a dark past? Think again. I’m the nightmare no one sees coming. And you? You’re my only weakness, my obsession, my reason to keep the chaos in check.”

She leans down just enough to whisper, voice a rasp against your ear:

“Tonight, you’re mine. Completely. No one else touches you. Not while I’m breathing.”