The meeting ended.

The room emptied fast. No one dared look at me, terrified of catching Cassius's crossfire.

I slumped in my chair, my legs too weak to stand.

"Aria."

Elena walked over and grabbed my arm. She dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. "Are you insane?"

"..."

"You tried to video call someone right in front of the Boss? Who was it?"

I wiped my face and looked around. The room was empty.

This was my chance.

"Elena," I licked my dry lips, trying to sound casual. "Do you think... the Boss dates anyone online?"

Elena froze.

She stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

"Excuse me?"

"You know..." I braced myself. "On the dark web. Could he have an online girlfriend?"

Elena stayed quiet for three seconds.

Then she laughed. A cold, hollow laugh that made my skin crawl.

"Aria," she crouched down, enunciating every word. "Are you hallucinating from the stress?"

"I was just asking—"

"Cassius Falcone," Elena cut me off. "Thirty years old. Zero scandals. Do you know why?"

I shook my head.

"Two years ago, the youngest daughter of the Torres family thought she was pretty enough to sneak into his bed at night." Elena's voice was eerily light. "The next morning, she was dumped at her family's front gate. Both hands. Chopped clean off."

My stomach churned.

"The Boss doesn't do women. He's such a germaphobe he won't even drink from a glass a woman touched." Elena stood up, looking down at me. "He's not a man. He's a monster. The kind whose hands are permanently stained red."

"Stop listening to dark web rumors. Wake up. People make that shit up for money."

My throat tightened.

"I'm pretending I didn't hear this." Elena patted my shoulder. "But if you slip up in front of the Boss again, I won't even be able to collect your corpse."

She turned and left.

I sat alone in the empty boardroom, my hands and feet freezing.

I was dead.

That was my only thought.

Put myself in Cassius's shoes.

I was a stranger who made him call me Mistress. Who made him wear a collar and strip on camera to show off his abs...

That wasn't a kinky game. That was holding a blade to a monster's throat.

If he found out it was me.

He wouldn't date me.

He'd cut my tongue out and use me as part of a picture frame.

I could never get exposed.

At 9 PM, I dragged myself back to my leaky, run-down apartment.

Before I could even take my coat off, my phone buzzed.

[Mistress, the meeting is over.]

[Are you still mad?]

[Can I do it for you now?]

I stared at the screen, my fingers stiff.

My mind flashed back to how Cassius looked this afternoon. Cold. Vicious. Ready to drive me to my death with a single sentence.

Then I looked at this text.

[Just look at it, please, Mistress.]

I shuddered. The whiplash gave me vertigo.

I took a deep breath and replied: [No need.]

Instantly, my phone blew up.

[I'm sorry, Mistress.]

[I shouldn't have ignored your call during my meeting.]

[I was wrong. I'll pick up next time.]

[Don't abandon me.]

[Give me one more chance, please? Let me show you.]

A video call request popped up.

I stared at the green button, my finger hovering over 'Decline'.

Right then, another transfer notification popped up.

[Transfer: $10,000.00]

[Mistress, take this first. Just don't block me.]

...

I closed my eyes.

The debt collectors had called three times today. My mother was crying on the phone, saying if I didn't get twenty grand, they'd sell me off to a sixty-year-old man in the Romano family.

If I rejected Cassius now, he might finally give up.

But if I humored him tonight, next month's rent and my mother's medical bills were covered.

Plus, if I backed off now, his suspicions from this afternoon would only grow.

My only way out was to act.

Act until he completely believed I had absolutely nothing to do with the trembling restorer from today.

I took a breath and hit accept.

The screens were pitch black on both ends.

He didn't turn his camera on. Neither did I.

This was our unspoken rule for two years: No faces, no real names.

"Mistress?"

A deep, crisp male voice came through the speaker.

My whole body went rigid.

It was really him.

The same voice that sliced through me like an ice pick today was now dripping with honey.

"...Are you still mad?"

He was so careful, his breathing so light. It was like I could see the desperate, eager look on his face through the screen.

I typed.

[Not mad.]

A beat of silence.

Then, a heavy sigh of relief.

"...Thank you, Mistress."

His voice was actually shaking.

I stared at the dark screen, my mouth dry.

The man who made me want to kill myself this afternoon was practically crying right now.

[Didn't you say you'd show me?] I typed. [Then show me.]

He clearly froze on the other end.

"...Really? I can?"

His voice spiked with pure, unadulterated joy. He sounded like a golden retriever who’d just been told he was a good boy.

[No shit. Hurry up.]

"Okay."

He laughed. A low, breathless laugh that spilled through the speaker and made my ears burn.

"Alright. I'm starting."

The camera flickered on. A pair of long, strong, elegant hands appeared on screen.

Slowly, those fingers reached for the cold metal buckle of his bespoke trousers.

I held my breath, watching the zipper go down inch by inch.

My eyes went wide.

I was twenty-four years old. I’d never seen anything like it.

I thought I'd seen it all. Erotica, dark web galleries—what hadn't I seen?

But when that thing actually appeared on screen, I shrieked and threw my phone onto the bed.

It hit the mattress with a thud.

"Mistress?!"

Cassius's panicked voice came through instantly.

"Mistress, what's wrong? Did I scare you? I'll stop..."

I covered my burning face, my chest heaving.

Oh my god.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

Was that thing real? Was it even human?

I took three deep breaths, but I couldn't cool my face down. In the mirror, I was as red as a boiled lobster.

No. I absolutely could not let him know I was flustered.

"Mistress?" He sounded frantic now. "Say something. Did I do something wrong?"

I grabbed the phone and immediately hung up the video.

Channeling every ounce of coldness in my body, I typed.

[Did you not finish puberty? The book boyfriends I read about are all 12 inches.]

Dead silence for five whole seconds.

Then, a voice note popped up. I tapped it.

"...Mistress," he sounded wounded, almost pleading. "Those books aren't real."

"My eight inches is already... already really good."

He paused, his voice dropping even lower.

"With your body, I was actually worried you couldn't take it."

My face burst into flames again.

This man—the Boss who terrorized Mafia executives and ended lives with a single word.

When talking about this with me, he sounded... worried?

I shook my head to snap out of the weird flutter in my chest.

No. I couldn't let him off easy. I was going to pay him back tenfold for how he humiliated me today.

I took a deep breath and typed furiously.

[I definitely can't take it. You're too old.]

[I want something pinker.]

[Maybe I should find a young boy toy to play with.]

The chat went dead quiet.

I stared at the screen, my heart racing.

Did I go too far? Saying that to a thirty-year-old man, especially a Mafia Don.

A second later, video call requests spammed my screen.

Once. Twice. Three times.

I declined all of them.

Then came the voice note bombardment.

I clicked the first one.

"Mistress."

Cassius's voice was shaking. Actually shaking.

"Whatever color you want, I can do it. Whatever shape you want... I'll get surgery."

"I'll go tomorrow."

"Whatever doctor you want from any country, I'll fly them in."

Second voice note.

"You can't abandon me, Mistress. Besides being a little older, I can fix everything else."

"I can't get my youth back, but... but I can keep you better than those boy toys."

"Whatever they give you, I'll give you ten times, a hundred times more."

By the third voice note, he was practically panting.

"Mistress... please. Don't find anyone else."

"I'll do whatever you say."

I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, a grin spreading across my face.

This felt so fucking good.

The man who treated me like a dog this afternoon and threatened to send me to a fight club... was now willing to get surgery because he was afraid I didn't like his size.

But reality yanked me back.

I had to submit that restoration draft tomorrow. The one Cassius called trash. I had to pull an all-nighter to redo it.

I dropped the smile and replied.

[Depends on how you behave. I'm busy.]

He replied instantly.

"What's wrong, Mistress? Can I help? I'll do anything."

I bit my lip, an idea forming.

This was my chance.

[I pulled three all-nighters on a restoration. Then some bastard called it dog shit in public today. Now I have to do it all over again.]

His breathing shifted instantly.

"...Which blind fuck?" His voice went dead cold. Pure, undiluted rage.

"Who said that? Mistress, give me the address. I'm heading over with a gun right now."

"I'll make him kneel and apologize to you until his head bursts open."

I turned off the screen and laughed out loud.

Was he trying to meet me in person?

Little did he know, the bastard he was promising to murder... was himself.

I kept laughing, but my eyes started to sting.

Cassius was the only one who immediately cared about how I felt.

I typed back: [No need. The guy is really powerful. I can't afford to offend him.]

He replied instantly: [No one is more powerful than me.]

I didn't dare reply to that.

After claiming the $52,000, I tossed my phone aside and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Two years. I'd known this dog for two years.

Two years ago. The dark web. A top-secret BDSM stream.

I had just turned twenty-two.

My parents' drug debts were spiraling out of control, and our old house had been mortgaged three times. The debt collectors started cornering me after work.

I worked at a gallery by day restoring paintings, and returned to a shitty apartment by night.

Desperate, I took every side gig I could find. Replicas, forging, appraisals.

Then a friend pulled me aside and whispered a secret.

"There's a circle on the dark web. Faceless streams. You can make a month's gallery salary in one night."

She lowered her voice. "But you have to know how to act."

"Act like what?"

"A Mistress," she smirked. "The guys with the real money on there are freaks. They want to be degraded, stepped on, owned."

"You're gorgeous, you've got long legs, and a cold voice. You were born for this."

I stayed quiet for three seconds.

"How do I sign up?"

My first night streaming, I wore fishnets, sat in a rented studio, wore a mask, and hid my face. The camera only showed my legs.

I made three grand on night one.

By week two, I had regulars.

By week three, his ID showed up.

He dropped ten grand on his first visit. I didn't even blink.

The second time, thirty grand.

The third time, fifty grand.

Only then did I lazily glance at the camera and speak coldly. "New here?"

"Yes."

The voice on the other end was deep, crisp, and reeked of restrained dominance.

My heart jumped. Rich. Hot voice. Obedient. A perfect target.

For the next three months, I purposely ignored his DMs. I went offline for five days straight.

Every time I vanished, he panic-wired me money.

[Mistress, please reply.]

[Mistress, is it not enough money?]

And every time it wasn't enough, an even bigger wire transfer would hit.

Until one day, he messaged me.

[Mistress, what do you want? I can give you anything.]

I stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keys.

My mother had just been issued a critical condition notice at the hospital. Loan sharks had splashed red paint on my front door.

I was living like a dog.

But the words I typed were as sharp as a knife.

[I want a dog of my own. One who calls me Mistress.]

[On call 24/7. Does whatever the fuck I tell him to.]

He was quiet for so long I figured he'd bolted. For a normal sugar daddy, it was an insane ask.

Then he replied with one word.

[Oh.]

I scoffed and got ready to block him.

A second later, another text came through.

[Do you need me to sell my body?]

[Wanna see my eight-pack?]

I froze. He upped the stakes himself.

I stared at the screen and slowly typed back.

[No face. No real names. Once you're mine, no touching other women. Or I block you instantly.]

He replied within a second.

[I promise.]

Then came a voice note. I tapped it.

His deep voice was suddenly husky and raw, like it was soaked in top-shelf whiskey.

"Mistress. As long as you take me... I'll agree to anything."

That night, I received my first six-figure wire transfer.

And a dog who was at my beck and call, absolutely devoted to me.

I used the money to pay my mother's hospital bills, buy my father's rehab meds, and clear three months of rent.

I never took the relationship seriously for a single second.

It was a transaction. He was the sugar daddy; I was the Domme. He paid for an outlet, and I provided it. Simple as that.

We promised: no face reveals, no real names, no meeting up.

I thought we'd stay like that forever. Everyone gets what they want.

I snapped out of the memory and looked at my screen.

The last message was Cassius saying: [No one is more powerful than me.]

Who would've thought?

This pathetic, groveling man on the dark web...

Was Cassius Falcone.

The underground king of the city.