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.

I quickly replied.

[Don't send anyone. I'll handle it myself. If you show up, I'll block you forever.]

He was quiet for a few seconds.

[...Okay. Whatever Mistress says.]

I didn't reply.

I put my phone down, rubbed my burning eyes, and walked over to the easel.

The restoration draft Cassius tore into five pieces was lying on the floor. Just like my life.

I crouched down and picked up the pieces, one by one.

12:01 AM.

I was using tweezers to carefully place a cracked paint layer when my phone buzzed.

A long string of voice notes.

I frowned and clicked play.

"Mistress." Cassius's voice spilled out, raspy and trembling. "You really can't leave me."

My hand shook. I almost dropped the tweezers.

"I know I'm older. I know I might not be good enough. But these past two years..."

He paused, taking a deep, ragged breath.

"These past two years, you've been the light of my life. You're the only one who listens to me."

The next voice note almost stopped my heart entirely.

"Mistress, I want to meet you. I want to marry you. I don't want anyone else. Whatever you don't like about my body, I'll fix it. If you don't like my face, I'll get it changed. Anything. I'll do anything you want."

The hand holding the tweezers shook violently.

The light on the workstation flickered.

I looked up at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, hair a mess. Twenty-four years old, looking like I was forty.

I’d been nursing a grudge all night, fantasizing about tearing him apart.

And now he was telling me he wanted to marry me.

I took a deep breath and held the record button. "Am I really that important?"

He replied instantly. "More important than my life."

Cassius sounded so calm. So unsettlingly calm.

Like he was stating the most obvious fact in the world.

"Mistress, marry me. Whatever you want, it's yours."

I bit my lower lip. An image of him flashed in my mind.

I hadn't seen him in private, but I knew that face too well.

A jawline sharp as a knife. Cold gray eyes. Rich. Obedient. Gorgeous.

And he was dead serious.

I typed.

[Let's talk after June. I'll give you an answer once I sort out my mess.]

June.

When I finally saved up the last installment, cleared my family's debt, and got the debt forgiveness contract from the gallery.

Then, I could actually be with someone. Even if that someone was a Mafia godfather with a split personality.

He was quiet for a moment.

[Okay. I'll wait for you.]

I closed my eyes, the corners of my lips lifting into a smile.

The next morning at 10 AM, holding the draft I stayed up all night to redo, I knocked on Cassius's office door.

"Enter."

That familiar, ice-cold voice came through. The polar opposite of the man choking back tears to propose to me last night.

I pushed the door open.

Cassius sat behind a massive desk in a flawless three-piece suit, signing a document.

He didn't even look up.

"Leave it. Get out."

My heart sank a little, but I placed the draft gently on his desk.

"Boss, I'd like to..."

"I said, get out."

He finally looked up. His gray eyes swept over my draft, and his brows instantly slammed together.

"...You sure this is what I asked for?"

My heart jumped into my throat.

"Yes. I pulled an all-nighter. I followed every single one of your—"

"Stop."

He cut me off, dragging the portfolio closer and flipping it open slowly.

His frown deepened.

Finally, he slammed it shut, looked up, and stared at me.

"Good things take time."

I blinked.

What? Was Cassius Falcone actually complimenting me?

My eyes lit up.

"But," he drawled out slowly, "God must think you're a fucking mule. Just blindly grinding away."

My smile died on my face.

Cassius tapped a specific spot on the draft.

"This shadow here. Did you use some cheap, synthetic pigment you mixed in a lab?"

"No." I shook my head frantically, my voice trembling. "I used 19th-century mineral pigments, every stroke was done by hand..."

"Aria." He cut me off.

"I'll say it one more time. Show me this garbage again, and you won't get a dime."

He stood up, walking slowly around the desk until he was right in front of me.

"I'll send the debt collectors to your house. They'll harvest every usable organ you have to pay it off. Understand?"

My blood ran completely cold.

The man who said he wanted to marry me last night—the man who said I was more important than his life.

Was now threatening to chop me to pieces?!

My brain just... short-circuited.

Then, I raised my hand and slammed it hard onto his ridiculously expensive desk.

Cassius's brow twitched up.

I shot my head up, my eyes red and burning as I stared him dead in the eye.

"Cassius! Are you really going to let your wife die broke and homeless on the fucking street?!"