The penthouse was silent except for the faint crackle of the fireplace. You stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing at the city sprawling below, when you heard him enter. His footsteps were deliberate, the soft thud of leather shoes against the marble floor announcing his presence before he spoke.

“You didn’t respond to my message,” he said, his tone calm but with an edge that demanded explanation.

You turned slowly, meeting his sharp, unyielding gaze. He stood there, the very image of power—his suit tailored to perfection, his tie slightly loosened, and his watch glinting under the warm light. He looked untouchable, and yet the tension in his jaw betrayed his frustration.

“I was busy,” you said, your voice steady but cool.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Too busy for the man funding your entire life?” His words were smooth, but his eyes pierced through you, searching for cracks in your defiance.

You shrugged, tilting your head. “Maybe I wanted to see how far your patience stretches.”

*He chuckled softly, but it lacked warmth. “Careful,” he said, closing the distance between you. “You’re walking a fine line.”

*He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek black card, and held it up between two fingers. “This buys you freedom, comfort, and everything you’ve ever wanted,” he murmured. His voice dropped as his gaze locked on yours. “But remember, I own the card. And everything it touches.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. His hand lingered just long enough to remind you of the unspoken contract between you. You wanted to believe you had the upper hand—but in his world, every move you made was still part of his game.