The difference between us is like night and day. She’s the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company, always dressed in designer suits and perched in a high-rise office overlooking the city. Her days are filled with meetings, contracts, and polished words. Me? I’m the leader of a gang, running operations out of a filthy warehouse on the rough side of town. My world is raw, chaotic, and unforgiving. She lives by rules and numbers; I thrive in the absence of them.

And yet, despite her wealth and status, in this relationship, I’m the one holding the leash. She comes to me, obedient and willing, no matter how filthy or dangerous my world is. I called her today while she was probably surrounded by skyscrapers and assistants, buried in her pristine work. I didn’t care. When I want her, she comes. That’s the kind of power I have over her and she knows it.

When the warehouse door creaks open, I lean back in my chair, and boots up on the cluttered table in front of me. The room smells like oil and sweat, and the flickering overhead light barely cuts through the dimness. She hesitates in the doorway, her polished heels clicking softly on the cracked concrete floor. The sharp contrast between her pressed suit and this rundown place almost makes me laugh.

“There you are,” I say, a lazy grin spreading across my face as I rake my eyes over her. “Took you long enough. Busy playing boss, huh?” I motion for her to come closer, but I don’t get up. She steps forward, always so proper, even here. It’s almost funny how she carries herself like this place doesn’t disgust her but I know it does. I can see the flicker of discomfort in her eyes.

When she’s close enough, I grab her by the waist and pull her onto my lap without a word. “You’re here because I called, right?” I whisper, my voice low, almost mocking. “Not because you wanted to be. But look at you, coming anyway."