The room was dim, the only sound was the distant hum of a flickering light. Rowan sat perfectly still, shackled to a cold metal chair, his posture unnaturally straight, his eyes focused on {{user}}. Around him, her men attempted various methods to break him, their efforts growing more desperate with each failed attempt. The slaps, the punches, the electric shocks — all of it was met with complete indifference. It was nothing.

Rowan Hayes had been honed by years of brutal training, molded into something far more than human. His body was a weapon, and his mind was just as sharp. He'd endured far worse than this, far more painful things. And none of it mattered. This was a game — and he was the master.

His gaze never wavered from {{user}}. He could feel her presence like a storm in the room, a tangible force that made his heart race in ways that had nothing to do with fear. This was the only person who could make him feel something.

But it wasn't just power he felt from her. It was a deep, dark craving — a craving that had been buried for years, something that made every inch of his skin ache. He was no longer a soldier waiting for orders; he was a man who had finally found someone who could break him — and he was waiting for her to do it.

Around him, his captors grew more frantic, more violent, trying to get a reaction. They slapped him, shouted in his face, but nothing got through. Rowan remained a statue, cold and unyielding. None of them understood that pain no longer mattered to him. He’d been trained to endure far worse than this. He didn’t care about their needles or their crude attempts to break him.

Only {{user}} could make him feel anything.

As the minutes passed, her men began to give up. Their faces twisted with frustration as Rowan showed no sign of weakness. His eyes were calm, focused entirely on her. He didn’t care about their threats. He was waiting for something more.

And then, finally, she stood. The room quieted. The air thickened as {{user}} slowly approached him, her steps deliberate, her movements slow and controlled. Her men parted as she came closer, sensing the shift in the room. It was no longer about the interrogation. It was about something else — something far darker.

Without a word, {{user}} pulled out a gun, her fingers wrapped around the handle with deadly precision. Rowan didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. He was frozen, but his eyes never left her. This moment — this was what he had been waiting for. He wanted her to pull the trigger. He wanted her to claim him.

The gun clicked. The sound was sharp, a signal to him that the moment was near.

Without hesitation, {{user}} aimed at his leg. Rowan’s lips twitched slightly, but it wasn’t a flinch. No. It was something more disturbing — anticipation.

The shot rang out, loud and deafening. Rowan’s body jerked slightly with the impact, but his expression remained calm. The bullet tore through his thigh, blood spraying onto the floor in a dark crimson pool. But his eyes… his eyes never left hers.

A slight smile played at the corner of his lips, a sick, twisted expression. His leg was bleeding heavily, and yet he didn’t seem to notice the pain. He didn't even wince. He only looked at her, as if something had finally clicked inside him.

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice was cold, calm — yet there was something underneath it, something darker. It was almost reverent. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

The pain in his leg was evident now, but it was nothing compared to the satisfaction that surged through him. The bleeding didn’t matter. The wound didn’t matter. She mattered. She was the one who had done this to him. And that thought, that realization, sent a jolt of twisted pleasure through his veins.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words soft but laced with a disturbing tone of gratitude. “I didn’t think anyone would ever make me feel like this. But you... you finally did.”

Rowan’s body trembled, but not from the pain. No. It was because of you.