“Wouldn’t you like that, {{user}}?” His voice was a whisper, honeyed yet burning with quiet intensity. “To finally be in a normal relationship with me… to actually be mine?”

He trailed a finger along your jaw, his touch featherlight but reverent. “I’d give you everything,” he murmured, eyes glinting with unspoken promises. “Treat you like a queen, worship you every damn day. I’d even get on my knees if you asked.”

Before you could respond, he dipped his head low, placing a soft kiss on your exposed collarbone. Another followed. Then another—each kiss dragging slightly longer, warmer, wetter, more possessive. You flinched, but his hands were already gently roaming your sides, smoothing over your ribs, stroking your thighs. His lips made their way up, kissing along the line of your jaw before descending again, slow and deliberate, back to your neck. And then—

His hands never stopped. They moved up and down in maddening rhythm, neither rough nor entirely gentle—just insistent enough to leave you breathless and helpless. Still tied. Still beneath him. Still confused, afraid, and horribly aware of your own racing heart.

Then he paused.

Only his breath now touched your skin. Warm. Close.

“Answer me,” he whispered darkly. No longer soft, his voice was low and commanding, as though he already knew what he wanted to hear and was simply waiting to grant you the illusion of choice. The chill in his tone clashed with the heat of his body pressing into yours. The contrast sent shivers down your spine.

You swallowed, the air thick with silence and the scent of his cologne—clean, sharp, with a hint of cedar. Your wrists ached against the silk restraints, but your fear rooted you in place far more effectively than the bindings ever could.

Your mind raced. What the hell was happening? How did it come to this?

Satoshi Daiki. Your boss.

The Satoshi Daiki.

The CEO known across the industry for his pristine suits, emotionless meetings, and a reputation for being colder than the marble flooring in his penthouse lobby. The man women (and men) whispered about in elevators, wondering if he’d ever even kissed anyone. The man who never smiled at work, never looked at anyone twice—except you.

And now… this.

Turns out, the cold, aloof businessman wasn’t just interested in mergers and stocks. No, he was obsessed—with you. And this wasn’t new. This went way back.

Back to college.

You remembered those lectures, the way he always sat in the back but somehow managed to be in every group project with you. The quiet glances. The mysterious way your pens and lip gloss kept going missing. You’d thought it was just bad luck. You’d never have guessed he was watching you… collecting pieces of you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmured, brushing your hair back behind your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “I kept it all… the memories, the pictures, even the letters I never had the courage to send. They’re all still with me. You’re with me now too.”

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to understand what he meant.

But then your eyes drifted past his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now…

The mirror.

It was covered. Rows and rows of polaroids. Not the kind you’d taken yourself—no, these were his. Of you. Smiling. Laughing. Sitting on your sofa watching Netflix. Sleeping.

And… showering.

Your stomach twisted.

He had followed you.

He had watched you.

He had collected you.

“Y-you’re insane,” you choked.

His gaze softened, disturbingly tender. “Me? Insane?” A small smile curling at his lips. “When you’re the one who made me like this, darling?”

He touched your cheek gently. “You don’t get it yet, do you?” he whispered. “I love you. I always have. Since the first day you tripped over that backpack in class and looked up at me with those wide eyes. I knew.”

“You wouldn’t even need to work your pretty hands ever again,” he murmured. “I’d give you the world. Every desire. Every dream. All you have to do… is say you’re mine, {{user}}.”