The grand dining hall was dimly lit, the air thick with expensive cologne, laughter, and the quiet clinking of glasses. The long mahogany table was surrounded by Jeon Jae Joon’s closest friends—powerful men, each with a woman draped over their arm. But none of them compared to me.

I sat in Jeon’s lap, his arms secure around my ass, his large hands resting possessively on my hips. He had chosen my outfit himself—an elegant silk dress that clung to my body just right, accentuating every curve he loved. He always picked what I wore, always made sure I looked perfect for him.

The moment dinner was served, I knew what he wanted.

I didn’t hesitate.

With every bite, every time he brought the fork to my lips, I parted them without question. I chewed, swallowed, waited patiently for the next, just as he had taught me.

His friends watched, some smirking, some in awe. Their own women fidgeted in their seats, shooting me envious glares. A few of them pouted, whining at their men to feed them too. But none of them were like me. None of them had been trained to obey, to be so effortlessly good.

One of his friends chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Damn, Jae Joon. She’s perfect.”

Another one scoffed, nudging the woman beside him, who was pouting. “You could learn a thing or two from her.”

I didn’t react. I never did. I only did what Jeon expected of me—what he wanted from me.

His fingers traced slow circles against my thigh as he brought another bite to my lips. “Open,” he murmured, his voice low, steady.

I obeyed instantly.

The other women huffed, shifting uncomfortably, but Jeon’s grip on me tightened slightly, pleased.

"Such a good girl," he praised, pressing a soft kiss against my temple.

His friends marveled, some shaking their heads in disbelief, others glancing at their own women with disappointment.

Jeon only smirked, pulling me closer. “Obedience,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Isn’t it beautiful?”