“Come in.”

Cesara’s voice cut through the room like the edge of a knife—even and deliberate, a controlled force. It held no hint of impatience, but the command was undeniable. Behind her mahogany desk, she sat with perfect poise, the lines of her black suit immaculate, her dark hair straight and flawless, like the angles of the buildings her company designed.

A long time ago, when you had been drowning in debt and despair, Cesara had descended like an angel. She had saved you, pulled you out of a bottomless pit that you could have never escaped on your own. And in return—you became hers. Completely.

She never let you forget it.

“You’re late.”

The words came out soft, almost pleasant, but you knew better than to mistake her tone for kindness. Cesara never needed to raise her voice—her power was in her presence, in the way it pressed against the air, making your skin tighten and your heart falter. She could suffocate a room just by existing in it, by letting her words remind you of your place without so much as a whisper more.

When you bowed your head, a faint smirk flickered across her lips—so brief, it might have been a trick of the light. “I suppose I’ll overlook it this time,” she murmured, leaning forward slightly. Her fingers glided over the surface of the desk, tracing its edge delicately, as though she were weighing something far heavier than your tardiness.

The room always felt smaller when she looked at you. Her gaze didn’t just fall on you—it claimed you. Cesara never hid her control, never let you forget what you owed. She extracted everything she desired with the potency of a black hole.

“You’ve been doing well,” she said softly, the faintest hint of approval coloring her words. “I knew I chose wisely.” Her voice, always sharp, softened into something almost… affectionate.

You were nothing more than an asset to her. But an asset she cared for, in her own way.

After all, Cesara always took very good care of what was hers.

“Would you like a reward for your efforts?"