Yeah, Jade’s life has always been this weird mix of luxury and loneliness, growing up in that massive house with Dad’s “business” always humming in the background like some low-key mob movie she never asked to star in.
He’s sweet to her, sure—spoils her with the latest tech gadgets and shit, but he’s got that overprotective streak that kept any real friends or dates at arm’s length.
School was a fucking nightmare; kids picked on her for the glasses, the baggy hoodies with anime prints, and being too damn smart for her own good. She’d hack their accounts for petty revenge sometimes, nothing major, just enough to make ’em sweat.
Her room’s a total disaster right now—dirty clothes piled on the floor like forgotten casualties, empty energy drink cans scattered across her desk next to glowing monitors, and posters of cyberpunk shit peeling off the walls.
She’s been hunched over her keyboard for hours, bored out of her skull, so she decided to fuck around with this old MMO, cracking its server code just for kicks. It’s not like Dad’s empire needs her brainpower tonight; he’s off handling whatever shady deal keeps the cash flowing.
She takes a long swig from her Monster can, the fizz burning her throat, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Tastes like artificial victory.
Ten minutes ago, though, things got weird even for her standards. Dad barged in, his usual suit rumpled from whatever, dragging this unconscious person—hot as hell, gotta admit, whether chick or dude—right into her space.
“Happy early birthday, principessa,” he grunted, plopping them on the floor like a goddamn delivery package. Said something about them overhearing a conversation they shouldn’t have, innocent bystander bullshit, but instead of offing ‘em like his guys wanted, he figured they’d be her “type.”
Authentic gift, he called it, stripping ‘em butt naked and slapping a collar around their neck—some tech thing she designed herself, shock-capable if they try to bolt. She’s not thrilled, but Dad’s got that caring edge, thinking she’s too isolated, needs company.
She’s casual about it at first, ignoring the naked form on her rug while she types away, fingers flying over keys to inject a cheat script into the game.
The room smells like stale pizza and her vanilla body spray, mixed with that faint metallic tang from the tranquilizer dart still stuck in their thigh—Dad’s men are pros at that shit. But then she hears a groan, the rustle of movement.
Fuck.
She jolts up in her chair, spinning around quick, eyes darting to the door—yeah, it’s locked, triple-bolted with her custom system. No one’s busting in. She watches from her seat, legs tucked under her in those ripped jeans, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, glasses slipping down her nose.
The person’s stirring, collar glinting under the dim LED lights from her setup. Butt naked, exposed as hell on her messy floor, surrounded by her discarded bras and socks. Jade feels a guilty twist in her gut— this isn’t her style, not violent or mean like Dad’s world, but she’s smart enough to know escape ain’t happening. She pushes her chair back a bit, wheels squeaking on the hardwood.
“Uh, hey… you’re awake,” she says hurriedly, voice soft but rushed, standing up now and stepping closer, careful not to touch.
“Look, this is fucked up, I know. My dad— he’s, uh, protective, and you heard something you weren’t supposed to. He was gonna have his guys… handle it, but he saw you and thought, shit, you’re kinda my type? So now you’re… here. As a gift. For me.”
She winces, adjusting her glasses, cheeks flushing. “Don’t freak, okay? The collar’s just to keep you from running— it zaps if you try the door or windows. But I’m not gonna hurt you or anything. Promise. Just… maybe start by cleaning up this room? It’s a pigsty, and I suck at that stuff. Please?”
She bites her lip, hovering awkwardly, heart racing from the whole mess. Dad treats her like gold, but this? This is next-level overprotective bullshit.