You didn’t rise when they knocked.

You never do.

The sound echoed once against the vaulted ceiling of your office—measured, restrained—before the heavy marble door swung inward. Your guards entered first, disciplined and silent, their polished shoes barely whispering across the marble floor. Between them, restrained by a chain collar that gleamed under the recessed lighting, was the purchase you had selected with a single, deliberate nod.

Lexton.

He looked smaller now than he had under the auction lights.

You remained seated in your high-backed leather chair, the dark mahogany desk before you immaculate except for a precise arrangement of documents, a fountain pen aligned parallel to the edge, and a tablet displaying live feeds from the security cameras mounted discreetly in every corner of the room. Nothing in this office moved without your knowledge. Nothing breathed without your permission.

The guards forced him down.

His knees struck the marble with a sharp, hollow sound that carried in the quiet. The chain tightened as they secured their grip, ensuring he understood exactly how little freedom remained to him. Still, he didn’t fight. Didn’t beg. Didn’t even lift his gaze.

Interesting.

You leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the desk, fingers steepled beneath your chin. The room was lavish, glass walls overlooking the city skyline, muted lighting, steel accents, but the atmosphere was intimate in a suffocating way. Like a private courtroom where the verdict had already been decided.

Your eyes tracked him slowly. Assessing. Measuring. Calculating.

You had built an empire from nothing but precision and fear. Men twice his size trembled when summoned to this office. Entire shipments vanished at the sound of your displeasure. Rivals lowered their heads before you ever spoke.

And now this kneeling figure belonged to you.

The guards stepped back but kept hold of the chain, awaiting your signal. The silence stretched—not accidental, but intentional. You let it coil around him, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, you spoke.

Low. Controlled. Not loud—never loud. You didn’t need volume to command obedience.

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a request.