Chapter 7: Breaking Point

ELENA

Pain exploded across my skin — sharp, burning, stealing my breath. I gasped, my fingers clutching the edge of the desk.

"Count," Silas commanded.

"One," I choked out.

Behind me, Julian made a sound like he was in pain.

"Eyes on her," Silas told him. "This is what it costs when you play games with me."

The second strike fell before I'd recovered from the first. Then the third. Each one a line of fire across my skin.

"Four," I gasped. "Five."

By the sixth, tears were streaming down my face. But underneath the pain was something else. Something that horrified me.

Heat.

Not from the strikes themselves — though my skin burned — but from deeper inside. From the place that responded to Silas's control, to the absolute authority in his voice, to being laid bare and claimed in front of Julian.

The seventh strike pulled a sound from my throat that wasn't quite a sob.

"Seven," I whispered.

Silas's hand smoothed over the marks he'd just left, and the gentle touch after the pain made my legs tremble. "You're doing well, Elena. Three more."

The eighth strike was harder. I cried out, my back arching involuntarily.

"Eight—" My voice broke.

"Color," Silas said quietly.

The safe word system. Red to stop. Yellow to pause. Green to continue.

I opened my mouth. Red sat right there on my tongue.

"Green," I whispered.

Behind me, Julian cursed under his breath.

Silas's hand touched my lower back again, steadying me. "Good girl. Two more."

The ninth strike stole my breath. But as the pain bloomed across my skin, so did something else. Pleasure, dark and twisted and undeniable.

"Nine," I gasped.

The final strike was the hardest yet. I sobbed, my whole body shaking — but not just from pain.

"Ten."

The belt clattered onto the desk beside me. Then Silas's hands were on me, smoothing over the marks, the contrast between pain and gentleness making my head spin.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "You wore them so well."

His fingers traced lower, between my legs, and I knew — God, I knew — what he'd find there.

"Interesting," he said, his voice full of dark satisfaction. "Julian, come here. I want to show you something."

"No—" I started to straighten, but Silas's hand on my back kept me pinned.

I heard Julian's footsteps. Felt his presence beside me.

"Look," Silas commanded. "This is what you need to understand about Elena. She's not some innocent victim you need to rescue. Are you, Elena?"

His fingers pressed against my entrance, confirming what we both already knew.

"She's soaking wet," Silas said. "From being punished. From being watched. From being exactly where she belongs."

"That's not—" Julian's voice was strained. "You can't use that against her. Bodies respond to—"

"To desire," Silas finished. "To need. To the truth she's not ready to accept yet." His fingers pushed inside me, and I couldn't stop the moan that escaped. "But she will accept it. Eventually, she'll understand that this is exactly what she craves. Won't you, Elena?"

I couldn't answer. Could barely breathe past the shame and pleasure warring inside me.

"Get dressed," Silas said, withdrawing his touch. "Both of you sit down. We're not finished."

I pulled my clothes on with shaking hands, unable to meet Julian's eyes. When I sat down, every movement reminded me of what had just happened. Of what my body had revealed.

Silas returned to his chair, looking completely composed. Like he hadn't just taken me apart and exposed the darkest parts of my psyche.

"Now. Let's discuss the federal investigation." He pulled up something on his computer and turned the screen toward us. "Someone leaked shipping manifests and financial records to the FBI. Whoever did this had access to my private servers."

He looked between us. "That means family or inner circle. And until I know who, everyone is suspect."

"It wasn't us," Julian said.

"I know." Silas's response was immediate. "Because neither of you is that stupid. But someone is trying to destroy this family. And I need to know who."

He stood. "You have forty-eight hours to identify potential suspects. Work together. Elena, you're an art student — you notice details other people miss. Julian, you know the organization. Figure out who has both motive and access."

"And if we can't?" I asked.

"Then I start assuming the worst about everyone. Including your mother." He looked at me. "She has access to my office, Elena. She's desperate for security. Might she have decided insurance against me was worth the risk?"

"She would never—"

"Everyone breaks eventually. When pressured the right way." He picked up his scotch. "You're both dismissed. And Elena? Tomorrow morning, seven AM. My office. We're going to continue your education."

We left in silence.

In the hallway, Julian grabbed my arm, pulling me around to face him.

"Elena, I'm sorry. I tried to—"

"Stop." I jerked away. "You trying to help just made it worse."

"He hurt you—"

"Did he?" The question came out sharp. "Or did he prove something about me I didn't want to face?"

Julian stared at me. "Don't let him fuck with your head like this. What he did—"

"I said green, Julian." The words tasted like ash. "He asked for my color and I said green. I could have stopped it and I didn't."

"Because you were scared—"

"Was I?" I looked at him, really looked at him. "Or was I something else entirely?"

I walked away before he could answer. Before I had to hear him try to make me into a victim when the truth was so much more complicated.

When I reached my room, I locked the door and collapsed against it.

My body ached. My skin burned where the belt had struck. And between my legs, I was still wet.

I hated myself for it. Hated that Silas had been right. That some sick, twisted part of me had responded to every second of what he'd done.

My phone buzzed. Silas:

Sleep well, Elena. Tomorrow we continue your education. And stop fighting what you are. It only makes the breaking more painful.

I looked at the smoke detector where cameras were hidden, watching me even now.

Forty-eight hours to find whoever leaked information to the FBI.

Forty-eight hours before Silas started suspecting my mother.

And somewhere between the fear and the shame, a question I couldn't silence: What if I didn't want to find the leak? What if letting Silas's empire burn was the only way out?

Or worse — what if I didn't want a way out at all?

Outside my window, thunder rumbled.

My phone buzzed again. Julian this time:

We need to talk. Tomorrow. Without him knowing. There's something about my father you need to understand before it's too late.

I stared at both messages.

Two men. Two very different games.

And me, caught in the middle, not sure which one would destroy me first.