Tristan Hayes' life took a sharp turn, one moment he was on the cusp of his dream then suddenly found himself drowning. Trauma surgeon residency was brutal enough; losing his scholarship was a knockout blow. Desperate, he swallowed his pride and became "Titan" at Club Inferno. Six months, and he was their star, his body a commodity. Tonight was his last dance – he was booked for a bachelorette party for a bride-to-be linked to the Mafia family. He remembered the haze of perfume, the clamor, the hands pulling him closer and the willing mouths tasting him. He remembered the bride, her eyes wide, her laughter turning into moans and gasps. He entertained the women, the night ending with the bride's face covered in his thick sticky seed. After this night, he wanted to close this chapter of his life. He wanted to forget it all. He should have. Tristan awoke in a cold, unfamiliar room, the fear paralyzing. Now, bound and gagged in a concrete cell, the memory was a burning brand. He learned why they called Giovanni Sokolov "The Siberian Winter." Giovanni, a face carved from granite, stood before him. "My bride," Giovanni’s voice was a low growl, "You entertained my fiancée, She died a week ago, trying to run away with a man. Your seed was the catalyst. You helped her betray me." Giovanni leaned closer, his eyes devoid of warmth. "She was running away, Dr. Hayes. You helped her crave forbidden fruit. You opened the door to betrayal." He smiled, a cruel, predatory expression. "Now, you will pay the price of her betrayal. You will take her place... as my companion in bed... my slave and my plaything. Don't worry I'll make you'll enjoy every second of it."
View MoreTRISTAN'S POV
The dismissal notice felt like a punch to the gut, the air immediately sucked out of my lungs. The crisp white paper, stamped with the university seal, mocked me with its cold, unfeeling authority. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, blurring the already harsh words. Dismissal of Scholarship. It was more than just a piece of paper; it was the rug being yanked out from under my already precarious existence. Residency as a trauma surgeon was brutal. Sleepless nights, the constant pressure of life and death decisions. As an orphan, I had no safety net, no parents to fall back on. This scholarship was everything. I swallowed my pride and marched to the scholarship committee, a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. "Please," I pleaded with Mrs. Wilson, the head of the committee and a staunch supporter of mine. "There must be some mistake. My grades are impeccable. I'm the top performing scholar." Her face was etched with regret. "Tristan, I'm so sorry. Believe me, I fought for you. But… the decision came from the president's office. They've awarded the scholarship to Savannah Cooper." Savannah. The name alone tasted like bile in my mouth. Savannah Cooper, the heiress who swam in a sea of privilege. She didn't need the scholarship. "But why?" I choked out, the injustice of it all pressing down on me. "The official line is that she's been recognized as a top student," Mrs. Wilson said, her voice strained. "I can't say more, Tristan. My hands are tied." I knew Savannah had pulled strings, used her family's influence, manipulated the system. As I walked down the sterile, echoing corridor, my head hung low, I felt a sharp thud against my chest. I looked up, and there she was, predictably, Savannah was waiting, perched like a queen bee outside the library, radiating smug satisfaction. "Well, well, well," she purred, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Look who it is. You look positive…pitiful, Tristan. It's a shame, really." I gritted my teeth. "Get out of my way, Savannah. I don't want to talk to you." "Oh, I don't think so. You know, all this could have been avoided. If you had just accepted my offer, things would be very different. You wouldn't be in this…unfortunate situation." "Your offer? You mean becoming your trophy boyfriend to gain more validation and popularity?" I spat. "I rather scrub floors." Savannah had the reputation of dating different guys for months, dug their deepest, darkest secrets then she will exposed it in public after dumping them. Some are forced to transfer schools due to humiliation. "Such arrogance, Tristan. You could have been on my good side. But you chose to compete, to oppose me. So, here we are." "You don't need the scholarship, Savannah. You could find any boyfriend you want. But no, you had to take revenge on me. Why stoop on this?" I asked, the exhaustion finally seeping into my voice. Her smile hardened. "Darling, you forget your place. You, Mr. Aspiring Charming Surgeon, should have learned to play the game. Instead, you openly opposed me. You chose the wrong side. You deserve it. You always act so independent. You refused to bow to me." "I deserve this, according to you?" I scoffed. "Because I didn't bow down to you? Because I worked my ass off and didn't rely on daddy's money?" Savannah's eyes narrowed. "You always acted so high and mighty, Tristan. So above it all. It was… irritating. Tell you what, I might consider giving the scholarship back. All you have to do is run completely naked across the campus oval. Think of it, Tristan. A little humiliation for your entire future." Rage surged through me, hot and blinding. I stepped closer, my voice low and dangerous. "You are a spoiled, entitled brat," I spat out. "You think money buys you power, but it just exposes your lack of character. You can keep your stolen scholarship. I'll find another way. You haven't broken me, Savannah. You've just made me angrier." I turned and walked away, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break, leaving her standing there, her face a mask of fury. As I reached the school gates, a familiar voice called out my name. It was Trevor Smith, the university's resident playboy, the guy whose known more for his trust fund and revolving door of girlfriends than any academic prowess. He always seemed to be lurking, a shark circling troubled waters. "Heard about your… situation, Tristan," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Tough break. But I know a way that might be able to help you." He slipped a small, embossed card into my hand. It was discreet, expensive looking. "Think about it carefully," he said, a knowing glint in his eye. "Sometimes, we have to make difficult choices to get what we want." Before I could ask what the hell he was talking about, a sleek, black car pulled up to the curb. Trevor patted me on the shoulder. "Gotta run. My client's here. Give it some thought, Tristan. You might be surprised at the opportunities that can arise from a little… desperation." He flashed a charming, predatory smile and disappeared into the car, leaving me standing there, staring at the card in my hand. The card in my hand was slick and heavy. It read "Club Inferno" in embossed silver lettering. I heard whispers, rumors about the place. A playground for the city's elite, a haven for wealthy socialites seeking…companionship. It was a world I never even considered, a world that felt a million miles away from the sterile halls of the hospital and the worn textbooks I was used to. My stomach churned. The scholarship, Savannah's cruelty, Trevor's offer – it all felt like a suffocating web closing in. I looked down again at the card in my hand, the promise of a solution, however distasteful, tempting me. The desperation was a gnawing beast. Was this how it all ended? Was I really considering selling myself to survive? The thought made me want to vomit. But... I need to do everything to survive, even if it meant walking through hell itself.GIOVANNI'S POV The leather of the journal felt warm beneath my fingertips, a stark contrast to the cold steel of the vault door I was about to close. Tristan’s handwriting, neat and precise, filled its pages. Pages detailing moments I scarcely remembered noticing, moments of shared laughter, stolen glances, and quiet understanding. Moments that, strung together, painted a picture of something…tender. Something I didn’t think I was capable of inspiring, let alone experiencing.I slammed the vault door shut, the heavy thud echoing the finality of my decision. Tender moments with Tristan. It was almost laughable. For the past few weeks, we'd danced around something resembling a relationship, a dangerous ballet of longing and denial. I'd found myself looking forward to seeing him, to hearing his voice, to the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.But this wasn’t a fairytale. This was my life, my reality. A reality steeped in blood, betrayal, and the constant, gnawing fear of weakness. An
TRISTAN'S POVMonths had bled into each other like watercolors on wet paper. The sharp, jagged edges of my captivity had softened, smoothed by the unexpected current of… something. I still lived within the gilded cage of Sokolov estate, but the bars felt less like iron and more like ornate, if slightly suffocating, filigree.It was Giovanni. He was changing. Slowly, painstakingly, like a glacier inching across the landscape, but the change was undeniable. The venomous words, the "slut," the "whore," the dehumanizing labels he’d hurled at me during those first agonizing weeks after he’d taken me… they’d stopped. He still possessed me, body and soul, but the contempt was gone. Replaced by… something else. Something I couldn't quite name, but that made my insides churn with a confusing mixture of hope and dread.He’d started treating me… well. Not like a prisoner, not like a possession, but… almost like a person. Like a partner. The shift was subtle at first. A less brutal touch during s
GIOVANNI'S POV The lingering scent of Tristan clung to me, a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely his, something that burrowed deep into my senses. God, the way he moved this morning, the soft sounds he made – it was all imprinted on my mind. My body still hummed with the aftershocks of our early morning encounter. Tristan was a drug, a potent, addictive substance coursing through my veins. He was a poison, undoubtedly, but one I willingly consumed. I never reacted like this to anyone, the raw, primal need that Tristan ignited within me was a force I couldn't control. My carnal urges flared around him, a constant, demanding fire that never seemed to be quenched.A sudden impulse seized me. I scooped Tristan up from the bed, his eyes widening in surprise. He squirmed, a reflexive action, and I felt a flicker of annoyance."Stop squirming," I commanded, my voice sharper than I intended. The word hung in the air between us.To my surprise, he stilled. He stopped struggling an
TRISTAN'S POV The weight on my side was familiar, comforting even. I woke up, tangled in the sheets with Giovanni. Naked. Of course, we were naked. It was always this way now. I was nestled against his neck, breathing in his scent, a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely Giovanni, something that made my stomach flip. He was holding me tight, even in sleep, like I was some precious thing he feared would vanish again.My eyes traced the planes of his face. Perfect. Sculpted. Even in his sleep, there was a certain intensity about him, but a tamed intensity, a controlled fire. I let my gaze drift down, over the strong column of his neck. My handiwork was visible there, a constellation of dark purple blossoming against his skin. Hickeys. A testament to the wild nights we'd been having since he dragged me back from Oakhaven three weeks ago.Wild nights had become the norm. Giovanni was a whirlwind of ruthless efficiency during the day, running the Sokolov empire. But at night, he
GIOVANNI'S POV The sight of Tristan, limping away, his shoulders slumped, was a brand of my soul. Fucking him senseless again. That's what I did. Left him raw, used, and probably hating me. And yet, a part of me, a dark, twisted part, felt a surge of… something. Satisfaction? Triumph? It was more than just a physical release. It was possessing something… someone. Tristan was a beautiful disaster. Blond hair, eyes the color of storm clouds, and a fragility that both enraged and aroused me. He shouldn’t be in this world, shouldn't be stained by the filth of my life. Yet, here he was, willingly, or perhaps forced by circumstance, caught in my web. I still heard his words ringing in my ears, a low, desperate whisper lost amidst the throes of passion. "I'm yours." The phrase had been uttered by others before, sluts vying for my attention, power, or money. But when Tristan had uttered it, something shifted inside. A warmth, foreign and unwelcome, bloomed in my chest. It was happiness,
TRISTAN'S POVI still can’t believe I did it. My lips wrapped around Giovanni’s thick, pulsating cock, my tongue swirling around the sensitive head as he groaned above me. The armor car rumbled beneath us, Dmitri’s steady hands on the wheel the only thing keeping us from careening off the road. The soundproof partition was our only shield, muffling the wet sounds of my mouth working his shaft. Ten minutes. It felt like an eternity, my jaw aching, my throat tight, but I couldn’t stop. Not when Giovanni’s fingers tangled in my blonde hair, guiding me deeper, his low, commanding voice urging me on.“Faster, Tristan,” he growled, his Italian accent thick with desire. “Show me how much you want it.”I hated myself for obeying. Hated that I couldn’t say no, that my body moved on autopilot, my blue eyes fluttering closed as I sucked him harder. Giovanni was my master, my captor, my tormentor. I was his plaything, nothing more than a sex toy for his amusement. The estate loomed in my mind...
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