7. Which one do we start with?

I picked up a piece of bread, spread some butter on it, and took a small bite. The food… was good. Too good. Everything felt too cozy. Too perfect. And that made me even more suspicious.

I glanced sideways at Ash. “In our deal,” I began, “you said you'd be my slave and do whatever I want. I’m wondering how far that actually goes?”

He raised an eyebrow, casually resting his arm along the back of the sofa, like he had all the time in the world. “Care to test it?”

“Let’s just say I’m curious.”

“You can order me to cook, clean your room, or fly you around the world. You can ask me to get rid of anyone. Kill, conquer, destroy, or just … twist reality—just name them.”

I was quiet for a moment, letting his words settle. “So,” I murmured, thinking out loud, “I can really make you do anything?”

Ash smirked. “As long as you’re ready to face the consequences.”

“Consequences?”

“We’ve talked about this, little lamb,” he said patiently—but that damned mouth of his smirked again. “You give me your will. I fulfill it. And in return, you deal with the response from your own body.”

“What kind of response?”

“That depends,” he said, his voice practically dripping with pleasure like this was his favorite topic in the world. “The stronger the desire, the deeper the effect. It could be euphoria that makes you cry or desperation that makes you shake and beg for mercy. Or … lust. Hunger. A need that eats you alive from the inside.”

He shifted closer. His voice dropped to a whisper as he played with a strand of my hair.

“Sometimes you'll tremble because you want too much, sometimes because you’ve lost too much. Either way, you’ll feel like I’m the only one who can ever satisfy you.”

I clicked my tongue and slapped his hand away. “That’s even possible?”

Ash pulled back a little, eyes locked on mine. “I’m the embodiment of desire and addiction, little lamb. Every command you give me is a seed. And that seed grows into thirst. The more you call me, the stronger the pull.”

“I still don’t get it,” I said flatly. “You say I have control. But from what you’re describing, it sounds more like I’m the one losing it.”

Ash smiled slowly, arrogantly reclining again. “You do have control,” he said, “until your own body starts begging for me.”

“So,” I said hoarsely, but still sharp, “the more I command you, the more I’ll … crave you?”

Ash nodded slowly, like a teacher explaining the obvious to a stubborn student. “Exactly,” he replied. “And when you finally ask me to fuck you, that’s when it flips. In bed, I take over. You give yourself to me completely. Not as a woman—but as my slave. Shaking, desperate, begging for my touch over and over … until you lose your shame. Until you lose yourself.”

I stared at him sharply, but I didn’t flinch. “What if I never want you like that?”

“Oh, you will,” he said, full of certainty. “I know humans. Especially the ones who try to lie to themselves about how strong they are.”

But then I laughed—a cold, short laugh, my final defense mechanism.

“Cute,” I said mockingly, twirling my spoon between my fingers. “You talk like I’m gonna fall on my knees and hand you my body.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “You know, when it comes to this topic, most people would blush, get flustered, try to change the subject, or get turned on right then and there. But you … yeah, you’re different,” he said, almost impressed—almost. Then he smirked like the devil he was and leaned back against the sofa. “Well, for now.”

I lifted my chin, holding back a smile. “I’m not into you,” I said softly, dripping with arrogance. “You’re too smug—even for a demon. The fact that I can talk about sex without blinking just proves one thing: you’re not tempting.”

My voice was deliberately light, even a little cocky. I popped the last piece of bread into my mouth and stared at him with the calmest expression I could manage, daring him to react.

For a few seconds, he just stared.

Then Ash laughed.

Loudly.

Like I’d just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard in his entire existence.

His laugh echoed off the walls, full of mockery and something weirdly close to admiration. He even slapped his thigh and shook his head.

“That’s hilarious,” he said once he caught his breath. “Absolutely hilarious that you actually believe that.”

I stared back, my smirk fading slightly, but I didn’t lower my chin. I clung to my fake ego like it was the last thing keeping me upright as Ash leaned in.

His hand reached out, the back of his fingers trailing my jaw. He tilted his head, his lips curling. His voice dropped, sharp and cutting as he said, “I can’t wait …,” His thumb pressed against my bottom lip, “… to watch you beg with that smug little mouth of yours.”

I cleared my throat and turned to my plate. The food had gone cold. And just like that, my appetite was gone.

I was about to tell Ash to get rid of the dishes when the voice from the TV caught my ear.

“There’s still no news on Lena Gray, the youngest daughter of Gray Enterprises, who is believed to have jumped off the Anima Bridge three days ago—”

I stopped breathing.

“Some eyewitnesses claim the girl appeared distressed and hysterical before the incident. The tragedy adds to the dark turn in her relationship with Nathan Emerson, her boyfriend who was found dead two weeks earlier. Media outlets have dubbed the case ‘a billionaire’s daughter choosing a simple life for love—only to end in tragedy.’”

The screen showed an old photo of me and Nathan—smiling under sunlight, holding hands, like two kids who thought the world would always be kind to them.

I looked down. My hand clenched the side of the sofa.

“Richard Gray, CEO of Gray Enterprises and father of the victim, says the family is devastated by the loss—”

A dry laugh escaped me.

Devastated? Please.

None of those anchors had a clue. Not about my family’s fake smiles, Nathan’s fight to free me from them, and sure as hell not about what actually happened to me.

They didn’t know that I was sitting on a velvet couch, eating warm food, wearing a white dress, with a demon on my left who had just sealed a blood contract with me.

“Do you miss your family?” Ash asked softly.

I turned to him slowly. Not because of the question, but because I knew he didn’t mean it.

His voice was too calm, too casual. And somehow, I knew he already knew the answer: I didn’t miss a single one of them.

Not even for a second.

I didn’t need to answer. I could tell that he understood. Even before I told him my real name, he had already read the deepest cracks in me.

Suddenly it all made sense. How confident he’d been when offering the contract. How he said the word revenge with a deliberate pause.

He’d known from the start that I’d take his hand to burn everything down.

The screen changed again. From an old photo of me and Nathan to a corporate family portrait from the company’s anniversary. My father in the center with his plastic smile, my mother on his left in an expensive dress and a hollow stare, and Ryan, my brother, chin raised like the world already belonged to him.

Ash leaned forward slightly, eyeing the screen like he was studying a piece of art. Then, without even looking at me, he raised his hand and pointed at the photo with one lazy finger, like he was choosing a glass of wine.

“So,” he said casually, “which one do we start with?”

I looked at the screen again, at the amateur footage of my father grieving. “Let them be. Let them breathe a little.”

Ash chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “You know, you’re way more interesting with that kind of hate in your eyes.”

And as I stared at my old world on the screen, the one pretending it knew me, I realized that they all thought I was dead.

And I wanted to let them believe that a little longer.

“Ash?” I said quietly, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

I turned to face him. His expression lit up instantly—ready, eager, waiting for command. I tilted my head, eyes like frost, my smile long gone.

“Give me your last name.”

***

060625, Anne Joyce