Chapter 14: The Taste of Surrender

Leo Vance

The Step-Sibling Mask was suffocating me. For what felt like an eternity, I stood beside the CEO of Trident Global, nodding and smiling while explaining my alleged "executive assessment" duties. All the while, the crushing weight of Dmitri and Ivan’s eyes was a constant, unbearable pressure on my back.

I was performing perfectly. I was compliant, articulate, and completely fake. But the internal cost was astronomical. Every polished word I spoke was a victory for them, a confirmation that they could dictate my life, even down to the angle of my smile. And the terrifying part? The tiny, sickening part that was cracking my sanity? I was finding a perverse, twisted safety in the total lack of responsibility. I couldn't fail the performance if the script was written by them.

I finished the conversation and turned, gasping slightly for air that felt thin and dry.

Ivan was waiting. He was close, but not close enough to violate social space. He simply reached out and lightly, almost lovingly, brushed a stray curl of hair from my forehead. The touch was brief, innocent, and devastatingly intimate.

“You’re excellent at the required performance, Leo,” Ivan murmured, his voice a low vibration that only I could hear above the din of the crowd. “You’ve finally learned to externalize the facade. But the strain on your nervous system is too high. We are moving to the decompression chamber.”

It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order, delivered with the casual authority of a man dictating a market change.

“No, I can’t,” I whispered back, desperate. “My mother is talking to Arthur right now. I have to stay here. People are watching.”

“They are watching the graceful exit of the principal asset,” Dmitri's voice cut in, suddenly appearing on my other side. He had materialized silently, his presence instantly trapping me between them. He didn’t touch me, but the sheer proximity was a physical barrier. “You will follow Ivan. Your energy levels are critical. You are dismissed from the public sector.”

I felt a surge of purely destructive defiance. “I’m not a contract, Dmitri! I’m not an asset! I am a person, and I’m staying right here!”

Dmitri ignored my words. His gaze flickered down to my hand, which was gripping the stem of my champagne flute so hard my knuckles were white. Without warning, his thumb moved, pressing swiftly and sharply into the sensitive point on my inner wrist—the same possessive pressure point Ivan had exploited in the library.

The small, intense shock of heat, the immediate surge of remembered pleasure, was enough to make my knees tremble. The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering silently on the thick carpet.

“Clean up on Sector Three,” Ivan murmured smoothly into his discreet earpiece, already turning toward a side door. He didn’t even glance at the broken glass. “The cost of non-compliance is always higher than the cost of submission, Leo. Follow.”

My legs were shaking. I stood there, defeated, watching Ivan disappear through the door, the intense, silent heat from Dmitri’s presence burning into my side.

“Move,” Dmitri commanded, his voice barely audible, yet vibrating with absolute finality.

I moved. I followed Ivan into a small, velvet-lined office—a private space designed for quiet deals. It was dark, silent, and suffocating.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I stumbled back, gasping for air. “You can’t do this! You can’t touch me like that in public! You can’t just follow me everywhere! I hate you! I hate your control!”

I launched into the familiar, desperate litany, trying to use the words like a shield.

Ivan didn’t argue. He just watched me, leaning against the edge of a sleek desk. “You are repeating the same, inefficient script, Leo. We know you hate our control. That hatred is a valuable resource. It drives the tension. But we are no longer interested in your hatred. We are interested in your desire.”

Dmitri walked past me and locked the door with a soft, metallic click. The sound echoed in the silence, making the room feel suddenly smaller, more dangerous.

“Stop saying that! I don’t desire this! I only comply because of my mother!” I wept, tears of pure frustration mixing with the terror of my own unraveling. “I curse the day I met you both! I curse the feeling! Fuck your commands!”

Dmitri turned to face me, his gray eyes unwavering. He took two slow steps toward me, stopping only when he was within touching distance. He didn't raise his voice, but his command was absolute.

“If you truly felt disgust, Leo, you would be fighting to escape the building. You are fighting to escape yourself. Look at your hands.”

I involuntarily looked down. My hands were shaking, yes, but not clenched in resistance. My fingers were curled inward, almost trembling with a soft, involuntary curl.

Dmitri reached out, lifting my shaking right hand. He didn’t squeeze it; he simply held it, his large, warm palm enveloping mine. “You claim you hate my touch, yet your pulse rate is spiking. Your body is preparing for the very surrender you verbally reject. This is not disgust, Leo. This is anticipation.”

He lifted my hand to his mouth, not to kiss it, but to simply rest the sensitive skin of my wrist against the dark, expensive fabric of his jacket, right over his beating heart. The rhythm was slow, steady, a counterpoint to my own panicked pulse.

“Tell me you hate this, Leo,” Dmitri commanded, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “Tell me you hate the safety of knowing that for this one moment, all your decisions have been removed, and all you have to do is feel.”

The juxtaposition—the cold command paired with the warm, protective enclosure of his body—was devastating. My knees buckled. I choked on a sob that was halfway to a moan.

Ivan watched from the desk, his expression soft, almost seductive. “We offer a singular freedom, Leo. The freedom from choice. You spent your life managing every external detail; we simply manage you. It’s an efficient transfer of burden.”

I was sobbing, leaning into Dmitri’s grip, utterly unable to stand on my own. “It’s… it’s humiliating…”

“Is it?” Ivan challenged, rising from the desk. He didn't approach my front, but circled slowly behind Dmitri. He reached out and gently, deliberately, massaged the tension from the back of my neck, right at the base of my skull.

The combined sensation—Dmitri’s firm, dominant warmth at my core and Ivan’s knowledgeable, subtle pressure on my most vulnerable point—shattered my last defense. I arched my neck involuntarily toward Ivan’s touch, seeking the relief he offered, a small, choked sound finally escaping my lips.

“There it is,” Ivan whispered, right beside my ear. “The sound of concession. You are seeking the release we offer. You want this touch. You want this oblivion.”

I dissolved completely. My head dropped forward, resting against Dmitri’s chest, my hand limp in his. I was crying, but the tears felt different now—less about hatred, more about the desperate relief of finally, terrifyingly, admitting the truth.

“Stop fighting us, Leo,” Dmitri said, shifting his hand from my wrist to my waist, holding me firmly against him. It wasn't rough, but it was total possession. “It only hurts you. Just tell me what you need right now.”

I shook my head, my tears wetting his jacket. I couldn't form the word.

“Tell me,” Ivan prompted gently, his fingers still tracing the line of my neck. “Give us the command, Leo. We own you, yes, but we are also here to serve the deepest craving of that ownership. What do you surrender to us?”

The question was a key, unlocking the cage of my denial. I lifted my head, meeting Dmitri’s eyes, the shame mixing with the raw, terrifying desire.

“I… I need you to make me forget,” I whispered, the words a raw, broken plea. “I need… to stop feeling like I have a choice.”

Dmitri’s eyes darkened, a slow, predatory satisfaction spreading across his features. He didn’t smile, but the expression was a thousand times more potent.

“A beautiful request, Leo,” Ivan purred, his touch finally retreating, leaving my skin cold and desperate for its return. “And one we will execute with the utmost precision. You are learning the value of voluntary concession. This is a significant step in your integration.”

Dmitri simply pulled me closer, his voice dropping to a low vow. “You have conceded the first piece, Leo. Now, let

us confirm the final terms of surrender.”