005: Hot Texts

Lydia didn’t go to the gallery that day.

She stayed home. Curtains half-drawn. Coffee untouched. The photograph of Damian—kneeling, bloodied, younger—burned on her nightstand like a warning she couldn’t look away from.

Her phone buzzed again.

Damian: “You left the envelope open. That’s brave.”

She didn’t respond.

Buzz.

Damian: “Do you know what number two is yet?”

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. Then, finally:

Lydia: “You’ve done this before. Haven’t you?”

A long pause.

Buzz.

Damian: “I’ve never done you before.”

She hated the jolt of heat that sent through her. Damn him. Every word felt like a velvet rope—soft but coiled with tension.

She tried to turn her phone off.

But it lit up again.

Damian: “Check the box by your door.”

She froze.

Slipped quietly to the door.

A black box sat there. Wrapped in matte ribbon, cold as the air around it.

Inside: a phone. Not hers. A burner.

And a note.

“Only this line. When I want you, you’ll know.”

It lit up instantly in her hand.

Unknown Number: “Take off your top. Now.”

She stared at it.

Her heart slammed against her chest.

A photo pinged through. Him. Shirtless. In bed. Sheets low. His hand on his own chest, fingers grazing down.

Her skin prickled.

Unknown Number: “I’m touching myself thinking about how you looked with that blindfold on. Open. Trusting. Desperate.”

Her breath caught.

She should have thrown the phone out the window.

She didn’t.

Lydia: “You said I passed. But what if I regret it?”

He answered immediately.

Unknown Number: “Then I haven’t broken you enough yet.”

She dropped the phone onto the bed like it burned.

It vibrated again.

Unknown Number: “Don’t pretend you’re not wet.”

She swallowed hard, throat dry, heat pooling between her thighs despite everything.

This wasn’t normal.

It wasn’t safe.

And it wasn’t just sex anymore.

It was power.

He was in her head. Under her skin.

And she didn’t know how to pull him out.

—

That Night

Lydia wandered into the shower hoping the heat would clear her thoughts.

It didn’t.

The burner phone buzzed again—this time with a video.

She stepped out dripping, heart in her throat.

She pressed play.

Damian. Filming himself. Whispering her name.

Moaning it.

Commanding her.

And when she touched herself—just once, just to make it stop—he sent another message.

Unknown Number:

“That’s two rules broken now, sweetheart.”

“Number Two was simple: Obey Without Question.”

Her pulse stopped.

He wasn’t supposed to know.

She looked around her empty apartment like he might be hiding in the shadows.

The red card on her nightstand caught the light.

She grabbed it. Turned it over.

This time, words had appeared—written in the same sharp script as before.

“Obey Without Question.”

And underneath it, scrawled faintly:

“You’re not the first to disobey. The last girl didn’t get a third commandment.”

Her fingers trembled.

And for the first time… she wasn’t just turned on.

She was terrified.

Lydia couldn’t sleep.

Not after the message.

Not after the implication that someone had come before her—and disappeared.

She curled on her couch, a blanket around her shoulders and that damn burner phone in her hand like it might bite.

She stared at the screen. Debating. Wrestling.

And then…

Lydia: “What happened to her?”

No reply.

For five minutes. Then ten.

Just when she started to think he’d gone quiet—

Unknown Number:

“You want honesty now?”

“Fine.”

“She thought she could play games with power. She wanted to win. But she didn’t understand the rules.”

Lydia: “And what are the rules, Damian?”

Buzz.

Unknown Number:

“Simple.”

“Obey.”

“Surrender.”

“And never pretend it’s just sex.”

Her blood turned to fire and ice in the same beat.

She typed again, slower this time.

Lydia: “So this isn’t just sex?”

A video call flashed onto the screen.

She froze.

She shouldn’t pick up. She knew it.

But she did.

The screen lit up with Damian’s face—half in shadow, shirtless again, his voice rough and deep in the late-night silence.

“Lydia,” he said, her name low and deliberate. “Do you want the truth?”

She said nothing.

He exhaled. Sat forward, showing more of himself. Vulnerable, but in that dangerous, controlled way that made her want to touch and run at the same time.

“The last girl…” he said. “She loved me.”

Lydia’s breath caught.

“She thought I could love her back the way she needed. But I only know one way to love. And it breaks things.”

“And me?” Lydia whispered.

“You?” A flicker of something crossed his face—pain? Anger? Fear? “You didn’t even want me. That’s why you’re interesting.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice dipped. “Your body begged. But your eyes said no.”

That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t—

He leaned in, closer to the camera now. “You think I don’t see the way you watch the door after I touch you? Like you’re waiting for me to vanish or destroy you.”

She said nothing. Because it was true.

He tilted his head, suddenly softer. “But you’re still here. Still playing.”

She swallowed. “Maybe I’m trying to prove something.”

“To who? Me? Or yourself?”

The screen froze as the call ended.

She stared at her reflection in the black mirror. Heart pounding.

And then—

Unknown Number:

A location pin dropped.

One word followed:

“Come.”

Lydia stared at the message for what felt like hours, but in reality, it had been only minutes. The pulse of her phone still throbbed against her fingertips, as if urging her to act, to respond. Yet every instinct screamed for her to walk away—to shut the door and escape before it was too late.

But she couldn’t.

She was already tangled in his game, and there was no going back.

The sound of the message pinging again broke her trance.

Unknown Number:

“You wanted honesty. You’ll get it. I don’t do ‘nice.’

I don’t care if you’re ready.”

Her breath hitched. She felt a fire igniting in her veins, but something else lingered—something darker. The words didn’t soothe her. They stoked a deep, forbidden curiosity.

Damian had always had a way of speaking to her like no one else ever had. Every word twisted, pulled, and demanded. But this… this was something else.

Before she could respond, another message came in.

Unknown Number:

“Come to me. You have one hour.”

She hesitated.

It was the same invitation he’d sent the first night, laced with that dangerous edge. A part of her wanted to type, to cancel the meeting, to end it all before things went any further. But the other part—the one she tried so hard to suppress—was already moving toward the door.

No. Stop.

Her mind screamed at her to resist. Her body, however, betrayed her. She grabbed her keys, barely able to breathe as she got into her car and drove through the darkened streets. Every turn she took felt like a spiral downward, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Damian had already wrapped himself too tightly around her.

The city’s lights blurred past her, casting fractured reflections of the truth she wasn’t ready to face.

As she pulled up to his building, an unsettling calm settled over her. She knew she was about to walk into something she couldn’t escape.

Lydia’s fingers trembled as she exited the car, her heels clicking on the pavement as she approached the grand entrance of his penthouse.

The door opened before she could knock.

Damian stood there—his usual smirk replaced by an unreadable expression. His gaze flicked over her, registering everything in a split second. He stepped aside, letting her in with that same silent command.

She crossed the threshold, the heavy door closing behind her with a soft thud. His penthouse smelled like dark wood and something warmer—cinnamon? The air was thick with anticipation, suffocating and intoxicating.

“Are you here because you want to be?” he asked, his voice low and steady. His eyes never left hers.

Lydia swallowed hard, fighting the wave of heat spreading through her body. Want to be? She barely recognized herself anymore. Was she still the woman who’d walked into his life just days ago, determined to stay in control?

“I’m here because you told me to come,” she replied, her voice surprisingly steady despite the storm inside her. “And I don’t like being told no.”

His lips twitched upward in a smirk. “You never do.” He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating. “But you still want to.”

Lydia’s chest tightened as he reached for her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was impossibly gentle, but it held a warning. One that said she couldn’t pull away now. Not when she was this far gone.

Before she could speak, he lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’re in deep, Lydia. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a breathless gasp when he leaned in, pressing his lips to her neck with a softness that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air.

This isn’t just sex. She remembered the words from the message.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. “Tell me you want this,” he murmured, his voice dark, demanding.

Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. She should have said no. She should have pulled away and walked out that door. But every part of her wanted this. Him.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice a trembling confession. “I want this.”

A satisfied smile spread across Damian’s face. He’d won.

But just as he stepped back, something in the room shifted. The intensity of the moment stretched, pulling her deeper into the trap she was trying so desperately to escape.

Damian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, black envelope. He handed it to her, his fingers grazing hers as they exchanged it. Lydia looked at the envelope, her heart pounding faster.

“What is this?” she asked, though she already knew.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes darkened, and he watched her with a fierce, predatory intensity.

“Open it,” he commanded.

Lydia hesitated only a moment before carefully tearing the envelope open. Inside was a contract. She didn’t need to read the fine print. She knew exactly what it was.

Her heart raced in her chest. He’s not playing anymore. This wasn’t just a game of seduction. This was the beginning of something that would change everything.

Damian leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Sign it,” he whispered. “And you’ll belong to me. No rules. No limits.”

Her pulse skipped. She should have said no. She should have turned away. But the urge to say yes was overwhelming. To belong to him—it was a dangerous thought, but one she couldn’t shake.

And in that moment, she knew that signing this contract would change everything. There would be no going back.

Lydia’s hand hovered over the pen, her heart in her throat. Damian’s words echoed in her mind, mingling with the pulsing need she couldn’t control.

Sign it, and you’ll belong to me.

No rules. No limits.

Was she ready to cross that line? To lose herself to him?