CHAPTER 12: MORNING DISCIPLINE

POV: Callum Miller

I didn't sleep a single second.

By five-thirty in the morning, my dark bedroom felt less like a sanctuary and more like a pressure cooker. Every creak of the old estate had kept my heart lodging in my throat all night, my mind endlessly looping between the terrifying voice note and the heavy footsteps pacing directly overhead.

0.1 km.

"You were very quiet at dinner tonight, handsome."

My head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. My throat was raw and dry, screaming for water. Unable to bear the suffocating weight of my sheets for another moment, I threw off the duvet and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress.

I was wearing a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a thin, slightly oversized white t-shirt. I didn't bother putting on shoes or socks. Leaving my phone buried beneath my pillow, I eased my bedroom door open, stepping barefoot into the pitch-black hallway.

The house was freezing. A damp morning mist clung to the windows outside, casting a ghostly, dark-blue shadow across the hardwood floors.

I crept down the carpeted hallway, keeping my steps light and deliberate to avoid setting off any squeaky floorboards. I made it down the grand central staircase, slipping through the dark dining room and into the dim, shadow-draped kitchen.

The large stainless-steel refrigerator hummed softly in the corner. I reached for the glass pitcher on the middle shelf, pouring myself a full glass of cold water with hands that still wouldn't stop shaking. I drank greedily, the ice-cold liquid soothing my dry throat, though it did nothing to calm the feverish, chaotic anxiety racing through my blood.

I leaned back against the edge of the granite countertop, closing my eyes for a brief, precious second to take a deep breath.

It was just panic, I tried to tell myself again, desperately fighting to quiet the spiraling paranoia. Commander is probably parked somewhere down the access road or staying at a local inn. The audio note arriving at the same time Gideon paced overhead was just a freak, terrifying coincidence. It has to be.

"You're up early."

My eyes snapped open as my heart gave a violent, sickening lurch against my ribs.

I almost dropped the glass.

Standing in the narrow arched entryway that connected the kitchen to the back hallway was Gideon Sterling.

He was clad in dark, fitted workout gear—a slate-black tactical athletic shirt and heavy compression trousers that left zero to the imagination. The material stretched tight across his massive chest, broad shoulders, and thick, corded arms, accentuating the raw, terrifying scale of his physique. His heavy jaw was dark with morning stubble, and his cold, storm-gray eyes were sharp, awake, and instantly locked onto me.

"S-sir," I choked out, scrambling to set the glass down on the granite counter behind me. My heart was pounding so hard against my chest I was certain he could hear it echoing off the stone tiles. "I... I just came down for water."

Gideon didn't answer right away. He didn't smile, and he didn't step aside to let me pass.

Instead, he moved into the kitchen with slow, deliberate, predator-like steps. His heavy cross-trainers made virtually no noise against the tile floor. He crossed the space between us until he stepped directly into my personal bubble, cutting off my only escape route and pinning me back against the cold lip of the counter.

The physical heat radiating off him was overwhelming—hot, thick, and smelling of fresh pine soap and raw iron.

My breath caught in my chest. Up close, completely dwarfed by his tall, broad-shouldered frame, the sheer physical dominance he projected was terrifying. Every nerve ending in my body screamed with alarm, my mind wildly flashing between the massive man towering over me and the dread that he might actually be the anonymous master on my app.

"It's barely five-forty, kid," Gideon rumbled, his voice low, gravelly, and raspy with sleep.

The low register sent a violent spike of electricity straight down my spine. My thighs pressed tightly together in an involuntary, instant reaction, my knees feeling dangerously weak.

"I... I couldn't sleep, Captain," I stammered, keeping my chin tucked low, unable to hold his intense, hyper-vigilant gaze for more than a second.

"I can tell," Gideon said smoothly.

Without warning, he took one more small step forward, closing the remaining distance until his chest was mere inches from mine. He raised one thick, heavy hand, resting his palm flat against the granite counter right beside my left hip, effectively trapping me against the cabinet.

I froze, terrified to breathe, my back pressed flat against the stone edge behind me.

"A proper sleep schedule is the baseline of real discipline, Callum," Gideon said, his baritone dropping an octave, becoming rougher, heavier, and completely filling the narrow space between us. "You run your body ragged staying up past midnight, and your focus falls apart. Your father mentioned you have trouble staying disciplined."

"I... I try, sir," I whispered, my voice trembling so badly it sounded pathetically small.

Gideon tilted his head slightly, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as they tracked the frantic flutter of the pulse point at the base of my throat. He looked down at my pale, trembling frame, his expression unreadable, calculating, and intensely stern.

"Trying isn't doing," he rumbled softly.

My hands gripped the edge of the counter behind me so hard my knuckles turned white. My legs were shaking violently beneath my sweatpants. Was this just a harsh military officer lecturing his friend's son on proper habits? Or was he testing me? The sheer physical thrill of his proximity, mixed with the agonizing possibility that he might be Commander, sent a wave of explosive heat straight to my core. A faint, shameful trace of moisture damply coated my underwear, my submissive instincts instinctively reacting to his stern, authoritative posture regardless of the doubt.

"A boy your age needs structure," Gideon continued, his voice low, firm, and uncompromising, as if he were simply correcting a subordinate on duty. "When structure is set in this house, I expect it to be kept. You belong in bed at this hour, resting your body."

I couldn't look him in the eye. I was too terrified that if I looked up, he would see the wild, desperate terror and illicit longing burning in my gaze.

"Do you understand me, Callum?" Gideon asked, his deep voice carrying a sharp, commanding edge that demanded absolute submission.

"Y-yes, sir," I breathed, my chest heaving as I struggled to pull air into my lungs. "Yes... I understand."

Gideon held his position for three agonizingly slow seconds, letting his heavy presence weigh down on me, asserting effortless physical control over my space. His gray eyes flicked down to my parted, trembling lips before rising back to my eyes.

"Good," Gideon rumbled quietly.

He slowly lifted his hand off the counter, taking one measured step backward to give me room. The sudden absence of his suffocating heat left me feeling cold, exposed, and thoroughly unraveled.

"Finish your water and head back upstairs," he commanded calmly, turning toward the back door that led out to the estate grounds for his morning run. "I don't want to see you slouched and exhausted at the breakfast table."

"Yes, Captain," I whispered.

Gideon pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold morning fog without looking back, the heavy wooden door clicking softly shut behind him.

I collapsed back against the counter, my knees finally giving out as I slid down a few inches, gasping for air as if I had just escaped drowning.

I pressed my face into my hands, my body shivering uncontrollably against the cold kitchen tiles.

The encounter had solved nothing, only feeding the agonizing fire in my brain. He had spoken with the same commanding steel, used the same language of discipline and structure... yet he hadn't dropped the mask. He hadn't given me explicit proof.

Was Captain Sterling just an intimidating, hyper-dominant man asserting authority over his host's son, or was he secretly the master holding my leash online?

As I dragged myself back toward the stairs, the terrifying question remained suspended in the air, leaving me spiraling deeper into a feverish, agonizing maze of fear and desire.