CHAPTER 3

"You’re late. I thought you liked being on top of things, Ethan."

Caleb leaned back in the plush leather chair behind Ethan’s own desk, his feet kicked up on the mahogany surface. He looked immaculate. Not a hair out of place. The bruises Ethan had worked so hard to leave the night before were hidden beneath the high collar of a fresh, slate-gray dress shirt. He was nursing a cup of black coffee, the steam curling around a face that held no trace of the man who had been screaming against a piano lid a few hours ago.

"Get your feet off my desk," Ethan snapped. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent office. Every step he took toward the desk sent a sharp, stinging reminder of the previous night through his lower back and thighs. He was walking with a stiffness he couldn't hide, a physical brand of his "victory."

Caleb didn't move. He just tilted his head, a slow, shark-like grin spreading across his face. "Your desk? Check the news, boss. Or did you spend the whole morning admiring your new hickeys in the mirror?"

Ethan pulled his phone out, his thumb trembling as he swiped. His inbox was a graveyard of urgent flags. His CFO had called him seventeen times. He tapped the first news link in his feed. Morgan Industries Secures $500 Million Private Infusion; Restructuring Underway.

"What the fuck is this?" Ethan lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the desk. "I signed the buyout. I hold the debt. No one can move a cent into that company without my signature."

"Read the fine print, Ethan. Page forty-two. Subsection C." Caleb stood up, his movements fluid and mocking. He stepped around the desk, closing the distance between them. He smelled like expensive soap and victory. "The 'Personal Liability Integration' clause. Since you insisted on owning me—not just the company, but me—the law now views our assets as a single entity for the purpose of debt reconciliation. I didn't get an anonymous infusion. You did. That offshore account I used to bridge the gap? It’s technically in your name now. Which means you just paid off my creditors with your own personal hedge fund."

Ethan’s stomach dropped. He felt the blood drain from his face. "That’s... that’s not legal. I’ll have the lawyers tear that contract into confetti."

"You can try." Caleb reached out, his fingers grazing the collar of Ethan’s shirt, hovering over a purple mark near his collarbone. "But while you're tied up in court for the next three years, I'm back in the CEO chair. And since you’re the primary guarantor of my debt now, if I fail, you go bankrupt with me. You didn't buy a pet, Ethan. You bought a parasite."

"You planned this," Ethan hissed. He grabbed Caleb’s wrist, squeezing hard. "The bankruptcy, the bar, the hotel... you let me take you just to get my thumbprint on those papers."

"I didn't 'let' you do anything." Caleb’s eyes darkened, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping ten degrees. He wrenched his arm back, then stepped into Ethan’s space, forcing Ethan back against the heavy office door. "You wanted to see me crawl. You wanted to feel what it was like to break the man who’s been better than you since we were twenty. I just gave you exactly what you asked for. Was it worth forty million, Ethan? Was the way I tasted worth your entire legacy?"

Ethan’s jaw creaked as he ground his teeth. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to scream. Instead, he shoved Caleb back, but his legs were still shaky, the physical hangover of the night making him stumble.

"Get out," Ethan breathed.

"I don't think so." Caleb straightened his tie. "We have a board meeting in five minutes. You’re going to walk in there, sit at my right hand, and tell them how thrilled you are to be our new 'strategic partner.' And if you don't..." Caleb leaned in, whispering against Ethan’s ear, "I’ll release the security footage from the hotel. I wonder how the market will react to seeing the ruthless Ethan Walker on his knees, begging for a bankrupt rival to fuck him harder."

Ethan felt the walls closing in. The marble and glass of his office, once a symbol of his power, now felt like a cage. Caleb walked to the door, his hand on the brass handle. He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Ethan? Next time you want to play master and servant..." Caleb’s gaze swept down Ethan’s body, lingering on his trembling hands. "Make sure you can handle the weight of the man you’re trying to sink."

Caleb pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving Ethan alone in the silence of his own defeat.

Ethan collapsed into his chair. His skin felt like it was on fire. He looked down at the desk, at the spot where Caleb’s feet had been. There was a small, handwritten note left on the blotter.

Round two starts at nine. Don't be late, pet.

Ethan crumpled the note in his fist, the paper digging into his palm. He had spent a decade building an empire to crush one man, only to find out he had built the gallows for his own neck. He stood up, adjusted his suit, and walked toward the boardroom. He had to play the part. He had to smile.

But as he saw Caleb standing at the head of the long conference table, laughing with the directors, Ethan knew the war wasn't over. It was just getting much, much filthier.

The meeting was a blur of charts and lies. Ethan sat like a ghost, his mind looping back to the feeling of Caleb’s hands on his wrists. Every time Caleb looked at him across the table, Ethan felt a jolt of pure, unadulterated loathing—and a sickening spark of something else he refused to name.

When the room finally cleared, Caleb stayed behind. He locked the door.

"You looked like you were going to throw up in there," Caleb said, tossing a folder onto the table. "Relax. The directors bought it. Your money is safe as long as you do exactly what I say."

"I'm going to kill you," Ethan said, his voice flat.

"Later." Caleb walked over, his eyes scanning Ethan’s face. "Right now, I'm stressed. And you’re my 'personal' asset, remember? That was in the contract too."

Caleb grabbed Ethan by the belt, hauling him up from the chair. He pushed Ethan down onto the mahogany conference table, sweeping the laptops and folders onto the floor with a clatter.

"What the fuck are you doing? Not here—"

"I own this room, Ethan. And I own you." Caleb’s voice was a low growl. He didn't bother with foreplay. He ripped Ethan’s trousers down, his hands rough and impatient.

He didn't use oil this time. He used his own spit, rubbing it over Ethan’s entrance before shoving two fingers in. Ethan hissed, his fingers clawing at the edge of the table. He was still sore, still tight, and the dry friction made his eyes water.

"Ah! Caleb, stop—"

"Shh. You love this. You love being the victim almost as much as you loved being the villain." Caleb pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his cock.

He pounded into Ethan with a raw, desperate fury. It wasn't like the hotel. This was fast, messy, and loud. The table groaned under their combined weight. Ethan’s head bounced against the wood, his vision a blur of fluorescent lights and Caleb’s sweating face.

Caleb’s cock rolled deep, hitting the back of Ethan's pussy with every violent thrust. Ethan let out a jagged scream, his legs flying up to wrap around Caleb’s waist. He was shaking, his body failing him as he spiraled toward the edge again.

"Tell me..." Caleb gasped, his hands bruising Ethan’s hips. "Tell me you're mine."

"I... I'm yours," Ethan sobbed, his pride finally breaking as his body exploded into a frantic, messy cum.

Caleb followed seconds later, his body stiffening as he buried himself as deep as possible, his load filling Ethan to the point of overflowing. He stayed there for a long moment, his chest heaving against Ethan’s, the literal weight of him pinning Ethan to the table.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Caleb pulled away and straightened his suit. He didn't look back as he unlocked the door.

"See you at dinner, Ethan. My place. Seven sharp."

Ethan lay on the table, the cool wood against his back, listening to the fading sound of Caleb’s footsteps. He was covered in sweat and cum, his body a map of his enemy’s hunger.

He reached for his phone, which had fallen to the floor. There was a text from an unknown number.

I have the security footage from the office. If you want it deleted, meet me at the docks at midnight. Bring the Morgan files.