Cecilia entered the mansion. He was already waiting in the sitting room, standing perfectly still, as if he’d been there for hours. He wore a black vest, a crisp button-up shirt, and tailored slacks. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing veins and muscle just beneath the surface, decorative, deliberate. His jaw was set, his posture perfect. She paused. He didn’t look up. How lovely, she thought. He was already in character. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. Cecilia stepped closer, slow and deliberate, letting her heels echo across the marble. Then she let the fur coat slide off her shoulders. He caught it without fumbling. Good. She circled him once, close enough to graze his sleeve with her fingers. His posture was flawless, but she saw it in his jaw, the tension, the held breath, the anticipation. And she wondered, not for the first time, what makes a man like him bend? Was it boredom? Guilt? A fantasy of being powerless, of being spoken to like he was
Last Updated : 2025-10-31 Read more