A Hot Daddy For Christmas のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

As the day wore on, Ariana found herself acutely aware of the gold collar hidden beneath her scarf. Each brush of the cool metal against her skin served as a constant reminder of her new reality, her purpose. She moved through the gallery with Cami, nodding along to her friend's excited chatter about the abstract pieces, but her mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of Mateo and the power he now held over her.The avant-garde nature of the exhibit only heightened her distraction. Bold, provocative images and sculptures seemed to mock her own situation, daring her to confront the dark desires lurking beneath the surface. She couldn't help but imagine Mateo's reaction to such pieces, the way his eyes might glint with approval or disdain.As the afternoon slipped away, Ariana found herself growing increasingly anxious. The weight of the collar seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute, a tangible reminder of her impending return and the duties that awaited her. She tried to focu

The final days of December had bled into one another in a haze of velvet and iron. Ariana had spent the week following the office incident in a state of hyper-awareness. She was quickly becoming accustomed to the duality of her existence: during the day, she was the sharp-tongued, fashionable Ariana who debated art with Cami and held her own at the dinner table; at night, she was the woman who learned to keep her knees pressed to the rug of Mateo’s study until he gave her leave to rise.She wasn't a girl who broke easily, though. If Mateo expected a silent, hollow doll, he had picked the wrong woman. Their nights were a constant tug-of-war. She would talk back, her "Ariana Grande" attitude flaring up whenever he pushed a boundary, and he would respond with a cold, calculated discipline that left her breathless and craving more. She had learned that a smart remark at dinner earned her a stinging palm across her rear later that night; she had also learned that perfect obedience earned h

The alarm clock on the nightstand didn't just wake Ariana; it felt like a summons. She lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling of her own bedroom. The familiar cracks in the plaster and the soft morning light hitting her curtains should have brought her peace, but instead, her chest felt tight.She was back in her own bed, but the ghost of Mateo’s weight seemed to linger on the mattress. She reached up, her fingers immediately finding the cold gold links hidden beneath her pajama top."One day at a time," she whispered to the empty room. "Just a nurse. Just a job."But she knew she was lying. She spent thirty minutes in front of the vanity, meticulously pinning her hair back into a bun so tight it pulled at her scalp. She needed to look perfect. She needed to look like a woman who hadn't spent the last month being unraveled by the man who was now her boss.By the time she reached the hospital, the adrenaline was a steady hum in her ears. The lobby was a sea of white coats an

Ariana adjusted her scrubs for the fifth time, tugging at the hem and smoothing her hair into a bun that already felt too tight. The fluorescent lights of the recovery wing hummed above, casting the sterile glow that always reminded her that the hospital was a battlefield. Every beep of the monitors, every shuffle of footsteps, felt like a countdown to Mateo’s next move. She was arranging IV lines when a shadow fell over her station. "Nurse Cole," Mateo’s voice purred, low enough that only she could hear it. She felt the temperature drop in the room, though the air was warm. She didn’t look up. "Doctor," she said, trying to sound steady, professional. "You’re avoiding my eyes again." His tone was casual, but there was an edge that made her heart thrum. "Do you like playing games, Ariana? Or just think you can resist me in front of everyone?" Her hands stilled on the tubing. "I—I'm doing my job, Doctor. I don’t—" "Shh." He leaned closer, his presence like gravity, pulling her forw

Ariana tried to breathe. The monitors hummed, the sterile smell of disinfectant filled the air, and yet all she could feel was Mateo’s presence lingering in her skin, in the curve of her neck, in the tightening of her chest. She reminded herself: Professional. Keep it professional.She was restocking the supply closet—small, cramped, lined with shelves of gauze and IV bags—when she felt him before she saw him. The air seemed to shift. The faint click of his shoes on the linoleum echoed like a drum in her chest.“Nina,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing.She stiffened, turning slowly. His coat brushed the doorframe as he leaned in, just enough that she felt the heat radiating off him. “Doctor,” she said, attempting composure, though her fingers tightened around the sterile gloves she was holding.He stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. The small space made it impossible to escape the gravity of him. Every inch he took was deliberate, calculated—an assertion of dominance