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I wasn’t jealous. I was fucking hard.

“How did she know how to call him sir?” Masterbaytor asked, shifting beside me.

“She has a self-learning instruction,” I replied, eyes locked on the screen.“But I set the parameters.”

Socket struck again—this time directly across her breasts.

The sound was sickening. Not from the force of the blow, but the reaction.

The silicone rippled, like flesh, like memory. Charlotte gasped—not from airflow, but from programmed pain. Simulated—but convincing. Her nipples stiff from the sensory feedback loop.

“Strike her on the nipples,” I said, voice calm.“There are more pain receptor sensors there. You’ll get a better response.”

Socket didn’t hesitate. The whip arced through the air and landed with a sharp, controlled snap—right across the center of her chest.

Charlotte flinched.

The slicone remained intact.

“Fuck,” Doll_fucker murmured, watching with hungry eyes.“I don’t know if that’s genius or more sadistic than Socket.”

I didn’t respond.

Because I didn’t know either.

The line had blurred so far back, I couldn’t even see it anymore.

Charlotte didn’t cry. But she blinked. Her lips parted. Her chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm. Was it simulation? Or was she adapting?

She stood restrained, her toes barely touching the floor, arms taut above her, her mouth parted in that perfect‘O’that made men think they were gods.

I’d handed her over to them.

Not for money.

Not even for validation.

But for proof.

Proof that she was better.

And maybe—deep down—I wanted to watch her break.

Not physically. No, that could be repaired.

“Do you know what a sadist is, whore?” Socket murmured, running the tip of the whip between her breasts, dragging it down until it rested just above her navel.

“Yes, sir,” Charlotte answered, her voice steady. But her eyes—those vivid, unblinking synthetic eyes—briefly shifted toward me.

Just a flicker.

So fast I could’ve missed it.

But I didn’t.

It was there. Not a glitch. Not a scan. A look.

A question?