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Not money. Not sex.Powerlessness, freely given. Craved.
I know what she needs. Because I hacked her preferences, mapped her clicks, read between the lines of every vanilla rejection she swiped left.
I built her cage perfectly.
Thirty days is generous. I could break her in half that time.
But I want it slow. I want heraware. I want her tochoosethe fall. Because when she finally surrenders, it won’t be desperation.
It’ll bedevotion.
I’ll peel her open with words, touches, the kind of pleasure that rewires a woman’s soul. And she’ll beg—beautifully. Because she’s never been worshipped properly.
She’s been surviving. Hustling. Clawing her way through a world built to swallow girls like her.
But Dahlia Wynn doesn’t understand how rare she is. How exquisitely, dangerously rare. Not just because of her tech skills—which, admittedly, are sharp enough to make her a threat—but because she doesn’t hesitate to get her hands dirty. She walks into the lion’s den live-streaming herself, wearing her sins and defiance like sequins.
She wants to be seen,even as she hides.
Most hackers, even the best, stay shadows. Ghosts. Digital tricksters behind encrypted walls.
Not her.
My little thief thrives on impact. On justice and judgment.
And now she’s mine.
In the very building she tried to stage her little Robin Hood stand last night, I lean back in my chair, scrolling through the feed she thinks I haven’t found. Her alias account. The poll. The comments.
Her followers are rabid for blood. They eat up her moral grandstanding. Vote on targets like it’s a marginally less bloodySquid Game. Most of them don’t realize she’s actually doing it. The rest? Fanatics.
It would be easy to take her down.
But unfortunately, I need her. Not just for the spectacle and the sublime promise of her surrender I got a taste of last night, but for theaccess.
She’s the key to something locked up tighter than anything I can buy or bribe my way into. Not because she’s smarter—but because no one’s looking at her. Because the target she doesn’t know I’ve chosen has been planning this longer than she’s been alive.
And there’s a window opening soon—just one shot to reclaim what was stolen from me years ago.
And I needherto get it.
I could’ve forced her. Threatened her father some more. Broken her in the usual ways. But that wouldn’t have ultimately worked.
Because she doesn’t fear pain and I don’t want her furious or anxious. She fears exactly what she needs—relinquishing herpower.
Which is why I’ll give her the illusion of control. Let her crawl back toward agency… while I take her apart cell by cell. And when she gets what I need—when she hands me the prize, bleeding from the inside out—I’ll reward her the only way she truly wants.
With her unsullied surrender.
My cock jumps in my pants. Furious. Ready.
Dahlia. At my feet. It’s almost too heady to contain. But contain it I will.
Thirty days. And maybe then…maybe… I’ll let her go.
Or… not? Fuck, even I don’t believe that anymore. But I know under all that rage, she wants to be seen.
Owned.