Page 24

Adrian

I watch Sophia command attention in her crimson designer dress, her movements confident as she discusses her work with Neon Heights' elite. The transformation from struggling artist to rising star suits her. She wears power as naturally as she does the diamonds at her throat. The subtle sparkle reminds me of my claim on her, my gift marking her as mine while appearing merely decorative to others.

Her latest series hangs on the pristine walls of the most exclusive gallery in Neon Heights. Each piece pulses with our shared darkness—surveillance, control, obsession rendered beautiful through her vision. She's transmuted our twisted relationship into art that speaks to the masses while hiding its true meaning in plain sight. Piece after piece depicts faceless figures trapped in webs of data, their forms dissolving into streams of code.

The critics call it "haunting" and "revolutionary." If they only knew the inspiration came from her discovering my surveillance room, from the moment she realized the extent of my control. She's taken that violation and transformed it into something transcendent. Now she wields the truth of us like a weapon.

My chest tightens as I observe a potential buyer leaning too close, hanging on her every word. My fingers flex, but I force them to relax. This is what we agreed to, her freedom to move through my world as an equal, not a possession. Still, old habits die hard. The urge to intervene, to remind everyone that she's mine, pulses through me.

But I remain where I am, letting her shine. This is her moment, earned through her own talent, even if I cleared the path. The power dynamics between us may be complex, but tonight she commands the room. And I find, to my surprise, that watching her flourish feeds a different kind of hunger in me.

Mara stands beside me, tablet in hand as always. "The new AI project is ready for beta testing," she murmurs, her voice carrying that subtle hint of need that I've come to recognize.

"Not now," I say, my eyes fixed on Sophia. Mara shifts beside me, and I catch the slight tremor in her breath. She knows what that tone means—punishment will come later. Our arrangement has rules, and she's testing them again.

"The board expects an update tomorrow," she persists, tapping the tablet screen.

"I said not now." My voice drops lower, and she falls silent.

Sophia commands the room with natural grace, her hands moving as she explains the symbolism behind her latest piece. Her eyes meet mine across the crowded gallery. That knowing smile plays at her lips, the one that reminds me she's no longer the struggling artist I first pursued. She's become my equal in ways I never expected, wielding her own kind of power.

Vale Technologies' reputation has soared since she started influencing our public image. Her moral compass forced changes in my surveillance operations, though I maintain certain necessary programs beyond her knowledge.

"The Martinez contract needs your signature," Mara whispers, still pushing boundaries. Even her perfume carries notes of desperation.

I turn slightly, meeting her eyes. "You'll have it when I'm ready. Focus on the guest list for now."

She nods, but I catch the flush in her cheeks. She craves attention—even negative attention—but tonight belongs to Sophia. I watch my partner work the room, knowing she suspects I keep secrets just as she maintains her own leverage against me.

Sophia gracefully disengages from the cluster of admirers surrounding her. Her steps are purposeful as she crosses the polished gallery floor, the hem of her dress swaying with each movement. The satisfaction burns deep in my chest as she approaches.

"Taking a breather from your fan club?" I ask, drinking in the confident set of her shoulders, so different from the hesitant artist I first pursued.

"They're getting rather enthusiastic about the surveillance motifs." Her eyes sparkle with private amusement. "If they only knew."

She slides her hand into mine, her skin warm against my palm. The simple gesture carries layers of meaning, her choice to claim me publicly, even as she maintains her independence. My thumb traces over her knuckles, feeling the delicate bones beneath soft skin.

Mara clears her throat softly. "I'll adjust tomorrow's schedule to accommodate the board meeting at 10."

I give a curt nod, my attention fixed on Sophia. The diamonds at her throat catch the light as she tilts her head, studying my expression. She reads me too well now, sees the possessive hunger I try to mask.

"I should get back," she says, but lingers in my grip. "That collector from Paris seems particularly interested in the centerpiece."

I squeeze her hand, acknowledging our careful dance of power and submission, of trust earned through compromise and control tempered by respect. She returns the squeeze before slipping away, leaving me to watch as she reclaims her spotlight.

I watch Sophia work the room with grace, but beneath my composed exterior, darker thoughts surface. The collector from Paris leans in too close again, his hand brushing her arm. My jaw clenches.

"Sir?" Mara's voice cuts through my focus. "The Martinez contract—"

"Get rid of him," I snap, my eyes locked on the collector.

"Martinez?"

"No." I turn to face her fully, letting her see the cold calculation in my expression. "The collector. I want him gone by morning."

Mara's tablet freezes mid-tap. She studies my face, weighing the implications. After a moment, she nods and steps away, already typing rapid instructions.

Sophia glances back at me, radiant in her success. She has no idea what I still do to keep her safe, to keep her mine. Some habits die hard.

And some never die at all.

THE END