Page 22

Duke took a long sip of his whiskey, his eyes suddenly more calculated, more presidential. "Need a word," he said, inclining his head toward a quieter corner of the venue. "Club business."

I followed him, instinctively positioning myself so I could still keep Mandy in my peripheral vision. Old habits died hard, and my protective instincts had only intensified since the photo leak.

Duke positioned us in a corner partly obscured by a large floral arrangement, providing just enough privacy for sensitive conversation without appearing suspicious. To casual observers, we were just two brothers sharing a drink away from the crowd.

"The club's legitimate operations are thriving," Duke began without preamble. "Auto shop revenue is up thirty percent from last quarter. Tattoo parlor's booked solid for the next two months. Even the bar's showing increased profits. And the nightclub, too."

I nodded, unsurprised. "Mandy's financial guidance?"

"Partially. She identified tax advantages we weren't leveraging, streamlined some processes." Duke's expression remained neutral, but I caught the hint of approval in his voice. "But it's more than that. Having solid, above-board business ventures gives us options. Flexibility. Less dependence on the other revenue streams."

I understood what he wasn't saying directly. The more legitimate income the club generated, the less risk they needed to take with arms deals and protection rackets. It was a long-term strategy for sustainability—something Duke had been pushing for years.

"Good to hear," I said, genuinely meaning it. A stable club meant a safer environment for my future wife. For our eventual family, though we hadn't discussed children explicitly yet.

Duke's voice dropped lower, his expression hardening slightly. "We've narrowed down the suspects for the photo leak. Three names, all with connections to both clubs."

My grip tightened on the whiskey glass, knuckles whitening. Despite the months that had passed, the violation still felt raw—strangers viewing intimate moments between Mandy and me, moments that were sacred, private. The thought sent familiar rage coursing through my veins, hot and demanding.

"Who?" The word came out like gravel, my voice roughened by anger.

Duke didn’t utter a word, but instead, passed me a piece of paper with three names on it. When I saw them, my blood ran cold.

“But these—”

“Not a word now. We’ll talk later. There will be an investigation. And justice. But we need to keep this to ourselves.”

I nodded, brain on fire with the implications of the names on the paper.

"Those photos..." I started, struggling to articulate what the violation had cost us. "They exposed the most private part of her. Of us. Made her lose her job, her reputation. Made her run from me."

"I know." Duke's voice softened marginally. "And whoever is responsible will pay. But not tonight." He placed a steadying hand on my shoulder, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Tonight isn't about revenge. It's about Mandy. About her triumph."

I closed my eyes briefly, working to channel the rage into something more controlled. When I opened them again, I sought out Mandy in the crowd. She was smiling, radiant in her success, confidently exchanging business cards with a potential client.

"She's won," Duke continued, following my gaze. "Don't let anyone take this moment from her. Or from you."

The wisdom in his words penetrated the red haze of my anger. Duke was right.

"You've both earned this happiness," Duke added quietly, the words carrying more weight coming from him—a man not given to sentimental pronouncements.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the rage recede to a manageable simmer rather than a boiling point. It wasn't gone—wouldn't be until justice was served—but it was contained. Controlled.

"Yeah," I agreed, draining the last of my whiskey. "We have."

"Besides," he added with the ghost of a smile, "killing a traitor the week before your wedding would really fuck up the seating arrangements."

The unexpected humor broke through my darkness, startling a rough laugh from me. "Mandy would never forgive me."

"Smart man." Duke lifted his whiskey in a silent toast. "You're learning."

A gentle tapping on glass cut through the conversation, drawing everyone's attention to the small podium set up at the front of the room. Mandy stood there, champagne flute in one hand, the other arm extended in a gesture for quiet. This was it—the moment she would publicly declare her new path, embracing what others had tried to use to destroy her.

I straightened instinctively, my body responding to her presence like a compass finding north.

"Good evening, everyone," Mandy began, her voice clear and steady. "Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the launch of Wright Financial Solutions."

I watched her scan the crowd, professional and poised, her eyes briefly meeting mine before continuing their circuit.

"Many of you know parts of my story," she continued. "Three months ago, my professional life imploded rather spectacularly." A ripple of uncomfortable laughter moved through the crowd. She smiled, acknowledging the awkwardness but refusing to hide from it. "Private photos were leaked. My previous employer terminated me. My professional reputation was in tatters."

My hands clenched at my sides, the familiar anger flickering to life at the memory. But Mandy wasn't dwelling in that pain. Her voice remained strong, her posture confident.

"Conventional wisdom said I should leave town. Start over somewhere new. Hide who I really am." She shook her head, copper strands catching the light. "But I'm done hiding."

Pride swelled in my chest, nearly overwhelming.

"Wright Financial Solutions was born from the realization that there are entire communities underserved by traditional financial advisors," Mandy explained. "People whose lifestyles, relationships, or personal choices fall outside conventional boundaries often struggle to find professionals who understand their unique financial needs. Who can advise without judgment. Who recognize that financial planning must account for all aspects of who we are—even the parts society tells us to keep hidden."

She gestured to the banner behind her, the stylized W with its crown.

"My firm specializes in accounting and financial services for alternative lifestyles—particularly those in age-play, DDLG, BDSM, and other power exchange dynamics." She delivered these words without hesitation or apology, her tone matter-of-fact. "We understand the unique challenges of maintaining professional careers while honoring these essential aspects of your identity."

I scanned the crowd, half-expecting uncomfortable shifting or embarrassed glances. Instead, I saw recognition in many faces. Relief in others. The couple Amy had pointed out earlier were nodding, the woman's hand tightening around her partner's wrist. A distinguished silver-haired man in an expensive suit was listening with intense focus, his expression thoughtful rather than judgmental.

Mandy continued, outlining the specific services her firm would offer—tax planning that accounted for lifestyle expenses, financial strategies for partners with significant power dynamics, discretion guarantees that exceeded industry standards. Her expertise shone through, reminding everyone that beneath the scandal was a brilliant financial mind.

"Three months ago, I thought my life was over," she said, her voice softening slightly. "Today, I'm inviting you to be part of its new beginning."

She'd transformed humiliation into power, weakness into strength. The photos that were meant to destroy her had instead become the foundation of her rebirth. Watching her stand there—confident, unapologetic, radiant—I felt something expand in my chest, a feeling so intense it was almost painful.

Pride. Love. Awe.

"I couldn't have made this journey alone," Mandy continued, her eyes finding mine in the crowd. "There's one person who saw me at my lowest and still believed I could rise. Who gave me not just support, but a vision of what was possible when I stopped hiding."

Her voice gentled, taking on a quality that those who knew our dynamic would recognize. Not explicitly little—she was too professional for that—but with a softness, a sweetness that hinted at her other side.

"My fiancé, Thor, has been my rock through all of this." She didn't use "Daddy" in public—never would—but I heard it in her tone, in the slight lift at the end of the sentence. "Without his strength, his protection, his unwavering belief in me, Wright Financial Solutions would not exist."

My throat tightened unexpectedly. I wasn't a man given to emotional displays, but her public acknowledgment of what we'd built together—of what I meant to her—hit me with the force of a physical blow. Duke's elbow nudged my ribs gently, a silent testament to how visibly the moment had affected me.

"Thor taught me that there's power in authenticity," Mandy continued. "That what others might use to shame us can become our greatest strength when embraced without apology." Her eyes locked with mine, the connection between us palpable even across the crowded room. "He showed me that being vulnerable doesn't make you weak—it makes you human."

In that moment, I would have done anything for her. Fought any battle. Faced any enemy. Built her a castle with my bare hands if she'd asked. The rough, violent biker who'd earned his reputation through blood and broken bones stood transfixed by a woman in an emerald suit talking about financial planning.

Life was fucking strange sometimes.

"So tonight isn't just about launching a business," she concluded, raising her glass. "It's about claiming the right to be exactly who we are—professionally successful and personally fulfilled. No compartments. No shame. No apologizing for needing what we need."

She lifted her glass higher. "To authenticity. To courage. To finding strength in vulnerability."

"To authenticity," the crowd echoed, raising their glasses in response.

Mandy set her champagne down and moved to a display table where a ceremonial ribbon had been stretched across an arrangement of business cards, brochures, and a tablet displaying her new website. Amy handed her a large pair of ornamental scissors, the blades gleaming under the lights.

"I hereby declare Wright Financial Solutions officially open for business," Mandy announced, cutting the ribbon with a flourish.

Applause erupted, genuine and enthusiastic. As the ribbon fluttered to the floor, several people immediately approached the table, eager to become clients. Mandy greeted each one professionally but warmly, her genuine interest in their needs evident in her attentive posture and thoughtful responses.

I stayed back, giving her space to shine in this professional moment.

T he crowd thinned as eleven o'clock approached, early risers and business types making polite excuses while the club members and closer friends settled in for what would likely become an after-party. I hadn't seen Mandy for nearly twenty minutes, not since she'd excused herself from a conversation with a potential investor.

My eyes scanned the room, that familiar protective instinct kicking in despite the secure environment. When I didn't spot her copper head among the remaining guests, I moved quietly toward the back hallway, checking the small rooms that branched off from the main space. I found her in an anteroom that had been designated as a coat check, standing before a wall-mounted mirror, her fingers gently touching the emerald pendant at her throat.

She startled when I entered, her eyes meeting mine in the reflection before her professional mask melted away like ice in summer heat. The transformation was subtle but profound—a softening around her eyes, a slight relaxation of her shoulders, the barely perceptible tilt of her head that signaled her shift from poised businesswoman to my Little girl.

"Daddy," she whispered, the word like a secret shared between us, meant for my ears alone.

Something primal and possessive stirred in my chest at that single word. Three months of hearing it, and it still affected me like the first time—a punch to the gut followed by a wave of tenderness so fierce it bordered on pain.

I moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, my chin resting atop her head as we regarded our reflection. My massive frame dwarfed hers, her emerald suit a bright contrast against my dark jacket. Power and vulnerability, strength and softness, perfectly balanced.

"Proud of you, princess," I murmured against her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with the subtle perfume she'd chosen for the evening. "You were fucking amazing out there."

She leaned back into my strength, allowing herself this moment of vulnerability after hours of professional confidence. Her body melted against mine, trusting me to hold her up, to be her safe harbor in the storm of her emotions.

"Really?" she asked, her voice smaller now, less certain than the woman who had commanded the room minutes earlier. This side of her was for me alone. A privilege I would defend with my life if necessary.

"Really." I pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, careful not to disturb her elegant updo. "The way you owned that room. The way you took what they tried to use against you and turned it into your strength. Fucking incredible, baby girl."

Her reflection smiled, pleased with my praise in that uncomplicated way of her Little side. "I was scared," she admitted. "But then I saw you watching me."

My throat tightened with emotion I wouldn't have recognized in myself six months ago. Before Mandy.

She turned in my embrace, facing me directly now, her hands resting on my chest. The emerald of her eyes matched her suit perfectly, bright with intelligence and emotion.

"The arbor," she said, changing subjects with the natural flow of someone comfortable sharing her thoughts. "Is it finished? For the wedding?"

I nodded, my hands settling at her waist, keeping her close. "Just need to seal it. The pine came out beautiful—golden, like honey."

The wedding was set for next month, a small ceremony at my cabin with only our closest friends and family. No church, no traditional venue. Just the mountains, the forest, and an arbor I'd built with my own hands from trees harvested from my land.

Her face lit up with excitement. "Amy and I chose the decorations yesterday. White roses and eucalyptus and these little purple flowers I can't remember the name of." Her hands moved animatedly as she described the arrangements, shifting unconsciously between her adult and Little mannerisms. "And fairy lights! Hundreds of them, woven through the branches and hanging down like—like magic."

I smiled, enchanted by her enthusiasm. I didn't give a fuck about flowers or decorations, if I was honest. I'd marry her in a junkyard if that's what she wanted. But seeing her this happy, this excited about our future together, filled me with a contentment I'd never imagined possible.

"Sounds perfect," I said, meaning it. "Whatever makes you happy, princess."

She beamed up at me, then stifled a yawn behind her hand, her eyes widening in surprise at her own fatigue. The adrenaline that had carried her through the evening was clearly fading, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

"Tired?" I asked, already knowing the answer from the slight shadows beneath her eyes, expertly concealed with makeup but visible to someone who knew her face as intimately as I did.

She nodded reluctantly. "A little. But the party's still going, and I should talk to more—"

"You've done enough," I interrupted gently but firmly, the dominant side of me making an executive decision. "You've impressed everyone, secured clients, launched your business successfully. Now it's time to take care of you."

For a moment, I saw her considering protest—the professional in her wanting to maximize every networking opportunity. But then her shoulders relaxed, acceptance and perhaps relief washing over her features.

"Okay," she agreed softly. "Take me home, Daddy."

Those four simple words sent a surge of heat through my body, tightening things low in my belly. The mixture of innocent exhaustion and suggestive promise in her tone made it clear that while her Little side needed care, her adult side had other needs that required attention.

I took her hand, guiding her back toward the main space. "Let's say our goodbyes."

We made our way through the remaining guests, accepting congratulations and well-wishes. Mandy maintained her professional demeanor, but I could feel the subtle shift in her body language as she leaned into me slightly, allowing me to handle more of the social burden as her energy flagged.

"Leaving so soon?" Amy approached, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she took in Mandy's slightly wilted posture. "Party's just getting interesting. Tyson and Lena disappeared ten minutes ago."

"Called it," Mandy mumbled, a tired smile playing on her lips.

"Tomorrow," I told Amy, my tone brooking no argument. "She needs rest."

Amy's expression softened with understanding. "Of course." She hugged her sister, whispering something in Mandy's ear that made her blush. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she added with a wink in my direction.

"That leaves a lot of options," I replied drily, earning a laugh from both Wright sisters.

We made our final rounds, Mandy pausing to thank key clients and supporters. When we reached Wiz, the old biker clasped my shoulder with surprising strength.

"Ride safe," he said, the traditional club farewell carrying extra meaning tonight. A reminder that what Mandy and I were building was precious, worth protecting.

Finally, we stepped outside into the cool night air. The temperature had dropped while we'd been inside, and Mandy shivered slightly in her thin suit jacket. I immediately shrugged out of my own jacket, draping it over her shoulders. It engulfed her small frame, the sleeves hanging well past her fingertips, but she snuggled into it gratefully.

"Such a gentleman," she teased, her voice taking on that quality that existed somewhere between her Little and adult sides—playful but with an edge of mature awareness.

"Don't let that get around," I growled, guiding her toward my truck with a protective hand at the small of her back. "Bad for my reputation."

She laughed softly, leaning into me as we walked. "Your secret's safe with me."

In the parking lot, most of the cars had already gone, leaving only my truck, Duke's Challenger, and a handful of motorcycles belonging to club members still inside. I opened the passenger door for Mandy, helping her climb into the high cab—unnecessary given her athletic ability, but a gesture that satisfied both her Little side's need for care and my dominant need to provide it.

As I rounded the truck to the driver's side, I caught her watching me through the windshield, her eyes following my movements with unguarded appreciation. The look sent another jolt of heat through me. We'd been together for months now, but the desire between us hadn't dimmed—if anything, it had intensified as we learned each other's bodies, each other's needs.

I slid into the driver's seat, the truck's cabin immediately feeling smaller with my large frame inside it. Mandy had shifted to face me, her emerald eyes now dark with something beyond fatigue.

"Take me home, Daddy," she repeated, her voice lower, huskier than before. Her slender fingers reached across the console to rest on my thigh, the touch light but unmistakable in its intent. "I need you tonight."