The Art of Slashing

“Hey! I’m—” Home. I almost said home. “Here.”

“I’m outside, my love,” Victor’s smooth voice calls out from the open doors leading to the backyard of his house. 

Six months. It’s been six months of Dr. Victor Gideon calling you my love. Six months of spending every available second of your days with him. Six months of falling asleep together and waking up in each other’s arms. Six glorious, blissful months.

You still don’t know what to call him after all this time. Boyfriend is too juvenile a term and definitely can’t describe the man that is Victor. He’s your best friend, your coworker, your equal. You had referred to him as your partner before to friends and family, but he is so much more than that. He’s the love of your life. He’s everything.

So many things have happened since the night you stayed over for the first time. I’d like you to stay forever. That’s what he had said. It had played on a loop almost everyday for a month, bringing a smile to your face at any given moment.

It’s like the universe had been on your side from the beginning. Your relationship with Victor is, for lack of a better word, perfect. Sure, you have had your fair share of arguments and fights in the past, but you never went to bed angry. It’s work, of course it’s work, but nothing in your life had ever been this easy, this rewarding.

Everyone at the care center knows you’re together now as well. It’s not like you could have hidden it anyway. But tonight is the first night your relationship will be on display for all to see. Tonight is the Rhodes Hill Charity Ball, and you and Victor will be going as each other’s dates. 

You had just grabbed your dress from your house when you made your way over to his. You had planned to get ready here, considering he lived on the property of the center. And besides, Victor had insisted that you keep some of your belongings at his home. You do stay over quite a lot, usually overnight and multiple days in a row. You aren’t complaining, however. He always asks you to stay, with those gorgeous yellow eyes and that goofy gold grin, they make it very hard for you to disagree. 

It’s a beautiful spring day, and Victor has all the windows open throughout the house. Lavender hits your senses from the wind that carries it through the space. You stop by his home office to say hello to Artemis, his pet boa constrictor before you walk towards the back doors. The sun is shining in long beams along the floorboards, casting light all over the rooms you pass through. You’re in a pair of cut off jean shorts and a tank top, and the warm air feels amazing.

When you reach the backyard, your gaze lands on Victor. Heat blazes over your skin, and it’s not just from the sun. 

He’s laying back on a lounge chair, his shoulders so broad they hang off on either side. His wide chest is bare except for the necklace you got him all those months ago, and he’s only in a pair of shorts. Long, muscular legs are stretched out in front of him, his feet hanging off the bottom. Finding any kind of furniture to accommodate his size is difficult, but he make’s do. Aviator sunglasses shield his eyes, making him look even more delicious. 

Basking in the sun like a fucking lizard. 

“Pardon me, but I believe I’m the voyeur in this relationship, sweetheart.”

You huff out a laugh, not at all embarrassed at being caught. You walk over to him as you say, “Are you saying I’m not allowed to check you out?”

“You are absolutely allowed, but all I’m saying is you should take a seat,” he pats the chair next to him, “and let me do the same to you.”

You lean down next to his prone form with a smile and press your lips to his. The skin of his mouth is uncharacteristically warm and it send a jolt of pleasure through you. He groans when you run your hands along the planes of his scarred, scaled chest, the heat of him practically searing your palms. His huge hands trace along the flesh of your legs causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body. 

Victor moans against your mouth. “You’re going to be the death of me. And I’ll gladly dig my own grave.”

“As long as I’m buried on top,” you joke, even though his words have butterflies swarming your stomach. 

He only laughs as he watches you move to sit along side him in your own lounge chair. 

“Do you have everything you need for tonight’s event?”

“Yeah, I just had to grab my dress and my makeup bag. How about you? Did you finish your speech?”

“My tuxedo was ready earlier this morning, and I retrieved it before you arrived. My speech is another matter entirely,” Victor mutters as he sheepishly looks away.

You frown. “Are you nervous?” He nods in answer. “But you’re a great public speaker. When you talk, everyone listens. You’re gonna have those people eating out of the palm of your hand.”

He smirks at that. “Thank you. But this isn’t just a board meeting or a medical debriefing, it’s a very important speech that could potentially ensure funding for the facility for the next ten years. Several sponsors will be there, and our future depends on them. I’d like to make a lasting impression.”

Our future.

The sentiment drifts out of your mind when it suddenly occurs to you that you can almost see the weight baring down on his shoulders.

“Would you like to go over it with me? Maybe that will help ease your nerves.”

Victor tilts his head back towards you and sighs. “That is a very good idea. Let me fetch it from my study.”

A wolf whistle cuts through the air as he gets up and walks into the house, giving you your first view of the day of his muscled back and ass. He roars with laughter and throws a pointed look over his shoulder at your foolery.

You sit up when he comes back with the pages. He stands in front of your chair, all seven feet of imposing height and masculine presence, and begins to read. 

The speech is well written, direct, and flows elegantly out of Victor’s mouth. He’s charismatic and doesn’t have to look at the words very often. It seems he remembers a good chunk of it. Halfway through, you realize you’re smiling from ear to ear, and he’s encouraged. 

By the end, his posture is relaxed and his voice is no longer tight. You have to blink rapidly to pull your mind from the haze of his hypnotic tone. 

You clap lightly when he’s finished. “That was brilliant. I think it was concise and straight to the point without being pretentious. I’m sorry you’re feeling anxious, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Plus, you can always look to Dr. Richardson and imagine him in his underwear while you’re up there.”

Your shit-eating grin is enough for him to quickly lunge at you, pinning you to the chair. You let out a joyous shriek as he looms over you.

Victor runs the tip of his nose along yours as he murmurs, “Thank you for letting me rehearse it with you. I do feel much more comfortable now.”

“You’re welcome. You’re going to do great.”

You gently kiss him, catching his bottom lip between your teeth. He breathes in and grasps the back of your head to deepen the kiss. His forked tongue is hot and heavy in your mouth making you dizzy from the foreign sensation. Every part of him is nearly always cold, so the change is a nice surprise from his basking. 

“We have a few more hours until the ball. Why don’t I take your mind off of it for a while?” You whisper, palming his already half-hard cock through his shorts. 

“I like the way you think, my dear.”

***

After a few rounds of love-making under the sun and in bed, you seem to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. The rock being Victor’s arm, and the hard place being his large chest. He’s spooning you, his forearm in the valley of your breasts and his hand resting around your neck. His chin sits atop your head. The way his massive body envelopes you is mind-boggling sometimes.  

“Victor,” you giggle, “I have to start getting ready. It’s late.”

“You’re preserving my body heat. Five more minutes, please,” he mumbles. 

“You said that five minutes ago.”

He sighs dramatically. “Alright, if you insist.” He reluctantly untangles his arms from you.

As you climb out of bed, he lovingly smacks your ass earning him a high-pitched yelp.

“Excuse me,” he asks, “where is my kiss?”

You chuckle, knowing that particular tactic. “Oh no, I’m not falling for that one.”

A devious grin spreads on his face from above the covers. “You know me too well.”

He flings the covers off his naked body and stands. He is a masterpiece, plain and simple. The scales that cover his skin are shimmering in reds and blues from the afternoon light. You turn to ogle him only to find he’s studying your bare form as well. There’s maybe three feet of space that separates you which he can cross easily with just one arm, but he lets you take your fill. 

You break first when you take a step and reach out to splay your hand on his abdomen. He’s so tall and big up this close. And when he leans down to lock his lips with yours, he’s basically bending in half. He pulls away to brush the shell of your ear.

He mutters, “I love you. Now, leave me to get dressed, woman. You’re distracting me.” 

A laugh bubbles out of you as you push him away. You stroll to the bathroom and start setting up your makeup. You apply the basics: eyeliner, shadow, mascara, some blush, and a bit of highlighter. You swipe some gloss over your lips for the final touch. The slight smokey eye and subtleness of the rest will go wonderfully with your gown.

It’s a deep gold color that’s backless with a halter top. It just borders on this side of appropriate for a work function, but that’s why you love it. To show off your back, you decide to wear your hair up in an intricate bun. You slip into the dress and stare at yourself in the floor length mirror of the closet. After you put on your platform heels, you take a few minutes to admire yourself when you hear Victor call your name.

“Yes?”

You can sense irritation in his tone. “Will you help me with this blasted thing when you have a moment?”

The bowtie. You sashay into the bedroom and find him standing in front of a smaller mirror on the dresser. He’s dressed in a stylish black tux and wingtips, fiddling with the tie at his throat. He notices your entrance in his peripheral and turns.  

Victor double takes as his eyes widen. His jaw goes slack, the fabric at his neck completely forgotten at the sight of you. You never thought dumbstruck could be used to describe him, yet here you are. 

He tries a few times to find the words, opening and closing his mouth multiple times. 

“You are the most exquisite being on the planet,” he decidedly whispers. “I cannot believe I have the privilege to call you mine.”

Giddiness and arousal make a blush rise to your cheeks from his words and the way he looks. It’s all so sexy and alluring and extremely hot.

Victor steps backwards to the bed and sits, never taking his eyes off you. “Come here. Slowly.”

His command makes your core throb with blatant need. You do as you’re told and saunter over to him, the high slit in your gown revealing almost your entire leg when you walk. His eyes rove over you longingly, everything capturing his attention. You stop when you’re between his thighs.

“Turn around.”

You spin until your back is to him, casting a demure look over your shoulder. You think you hear a small gasp when his eyes land on your exposed back. “Do you like the dress?”

“I fucking love it,” Victor growls as he pulls you close and into his groin, his chin now resting on your shoulder. Your grin widens when his clothed cock pressing into the underside of your ass.

“Victor…” you chastise. 

“Yes?” He drags the s out like a hiss. 

“Behave yourself. We have somewhere to be in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m the director,” he drawls, “we can be late.”

You hear the distinct sound of his mouth opening, his hot breath ghosting over you where your neck meets your shoulder. Preparing to latch on, no doubt.

“Oh my god!” You squeal, quickly twirling around in his arms when you feel his canines graze your skin. He’s chuckling at your exasperation. “Don’t. You. Dare. I cannot have a fresh love bite on full display at a professional event!”

“You, my dear, are no fun.”

You swat playfully at his chest and grab the silk of his bowtie with your fingers. Deftly, you tie the knot and fluff the bow to sit evenly at his neck. 

“You look incredibly handsome, mister. I better keep my eye on you tonight or someone might try to snatch you up.”

Victor rolls his eyes with a cheeky grin and cocks his head. “There is only one woman on this earth that I desire, and she’s right here.” He squeezes your hips for emphasis. 

“She’s not going anywhere, either,” you breathe with a peck to his mouth. “I love you so much. Let’s get going, big guy.”

***

The care center’s main lobby has been transforming into the perfect venue. A massive stage, backdrop, and podium sit to the right while lavish tables with beautiful center pieces line the left. In the center is a curated dance floor. A string quartet plays softly from beyond the stairs, an instrumental rendition of a popular song hitting your ears as you walk in. 

Victor’s holding your hand, absentmindedly stroking your faded scar with his thumb. The room is nearly full even though you’re technically early. It’s mostly staff, your fellow coworkers and doctors. A low hum of chatter fills the space and makes you buzz with anticipation. These things are fun, a time to unwind and enjoy other people’s company. Sure they can be stuffy and ostentatious, but with Victor by your side, it’s bound to be entertaining.

Immediately, Dr. Richardson and Dr. Rogers spot you two, and the evening begins. You make small talk among your colleagues and their spouses, speaking for Victor more often than not. He’s the mysterious, brooding type as most of them already know, but every once in a while you glance up at him. He’s always smiling fondly down at you. A lull in the conversation indicates your exit when you lean into him.

“I’m just going to go say hello to my friends,” you say.

He nods and brushes your spine with his fingertips. “I’ll come find you.”

Three of your nurse friends are huddled in a group across the floor. They see you approach and squeal with delight, welcoming you with hugs and pleasantries. Everyone looks gorgeous and happy and your face hurts from laughter only after a few minutes with them. 

You glance back and scan the ever-growing crowd for Victor. He’s a foot and a half taller than the tallest man in here, so spotting him isn’t very difficult. He’s been swept up in a conversation with two prestigious philanthropists and it seems to be going well. Their rapt attention is on him while he’s gesturing vaguely to the care center. Hanging onto his every word.

He must feel your eyes on him because he snaps his gaze to you and winks. You turn away with a blush, hand covering your mouth trying to remain unflustered. It doesn’t work, however, and your friends tease you incessantly. It feels like your crush just acknowledged you for the first time in middle school. God, I am such a lovesick puppy.

Suddenly, you feel Victor’s presence at your back, his voice rumbling from above your head. “Good evening, ladies. Would you mind if I stole this one away for a short time?”

“She’s all yours!” One of your friends chirps. 

His hand rests on the small of your back as he leads you away to a darkened alcove. “You’re absolutely devastating in that dress, darling.”

He pushes you up against a wall away from prying eyes and swallows the gasp that escapes your mouth. You moan into the kiss, twirling your tongue around his. Your teeth click together at the force of it. Victor moves his fingers into the slit of your dress and hooks your leg over his hip, spreading you around his girth. 

You’re dizzy with lust and excitement, not really caring who might catch a glimpse of you two. A thrill shoots through you at the thought. 

“And you’re driving me insane. Networking with people should not be that sexy.”

His deep chuckle next your ear has a new wave of arousal flooding your system. The pad of his thumb strokes your clit through your panties, pressing circles over the swollen nub. You whine, the sound drowned out by the party happening only a few feet away. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at me. You were begging me to make you come. I saw it in your eyes.”

“Please don’t stop talking,” you whisper, your orgasm building rapidly from his ministrations.

A sharp laugh cuts through the air, echoing off the walls surrounding you. “I’ll give you whatever you need. Whatever you want. Anything to hear those little sounds come out of your pretty mouth.”

The coil inside you instantly snaps, a pulse so dominant it has your knee buckling with a shout. Victor’s other arm catches you on your descent, your orgasm sending your head spinning. Black spots float across your vision as you open your eyes. You’re panting into his neck, your breath rustling the graying hair at his nape. 

He sets your leg down gently to the floor and helps you straighten. He kneels to fix your dress around your hips, making him eye level with you. In the dark of the alcove, his golden eyes are glowing. His smile grows when you pitch forward and lick the seam in his bottom lip.

“Hopefully no one saw us.”

Victor gives your body an appraising look. “If they did, that was their bonus for the year.”

“Ha ha,” you huff, “Come on, we’ve been here way too long. Let’s go, Dr. Sex.”

You're almost positive his laughter at the name can be heard from every corner of the care center.

***

The dinner service is about to begin when you make your way to the dining area. Your table is right in the center, your seats facing the stage. Nothing but the best for the director and his date. Victor pulls your chair out for you, ever the gentleman, before he takes the seat next to you. Apparently, you’re too far away, because he pulls your chair flush with his and lays his arm across the back of yours. The way he moves you as if you weigh nothing has the ache returning low in your belly. 

The food is delicious and melts in your mouth. As you enjoy your meal and chat lightly with Victor, you feel eyes on you. The hair on the back of your neck rises and you subtly turn your head to survey the room. Dr. Richardson and his wife with some other esteemed guests are present at the table with you, but they’re all busy with their own conversations. The feeling is coming from somewhere else. 

Victor of course, notices the imperceptible shift in your behavior. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” you murmur into him, “someone’s watching me I think. I can feel it. I don’t know who, though. And I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m looking.”

He nods faintly and lifts his head. You realize the exact moment he finds the culprit, because his giant hand tightens on your chair. 

“Fucking Bennett.”

Chairman Mitchell Bennett. 

“Ah, I should have figured. He’s such a slimeball,” you snark. You and the chairman have a complicated relationship. It’s something of a love-hate one. You hate him, despise him really, and he loves you. Mitchell never does anything to you that’s necessarily inappropriate or untoward, it’s mostly longing stares and awkward exchanges. But underneath it all, you know that he would jump at the chance in a second if you gave him an opening.

Victor is aware of all this. When you first started working at Rhodes Hill, it didn’t take long for him to catch on. Even though Mitchell had been the chairman for many years at that point, Victor didn’t hesitate to express his concerns to you. He’d said he would fire Bennett just for making you feel uncomfortable. He didn’t care what the chairman did for his center or how much money he made for it. He just wanted you to feel safe in your work environment.

Victor was such a good friend to you from the start when you really think about it, especially regarding that. He barely knew you then, and he was already threatening to fire his coworker he’d known for close to a decade, all to keep you feeling secure. As much as Mitchell had annoyed you, you were a big girl. You could figure out how to handle him. You did, and still do, with weaponized civility. You had told all this to Victor, that is wasn’t a concern, and he reluctantly agreed to drop the matter.

A growl next to your ear breaks you from your recollection. “He’s undressing you with his perverted eyes. I should have gutted him like a fish as soon as he showed his depraved interest in you.”

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at the hint of jealousy lacing his tone. Or is it possessiveness? Either way, it’s nice to be coveted. 

“Baby, look at me,” you coo. He pulls his menacing gaze away from Bennett. His eyes soften immediately when they meet yours. “It’s okay. I told you, if he ever crosses a line, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, kissing your cheek, “but I will not be responsible for my actions if he does.”

“I know. I’ll be first in line to watch you beat his ass.” His eyes darken at the possibility.

***

Dinner concludes and Victor rises from his seat to head to the podium to give his awaited speech. Before he can get very far, you snag his jacket sleeve and tug him down to you. His left arm remains on the back of your chair while his right leans on the table in front of you, caging you in. “Yes, love?”

“Good luck.” You kiss his cold cheek reassuringly. “Remember—” You discreetly point to Dr. Richardson, relaying your message from this afternoon. 

Your smile widens when Victor chuckles darkly. “Thank you kindly for the reminder.”

He raises to his full height, all dark and formidable, and takes slow, deliberate steps to the stage. You can tell he’s still a bit nervous, but his gate is steady, his shoulders squared. You watch as every single pair of attending eyes follows him across the room. 

When he stands at the microphone, he shuffles in his jacket pocket for his glasses. They’re wire-framed and circular, and he looks so fucking cute, if such a word could be associated with him. Between his tux and the frames sitting low on his nose, he looks swoon-worthy. 

Victor adjusts the microphone and his polished voice reaches your ears. “To my honored guests and colleagues, I welcome you…” 

***

You’re the first one to stand and start clapping when the speech ends. The room follows with a standing ovation. He did wonderfully. He was articulate, sophisticated, and even threw in some jokes. He must have kept them out of his practice read earlier in the day. You were smiling the whole time. Victor’s eyes briefly met yours a few times during the speech and it made you feel special, like you were in on a secret. You gave him a thumbs up once which had earned you a smirk. 

He thanks the crowd and exits the stage to benefactors and sponsors waiting to shake his hand and congratulate him. You watch the interactions and feel such an intense ache of love in your chest, it’s suddenly hard to breathe. You’re so proud of him.

The MC announces the dance floor is now open and welcomes people to transition to the space for a more relaxed, social atmosphere. You’ve been looking forward to this part. You want to slow dance with your man, goddamnit. It’s one of your favorite things about Victor. He always puts on a record and asks in that sultry voice to join him. It’s kind of your thing together. You won’t be entertaining any other suitors if they decide to proposition you tonight. 

Victor is heavily engaged with a man from a prominent pharmaceutical company, so you accept the idea that you’ll have to wait. Which is fine with you, anything to rest your tender feet in these heels before dancing. Before you can lower yourself to your chair, a sweaty palm lands on your shoulder. Revulsion passes through you, knowing who it is at once. 

Mitchell comes into view with a leer on his face, less friendly and more predatory than you’ve ever seen him. The smell of alcohol on his breath tells you why. Of course he’s fucking drunk.

“Ah, Chairman,” you grimace, trying and failing to hide you disdain. “How nice it is to see you again.”

He misses the sarcasm in your voice or chooses to ignore it. “Please, call me Mitchell,” he slurs, “You’ve been working here for over a year and a half. I think we’ve moved past formalities, don’t you?”

His hand hasn’t left your shoulder. You try to shrug off the touch with a flick of your head, clearing your throat, but his grip only tightens. Read the fucking room, pal.

Your eyes narrow to slits as you grab his other hand, mimicking a handshake. His hand is the same size as yours and limp, so different from the man you know and love. You squeeze his knuckles and grind the bones together harshly, making him wince. 

“Think carefully about where and how you lay your hands on me, Bennett. I’d hate for you to suffer the consequences of your own actions,” you say in mock sympathy. 

Silence stretches between you two, your grip on his hand only getting stronger and more severe. A warning. The hand on your shoulder slips off.

Loud, thunderous footfalls sound behind him, stopping at his back. His eyes go comically wide, terror twisting his features. For a second, you think he’s going to wet himself. Enormous, scaled hands clap on the tops of his shoulders, making Bennett startle. He drops your hand in a flash like he’s been burned.

You lock eyes with Victor. His head is two feet above the chairman’s, and he looks positively murderous. His eyes never leave yours as he bends down to whisper in Mitchell’s ear. 

“Bennett, I see the concept of consent is a difficult one for you to grasp, so let me be perfectly clear. If you ever speak to, look at, or touch my woman again, I will kill you.”

Victor clutches the back of the chairman’s neck and lifts him ever so slightly, not enough to draw attention, but enough for the toe’s of Bennett’s shoes to scrape the floor. 

“And also, I expect your resignation on my desk by Monday morning. If I see you once more tonight, you’ll regret it. Now, be a good little boy and run along.”

He shoves Bennett away which causes the man to stumble into a table clumsily. 

Some curious glances move your way, but it seems most people assume the chairman is only drunk. He practically runs to the exit of the care center, pushing through the doors frantically and out of sight. After he’s gone, the tension drains from your body.

Victor’s staring down at you with a mix of fury and concern. He tenderly grabs your chin and says, “Are you alright?”

You nod. A deviously, satisfied smile lights up your face. “Director Gideon, you better dance with me soon before I drop to my knees in front of all these fine patrons and put on a show.”

His chin drops to his chest, a sigh of relief leaving him in a huff. When he lifts his head, his smile matches yours. He removes his hand from your face and lifts it in front of you, palm up. A new song has started playing. “May I have this dance?”

You take his hand, elated to finally have what you wanted all night. And with no interruptions. On the dance floor, Victor bows theatrically and pulls you into his embrace. 

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” you say. “Although, if you came any later, I would have broken his wrist.” 

“As thrilling as that may have been, I’m very happy with the outcome.”

He twirls you effortlessly and you fall back into step with him. 

“I’ll help you find someone new to fill his role. It’s my fault he’s gone anyway. I’m sorry it’s going to cause such a headache.” Now that the adrenaline has worn off, guilt sinks like a stone in your stomach.

Victor’s hold on you tightens a fraction. “You are not at fault here. Do not apologize for him. He is easily replaceable.” 

He dips you without warning, making you cling to his neck with a girlish squeal. You know he’s trying to distract you and it’s working. As you hang there in his arms feeling weightless, you giggle and nuzzle his face. 

“You were amazing up there by the way,” you whisper. “I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

“And I couldn’t stop looking at you. You have a way of grounding me. It means everything. My love for you knows no bounds.”

Your lip begins to tremble at the sudden wave of emotion from his words. You’re at a loss, and the only way to answer is to kiss him passionately. He straightens with you in his arms, your feet dangling in the air. The corners of your mouth lift against his lips, knowing he’s making sure every single person in this room notices.

Victor delicately places you back on your feet. You pull back and rest your chin in between his pecs, wrapping your arms around his big body. Your fingertips barely touch at the small of his back. The song comes to end, the melody ending on a wispy note that makes you feel like you’re floating. 

Some donors from the nearby hospital are mingling on the edge of the dance floor, eager to talk to the Victor. They had been lifting they’re hands throughout your last dance, trying to catch his attention and beckon him over. He’s purposely ignoring them you think.

One of them is bold enough to saddle up next to your intimate embrace and ask, “May I interrupt? I’d like to discuss some opportunities with Dr. Gideon.”

Without looking over at the intruder, you clarify, “It’s okay. Go.”

Victor doesn’t take his eyes off of you. He swallows thickly, determination is his eyes.

“I’m sorry my good man,” he apologizes, keeping his attention on you, “but I owe the lady one more dance before the evening is over. You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid.”

The donor seems stunned, but ultimately leaves the two of you alone once more.

“Victor, that was probably very important. I’ll be fine, really.”

“You are very important. They can exercise some patience. I want one more song with you.”

With that, he leads you into the next dance, and you think you’ve never felt happier than in that moment.

***

The terrace of the care center is thankfully empty when you make your way out the side doors. It’s lined with stone benches and ornate planters. The various flowers and small trees make the area welcoming under the moonlight. The night is slightly chilled, but in your gown, it’s enough to keep you warm. 

After your second dance with Victor, he returned to working the room with the many sponsors left at the ball. You had needed some air, your thoughts and feelings consuming your mind all night making you unsteady. Your mind shifts to the past six months. 

The meteor shower that was your first date. The afternoon in Victor’s office when you first told him you loved him. The first night you made love and stayed at his home. It all comes to the forefront of your mind. You are truly, madly, deeply, in love with this man. You smile to yourself and stare up at the moon. 

You turn and peer through the windows to spot Victor sitting at a table with a group of people, shaking the hand of an older woman whose speaking enthusiastically. It appears he just made a very good deal, the grin on his face giving him away. 

The ball has cleared out by now, the event nearly over. Everyone stands from the table, exchanging what looks like pleasant goodbyes, as they all stroll to the exit. 

Victor waves to them and once they’re out a view, his shoulders drop in relaxation. He pulls a hand through his hair and adjusts his jacket and tie. You rarely get the chance to observe him, so when he spins around to look for you, you let him search. 

You’re laughing, somewhat hysterically, as confusion etches his face at not being able to locate you. He’s like a helicopter, always aware of your whereabouts, but from all the interference tonight, he’s stumped. Your joyous sounds must find his ears through the glass, because he finally sees you outside. You give him a vulgar gesture. His eyes flash in challenge. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, pushing through the doors with purpose, “but this area is off limits. If you don’t vacate the premises, you’ll have to be forcibly removed.” 

“Hey,” you reply, holding up your hands in surrender, “You don’t have to tell me twice. I know where I’m not wanted.” You twirl on your heels and stride away at a brisk pace.

Victor is on you in two seconds flat. You scream when he lifts you into a bridal carry, chuckling at your incredulous expression. He begins the trek back to his house on the property, and there’s no indication he’s going to put you down. 

“You’re way too fast for such a big man,” you pout. 

“One of my strides is three of yours, that’s all.”

“True,” you agree with a giggle. “So, how do you think it went tonight?”

His brow bone waggles and he gives you a lopsided grin. “It’s not over yet.”

***

Once you’re inside his house, Victor takes you straight to his bedroom. When he puts you down, the stare that you share lasts only a few seconds before you launch at each other. The tension snaps and it’s all sharp teeth and clawing hands and pulling hair. Clothes are being hurriedly yanked off and thrown haphazardly around the room. You’re dragging your nails down his chest and his forked tongue is invading your mouth and the air is so thick with need, you can almost smell it.

You reach down to remove your heels when Victor stops the movement. “Keep those on.”

His pupils are black and his sclerae are blood red, all of the yellow of his irises swallowed by desire. If you were anyone else, his appearance would frighten you, but all it does is bring something primal out of you. 

Victor grasps your hips tightly, and spins you so your back hits his solid chest. His skin is cold, sending a shiver down your spine. You’re bending now, over the small desk in the room guided by his colossal hand. He pushes you until you’re flush with the wood, your hard nipples brushing the smooth surface. You let out a low hiss at the sensation. The position is exceptionally provocative with your ass up in the air and the heels giving you an unnatural height.

“Victor, what are you—” Your words die in your throat when you feel his tongue lick you from your clit all the way to your puckered hole. A surprised moan tears through you at the feeling when he spreads you open further with his hands on your ass. 

“You’re beautiful,” he hisses. “So fucking beautiful. Look at you, already so wet for me.”

His words have you a whimpering mess in no time. His tongue slides around your clit, cradling it and circling it fervently. He’s feasting on you like a man starved and when his tongue enters you, it has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

The calloused pad of his finger flicks your clit and you see stars. You come in shattering fragments, feeling like your exploding from the inside out. The pulses wash through, clenching over and over and over. He’s coaxing you through it, thrusting his tongue teasingly in and out of your pussy. Tears stream down your face and onto the desk. 

“Okay, okay, it’s t-too much,” you plead, nudging his head away with your hand. 

Victor trails wet kisses up your back lovingly all the way up to your ear. “Was that alright?”

You nod your head with a pleased hum. 

“Let me fuck you like this. Please.”

It’ll be a new position for you, mostly because of the logistics and angle, but you’re so turned on and not thinking straight, that you’re sure it won’t be a problem. You vigorously nod your head again. 

A soft chuckle sounds from above. “That’s my girl.”

You hear the click of Victor’s belt buckle and some shuffling, then his huge cock prods your entrance. The flared head slides into your core, making both of you moan. He gradually surges forward and stretches you, his cock halfway inside already. There’s no pain, just a slight pressure, and you push back to fully sheath him inside of you. A surprised grunt escapes him, tipping him forward. 

“Holy fucking shit,” you whimper. “You feel incredible.”

His thumbs massage your lower back as he pulls away and moves forward with an experimental thrust. It’s quite literally ecstasy and your cry of pleasure has Victor growling. He starts fucking you in earnest, knowing you adjusted quickly. 

“You’re taking me so well in this position,” he pants hungrily. “I knew you could.”

The sounds from your wet pussy and his balls slapping your clit are so obscene, you feel your orgasm building in you again. His girth and length always hit those delicious places inside your walls, but something about this angle has you spasming faster than normal. 

“Oh fuck, I’m coming, I’m—” The words are barely out of your mouth before your release cuts through you, blossoming along your spine from your belly to your toes. 

Victor’s thrust are erratic and stutter when you fiercely clench around him, nearly bringing him to his knees. He’s muttering under his breath, words like goddess and divine and perfect spilling from his lips.

He falls over the edge, coming inside you with a loud roar. His elbows hit the desk, rattling the top of it. It groans under his weight and yours, but you can’t find it in you to care if it collapses. You’re both breathing heavily while he kisses your temple. You stay like that for some time, enjoying the quiet moment after.

***

Naked and content, you and Victor lay in his silk sheets, him propped up by some pillows and you snuggled in the crook of his arm, your head on his shoulder. You’re tracing the inside of his large palm with your fingertips and compare your hand to his. He laces his fingers with yours, the touch tender and sweet.

He clears his throat, so you tip back your head to eye him. “I have…a proposition for you, if you’re interested in hearing it.”

You sit up because of the seriousness of his tone. “Oh,” you murmur, “okay, what is it?”

“These past six months have been the happiest of my life.” His voice is low, hushed. “And it’s because of you. I don’t want to spend another minute in your absence. So—”

He reaches in the nightstand’s top drawer and pulls out a small, silver key. He holds it out to you with a shaky hand. 

“—I’d like you to move in with me. I don’t want this to just be my home any longer, I want it to be ours. What do you say?”

You stare down at the tiny piece of metal, and everything it means. You smile shyly and look into his expectant eyes. Your answer is easy, immediate, three little meaningful letters.

You scrambled for your phone, your heart pounding. You scrolled through your contacts until you found Chloe's name and hit dial, your fingers trembling with a strange mix of excitement and dread.

"Hello?" Chloe's voice answered, bright and cheerful.

"Chloe! Oh my god, I need your help," you blurted out, your words tumbling over each other. "Right now. It's an emergency."

"Whoa, slow down. Is everything okay? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I think," you said, pacing your small living room. "I have a... date. Tonight. In like, two hours. And it's at a club. And I have no idea what to wear! I've never been to a real club before, Chloe, I'm going to look like an idiot!"

There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a squeal of pure, unadulterated excitement. "A DATE?! At a CLUB?! Spill! Right now! Who is this mystery man?"

"It's... complicated," you said, wincing, deliberately sidestepping the question. You couldn't bring yourself to mention the money. It felt too sordid, too transactional.

"I'll explain everything later, I promise. But right now, I'm in crisis. I need to find a dress and shoes that say 'I belong here' without screaming 'I'm a total fraud.' I have a little bit of money saved up, so I can make it work."

"Okay, okay, we can work with that," Chloe declared, her voice full of purpose. "I'm on my way. I'm leaving my apartment right now. Where are you going? What's the vibe?"

"I don't know! He didn't say. He's not exactly... the club type. He's very serious. Very... intense."

"Okay, so we need something that's sexy but sophisticated. Alluring but not trying too hard. We can do this," Chloe said confidently. "I'll be at your place in fifteen minutes. We'll hit that little boutique on 5th street, the one with the killer return policy. We'll find you a dress. We'll find you shoes. We'll find you a life. Now go shave your legs and put on some real underwear. This is not a drill."

The line went dead. You stood in the middle of your living room, a whirlwind of panic and exhilaration coursing through you. You looked at the clock. Nine o'clock. You had less than two hours. You were going to a club with Victor Gideon. And you were going to look like you belonged there. You were no longer just a nursing student. You were a woman on a mission. And you were about to get ready for war

True to her word, Chloe was banging on your door fourteen minutes later, a whirlwind of frantic energy and fashion emergency. She took one look at you still in your worn-out t-shirt and pajama pants, your face pale with panic and grabbed you by the shoulders.

"Okay, Operation: Don't Look Like a Newbie is a go," she declared, steering you toward your bedroom. "We have ninety-seven minutes. Let's move, move, move!"

The next hour was a blur of controlled chaos. You rifled through your closet, pulling out every dress you owned, which was a grand total of three. Chloe summarily rejected all of them. "No, no, and hell no," she said, tossing a black funeral dress and a faded floral sundress onto your bed. "We need something that says 'mysterious and alluring,' not 'I'm going to my aunt's book club.'"

"We have to go shopping," you said, your voice trembling with a new kind of dread. "I have two hundred dollars."

Chloe's eyes widened. "Two hundred? For one dress? Girl, who is this guy?" She didn't wait for an answer, already pulling you out the door. "We're going to 'Envy,' the boutique on 5th. Let's go!"

The boutique was a small, curated space filled with clothes that looked like they belonged on magazine covers. You felt instantly out of place, but Chloe was in her element. As you scanned the racks, a specific image flashed in your mind Confident, untouchable, dressed in a way that was both a shield and a weapon. It was a perfect armor for tonight.

"Chloe, over there," you said, pointing to a rack of darker, more daring pieces.

Your eyes landed on it immediately. It wasn't a little black dress; it was a *statement* black dress. Made of a sleek, liquid-like material with a subtle shine, it had a halter neckline that tied behind your neck, leaving your shoulders and upper back completely bare. The skirt was cut high on the thigh, a daring slit that promised movement and danger. It was audacious. It was perfect.

"Oh, honey," Chloe breathed, her eyes wide. "That's the one. That's the 'don't mess with me' dress."

You tried it on, and the transformation was instant. The fabric clung to you like a second skin, the halter neckline making you feel elegant yet exposed. You paired it with a pair of black, pointed-toe stilettos you found on the sale rack. The total was just under your budget, a small miracle.

Back at your apartment with thirty minutes to spare, the real work began. You did your hair, taking your time making it perfect. Then came the makeup. You weren't just highlighting your features this time; you were creating a look. You went for a sharp, winged eyeliner, the wings so sharp they could cut glass.

You added a shimmering, iridescent highlighter to the high points of your face cheekbones, brow bone, the tip of your nose. You finished with a glossy, nude lip. The effect was dramatic, almost intimidating. You looked in the mirror, and you didn't recognize the woman staring back at you. She was a stranger, a beautiful, confident stranger who was about to go on a date with a man who owned her.

At 8:55, Chloe helped you with the final touches. "You look incredible," she said, her voice filled with awe. "Like, seriously. He's not going to know what hit him."

At 9:00 on the dot, your phone buzzed. *The car is downstairs.*

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding. You looked at Chloe, who gave you a reassuring smile. "You've got this," she said. "Go in there and be the mysterious, alluring woman you are."

"The attire is... acceptable," he finally said, his voice a low, rumble. "It is an improvement."

You wanted to scream. To laugh. To say something, anything, to shatter the cold, clinical facade. But you didn't. You just gave a small, tight smile and said, "I'm glad you approve."

The club was a fortress of concrete and steel, a nondescript building with a single, imposing black door. A burly bouncer nodded at Victor, and you were ushered inside, the heavy thumping of the bass a physical force that vibrated through your chest.

The interior was a study in controlled chaos. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and alcohol. The lights were low and strobing, painting the writhing bodies on the dance floor in flashes of neon blue and electric purple. It was loud, chaotic, and utterly overwhelming.

Victor moved through the crowd with an effortless grace, his towering height cutting a path through the sea of people. He led you toward a VIP section, a raised platform with plush velvet booths and a clear view of the entire club.

Zeno was already there, flanked by two women who were the very definition of club chic. A stunning blonde with a sharp, intelligent smile and a sleek brunette with an air of quiet confidence. They were laughing, their heads close together, their hands draped casually over Zeno's arms.

"Victor! My friend!" Zeno boomed, his voice cutting through the din. "I can't believe you actually left your lab. And you brought someone!" He grinned, his eyes sparkling as they landed on you. "So this is her. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, (Y/N). I was beginning to think you were a myth."

He gestured to the women beside him. "These are my associates, Amber and Chanel. Girls, this is the infamous (Y/N) I told you about."

The blonde, Amber, gave you a genuine, friendly smile. "It's great to finally meet you. Zeno's been cagey about you."

The brunette, Chanel, nodded in agreement, her eyes appraising but not dismissive. "You look incredible. That dress is perfect."

The atmosphere was a world away from anything you knew. You felt a surge of panic, a sudden, overwhelming feeling of being completely out of your element. These people were predators, sleek and confident in their habitat. You were just... a girl in a dress.

"Zeno," Victor said, his voice a low warning.

"Relax, I'm just making introductions," Zeno said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Can I get you two a drink? Champagne? Or something stronger?"

The question hung in the air. You saw the polished glasses, the flutes of champagne Zeno and his companions were drinking. That wasn't you. You needed something else. Something to take the edge off, to silence the screaming voice in your head that told you you didn't belong. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, an impulse driven by pure, raw nerves.

"Tequila shots," you said, your voice a little too loud, a little too eager. "For both of us."

Zeno's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Victor's gaze snapped to you, a flicker of something unreadable in his golden eyes. You met his stare, a silent challenge passing between you, your heart hammering against your ribs. What had you just done?

"Make it five," Zeno said, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "I love this girl already."

You slid into the booth, the velvet soft against your bare skin. Victor sat beside you, his presence a solid, imposing weight. A waitress appeared with a tray of shot glasses filled with a clear, potent liquid. You picked one up, your hands trembling slightly.

"To new experiences," you said, your voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music, trying to sound braver than you felt.

You threw back the shot, the tequila a sharp, welcome burn that scorched a path down your throat and settled in your stomach, a warm, liquid courage. You slammed the glass down on the table, your eyes watering slightly. Victor watched you, his expression unreadable, then slowly picked up his own glass and drained it in a single, fluid motion. He didn't even flinch.

"So, (Y/N)," Zeno said, leaning forward. "Victor tells me you're a nursing student. That's admirable. Saving lives and all that. Much more noble than whatever it is he does."

"I do what I can," you said, your voice a little looser, the tequila already working its magic.

"And how are you finding our... arrangement?" Zeno asked, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp and probing. "Is he treating you well? Is he taking care of you?"

"Zeno," Victor said again, his voice a low growl.

"What? I'm just making small talk," Zeno said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "It's what people do at clubs, Victor. They talk. They get to know each other. They have fun….They dance"

You looked at Victor, at his stiff, unyielding posture, at the cold, distant look in his eyes. He was a king in his castle, but he was also a prisoner of his own making. He was in his element, but he was also utterly, completely alone. And in that moment, you felt a strange, unexpected pang of something that felt a lot like pity.

You reached over and placed your hand on his arm, your fingers tracing the hard, tensed muscle of his bicep. He flinched, his golden eyes widening in surprise.

"He's been very generous," you said, your voice soft, but your eyes locked on Zeno's. "He's a very... interesting man."

Zeno's grin widened. "Oh, I'm sure he is." He leaned back, his eyes dancing with triumph. He had won. He had forced Victor out of his shell, and he had brought you along for the ride. And as you looked at the two of them, the charming, manipulative Zeno and the cold, calculating Victor, you realized that you were in the middle of a game, a dangerous, high-stakes game of power and control.

And you were no longer just a pawn. You were a player. And you were just beginning to learn how to play.

The second round of tequila shots arrived, and this time, you didn't hesitate. The liquid fire was becoming a familiar, welcome friend, dulling the sharp edges of your anxiety and replacing them with a warm, buzzing confidence.

You could feel the tension in your shoulders begin to melt away, the relentless thumping of the club's bass syncing with the rhythm of your heart.

Victor, beside you, remained a stoic statue, but you noticed a subtle shift. The hard line of his jaw seemed less severe, and the cold distance in his golden eyes had softened into a more watchful, contemplative state. He was observing you, a scientist monitoring his subject's reaction to a new stimulus.

"So, (Y/N)," Amber said, leaning across Zeno to be heard over the music. "Zeno mentioned you're a nursing student. What's your specialty?"

You took a sip of the water the waitress had thoughtfully provided, a small act of self-preservation. "I'm still in my general rotations, but I'm really interested in pediatric oncology."

Chanel's eyebrows rose in genuine interest. "That's... intense. Good for you. That takes a special kind of strength."

You shrugged, a sudden, bold confidence surging through you. "It's what I know. My dad's been at St. Jude's for a while now. It feels... right, to try and help other people going through the same thing."

You felt Victor's gaze sharpen on you. This was new information, a personal detail you hadn't included in your official report. You saw his fingers twitch slightly on his thigh, a microscopic tell that he was processing this new data.

"See, Victor?" Zeno chimed in, clapping him on the shoulder. "She's not just a pretty face. She's got a heart. You should try it sometime."

Victor didn't respond to Zeno. Instead, he turned to you, his voice a low rumble that you could now feel vibrating through your own bones. "The allocation of funds for your father's care is... a logical expenditure. A necessary one."

It was the closest he could get to saying something kind, and a small, triumphant smile touched your lips. "I'm glad you think so," you said, your voice a little lower, a little more intimate.

The waitress appeared with another tray of shots. This time, Victor was the one who held up a hand, indicating two for you and two for him. Zeno whooped with delight, and Amber and Chanel exchanged a look of stunned amusement.

You clinked your small glass against his, the sound a delicate chime in the cacophony of the club. "To necessary expenditures," you whispered, your eyes locked on his.

He threw back the shot, his throat working as he swallowed. You did the same, the tequila now a smooth, familiar burn. You were starting to feel the effects, a pleasant, floating sensation that made the strobing lights seem like a beautiful, swirling painting.

"Alright, that's enough talk in the corner," Zeno declared, slapping his hands on the table. He stood up, grabbing Amber's hand and then Chanel's. "We're dancing. You two," he said, pointing a finger at Victor and then you, "are next. Don't make me come back here."

He pulled a laughing Amber and a smiling Chanel toward the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor, leaving you and Victor in a sudden, charged silence.

Victor watched them go, his expression unreadable. Then, he turned to you, his golden eyes seeming darker in the dim light. He didn't say a word. He simply stood, his height a silent, unyielding command, and held out a hand to you. His long, pale fingers were a stark contrast against the dark velvet of the couch.

You placed your hand in his, his grip firm and surprisingly warm. He led you onto the dance floor, the crowd parting for him as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea.

He pulled you close, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. He didn't dance like Zeno, who was a chaotic, enthusiastic mess of limbs. Victor moved with a slow, deliberate grace, his body a solid, unyielding presence against yours. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He was just... existing. And you were existing with him.

"You look... different," he said, his lips close to your ear, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "In this dress."

"Different good or different bad?" you asked, your head swimming with the tequila and the proximity of him.

"Different... efficient," he said, his hand tightening slightly on your back. "The fabric is... optimal for this environment. It allows for a full range of motion."

You couldn't help but laugh, a real, genuine laugh that bubbled up from your chest. "Only you would describe a club dress as 'optimal for motion,' Dr. Gideon."

He looked down at you, a flicker of something new in his golden eyes. It wasn't cold or analytical. It was... curious. A hint of a smile touched the corner of his lips. "Victor," he said, his voice a low, rough correction. "Call me Victor."

Your heart skipped a beat. Victor. Not Dr. Gideon. Not sir. Victor. It was a crack in the facade, a glimpse of the man behind the mask. And it was the most intoxicating thing you had ever felt.

You leaned in closer, your bodies moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. "Victor," you whispered, his name a secret, a promise on your lips. He didn't say anything else, but you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. You were no longer just an asset on his arm. You were a woman in his arms. And as the music washed over you, you knew, with a certainty that thrilled and terrified you, that this was just the beginning.

The music faded into a distant, rhythmic pulse as the car glided through the sleeping city. The tequila had left a warm, pleasant haze in its wake, softening the sharp edges of reality and wrapping the two of you in a bubble of intimate silence. You were still buzzing from the dance floor, from the feel of his hands on your back, from the low, rough sound of him saying his name.

He was watching you again, but this time it was different. The clinical assessment was gone, replaced by a deeper, more focused curiosity. He was no longer just observing an asset he was studying a person.

"You were... unexpected tonight," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the quiet car.

"Unexpected how?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

"You were... strategic. The tequila was an impulse, but it served a purpose. It lowered inhibitions. It facilitated a more... authentic interaction." He paused, his golden eyes searching yours. "It was an effective tactic."

You couldn't help but smile. "You say 'tactic' like I'm planning a military operation. I was just nervous."

"Nervousness is an inefficient response to a controllable environment," he said, his brow furrowing slightly. "But the outcome was... favorable. The data was more... nuanced."

The car pulled up to your building, the engine a low hum. He didn't tell the driver to wait. He got out of the car, his long frame unfolding with an easy grace. He opened your door for you, a gesture that was so unexpectedly gentlemanly it made your heart ache.

"I'll walk you up," he said, his tone a statement, not a question.

You didn't argue. You led him up the familiar stairs, your hand brushing against the cool metal of the railing. You could feel his presence behind you, a solid, imposing shadow that made the small space feel charged with electricity.

You fumbled with your keys, your hands trembling slightly. He just waited, his patience a silent, steady force. You finally got the door open and stepped inside, flipping on the light. It was a small, cramped space, a stark contrast to the opulent world he inhabited. He filled it completely, his height making the low ceiling seem even lower.

"Would you... like a glass of water?" you asked, your voice a little shaky.

"No," he said, his eyes scanning your small apartment, taking in the stack of nursing textbooks on your coffee table, the family photos on your wall, the worn-out couch. He was gathering data, building a more complete picture of you.

You stood there, in the middle of your living room, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The little black dress dress felt like a costume, a fragile shield against the raw reality of your life. He looked at you, his gaze a physical touch, a slow, deliberate sweep that made your skin tingle.

You took a breath, the tequila-fueled courage giving you the push you needed. "Victor," you started, your voice barely a whisper. "Tonight was... fun. But I want more than that."

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Define 'more.'"

"I want to get to know you," you said, your heart pounding against your ribs. "Not Dr. Gideon, the brilliant medical researcher. Not the man who speaks in data and probabilities. I want to know you. The man behind the... the terminology and the smarts. What do you like? What do you do when you're not in the lab? Do you have a favorite food? A favorite song? Anything?"

You saw a flicker of something in his golden eyes, a brief, almost imperceptible crack in his carefully constructed facade. It was a flicker of panic, of vulnerability. He was a god in his laboratory, but here, in your small, messy apartment, he was just a man. And you were asking him to be human.

He took a step toward you, closing the small distance between you. He reached out and his fingers brushed against the strap of your halter top, his touch a light, electric spark against your skin. He slowly untied the knot, the fabric falling away to pool around your waist. You stood there, topless, your heart pounding against your ribs.

He didn't touch you again. He just looked, his golden eyes a slow, deliberate appraisal that made you feel like the most beautiful, most desired woman in the world. He was seeing you, really seeing you, not as an asset, not as a project, but as a woman.

"Victor," you whispered, his name a desperate, needy prayer.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours, a breath away. You could feel the warmth of his mouth, the cool, clean scent of his skin. It was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had been dreaming of. You closed your eyes, your lips parting in anticipation.

And then... nothing.

You opened your eyes. He was still there, his face just inches from yours, but his eyes were closed. A look of intense concentration, of internal struggle, was etched on his features. He was fighting a war with himself, a battle between the man and the machine.

"I... cannot," he whispered, his voice a raw, broken sound.

He pulled back, his expression a mask of cold, distant control. The wall was back up, higher and thicker than before. He had retreated into his fortress of logic and reason, leaving you alone and exposed.

"I should go," he said, his voice a low, flat rumble.