⚠️ CONTENT WARNING ⚠️
MATURE READERS ONLY (18+)
Anissa sat on the cold concrete stairs outside her dorm, the night air sharp against her skin. Her bag rested heavy beside her—the flash drive from Tanya buried deep inside, a ticking bomb of evidence. She stared at her phone, the screen lighting her tired face.
STEVEN:
Tonight. Two rounds. No attitude.
She swallowed hard, throat dry. The words blurred for a second. Then she stood, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked into the darkness without looking back.
The drive to Steven's mansion was silent, the driver's eyes fixed on the road. Anissa stared out the tinted window, city lights streaking past like running paint.
Inside the bedroom, soft jazz hummed low from hidden speakers. Dim amber lights cast long shadows across silk sheets. Steven lounged against the headboard, shirtless, a crystal glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
"You're late," he said, voice calm but edged.
"Traffic."
He studied her for a beat, then crooked a finger. "Come here."
Anissa hesitated in the doorway, heart pounding.
Steven's voice softened—just enough to disarm. "You don't run from me, little girl. Not anymore. Not when you're carrying my legacy."
He rose slowly, crossing the room like a predator who knew the prey wouldn't bolt. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip with deceptive gentleness.
"Take your clothes off."
This time, she obeyed without protest. But he didn't rip or demand. He undressed her himself—slow, deliberate, like unwrapping something priceless and fragile. Fingers trailed over her collarbone, down the curve of her breast, across the faint swell of her stomach that only he seemed to notice.
"You belong to me," he murmured against her ear, lips grazing skin. "Every inch. Every breath."
He lifted her effortlessly, laying her on the bed like an offering. Then he moved over her—slow, possessive, eyes never leaving hers.
His kisses were deep, unhurried—mouth claiming hers, tongue stroking in a rhythm that made her head spin. Hands mapped her body with firm certainty: palms sliding over her breasts, thumbs teasing nipples to aching peaks, fingers tracing the line of her hip before parting her thighs.
Anissa's breath hitched as he settled between them, the thick heat of him pressing against her entrance. He entered her inch by inch—slow, deliberate, letting her feel every stretch, every pulse. When he was fully inside, he stilled, forehead pressed to hers.
"Feel that?" he whispered. "That's where you were made for me."
Then he began to move—long, deep strokes that built a fire low in her belly. His hand slipped between them, thumb circling her clit in perfect sync. Pleasure coiled tight, unwanted but undeniable.
This wasn't mercy, she thought, even as her back arched. It was ownership.
He flipped her gently onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, entering her again from behind. One hand splayed across her stomach—protective, possessive—while the other tangled in her hair, guiding her rhythm.
Their breaths synced. Skin slick with sweat. Every thrust a silent vow she never agreed to.
She came first—shattered around him with a cry she couldn't hold back, walls clenching hard. Steven followed moments later, burying deep, groaning low as he spilled inside her, pulse after pulse, marking her in the most primal way.
Afterward, they lay tangled in silence. His hand rested on her stomach, thumb tracing lazy circles over the skin.
"I want this baby," he said quietly, voice rough with something that almost sounded like wonder. "And I want you exactly where I put you."
Anissa's heart stuttered. "And if I say no?"
His smile was dark, slow. "Then I'll bury everyone you love. Starting with that sweet little sister of yours. And you'll watch."
The threat hung heavy, colder than the sheets.
Later, in the en-suite bathroom, Anissa stared at her reflection under harsh light. Faint bite marks on her neck. Bruises blooming on her hips like fingerprints. A war raged in her eyes—fear, fury, resolve.
I can't run.
But I can fight.*
She reached under her discarded bra, fingers closing around the tiny recording device Tanya had given her. The light blinked steady green.
Still recording.
Across town, in a dimly lit hotel bar, Ronnie nursed a whiskey alone. Nelly approached, face etched with guilt and exhaustion.
"I can't do this anymore," she said, voice shaking.
Ronnie's smirk was immediate. "You don't get to back out now, baby girl. Not after last time."
He gripped her wrist hard enough to bruise. She yanked free with a hiss.
"I'm done."
She stormed out, leaving him staring after her with cold calculation.
Outside Steven's mansion, under the cover of night, Tanya leaned against her sleek car, cigarette glowing between her fingers. She watched the lit windows high above, eyes narrowed.
Play your games, Derulo.
I've already started mine.
She pulled out her phone.
TEXT TO ANISSA:
We need to finish this.
Dawn crept gray and tired over campus. Anissa slipped back into her dorm, body aching, marks hidden under her hoodie. She collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed.
BANK NOTIFICATION: $12,000,000 RECEIVED
She didn't even flinch.
Just reached into her bag, pulled out the flash drive and the tiny recorder.
Plugged them both into her laptop.
The files loaded—evidence, confessions, threats.
Anissa's voice was steady for the first time in months.
"It's time."
To be continued…