**Chapter 15 – The Prize Dinner (Part 1)**

**Chapter 15 – The Prize Dinner (Part 1)**

Saturday night the house smelled like the perfect dinner: medium-rare tenderloin, confit potatoes, and a red wine reduction that Chris had simmered for nearly an hour. Everything was ready. The living-room lights dimmed to the minimum, the dining table pushed aside to create space, and in the master bedroom, two low coffee tables with short legs placed on top of the mattress like luxury trays. Next to them, a side table with an open bottle of Rioja Reserva, two glasses, and scented candles. The light was soft, warm, almost intimate. Too intimate.

Chris was drying his hands on the apron when he heard the soft click of heels down the hallway.

Adriana appeared in the bedroom doorway.

The plate Chris was holding slipped from his hands and shattered against the floor with a dry crash.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, automatically crouching to pick up the pieces.

Adriana let out a crystalline, low laugh full of satisfaction.

She looked spectacular. Bubblegum-pink lace bra and panties with orange details, thigh-high stockings in the same pink-and-orange shade, and matching high heels that made her legs look endless. Everything coordinated. Everything… almost nothing.

“Honey…” Chris stood up slowly, voice breaking. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be like this for dinner. Tell me you’re missing something on top.”

Adriana turned slowly on herself, letting the dim light caress her skin. The lace barely covered what it needed to.

“It’s for comfort, love. We’re at home and I’m going to eat in bed, so… what could be better than this?” She ran her hands over her hips and smiled wickedly. “Do you like it? Well, from your face and the way the plate just fell… I can see you love it. Haha.”

Chris swallowed hard. His body reacted before his brain could catch up.

“Come on,” she ordered sweetly, “take two photos for the chat. Quick, Malik’s about to arrive.”

“Like this?” Chris murmured, almost voiceless. “Or should I say… undressed?”

“For God’s sake, Chris, don’t be so provincial…” Adriana rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. “They’re just motivational photos. Come on.”

With trembling hands, Chris raised his phone. The first photo: Adriana standing, arms sensually raised above her head, chest thrust forward, eyes locked on the camera. The second… crawling on the bed with her back arched, ass up, pink stockings gleaming under the dim light. The phone nearly slipped from his hands during that second shot.

“Good, they turned out perfect,” Adriana said, satisfied, checking the images over his shoulder. “Now send them to the chat with the exact phrase: ‘The prize is ready.’”

“God, Adri… I don’t know if…”

Adriana stepped closer. Her perfume enveloped him.

“Look, Chris. If we don’t start acting like adults, trusting and obeying… I’d rather you go to your room right now and leave us in peace. Your choice.”

Chris felt the heat rising up his neck. He lowered his gaze.

“You’re… you’re right, of course… I’ll post them right now, honey.”

He opened the “Elite Account Management” chat with fingers that barely obeyed.

**Chris C.:** The prize is ready.

(Attached the two photos)

**The group exploded in less than ten seconds.**

**Mark L.:** Holy fucking shit!

**Robert G.:** HAHAHAHAHA Is this the official coaching uniform now?

**Harry S.:** Mr. Cuck, bro… thanks for the pic. I just got hard on my living-room couch

**Oliver G.:** Malik, you bastard, you’re about to eat like a king. Or like a god.

**Liam E.:** Can we vote on this too? Because this is already Nobel Prize level motivation.

**Jack B.:** Cucky, you’re the best host in the world. Send us more when you’re serving the table, pretty please.

Adriana read the messages over Chris’s shoulder and let out a low, satisfied giggle. She ran a long nail along the back of his neck.

“Good boy. Now go clean up the broken plate shards… and get ready. Malik just texted that he’s parking.”

She turned around and walked toward the master bedroom with that slow, deliberate sway, her pink heels echoing down the hallway.

Chris stayed frozen for another second, staring at the reactions that kept pouring in nonstop. His chest burned. His crotch ached painfully against his pants. And in the back of his mind, he could only repeat one phrase over and over:

“This is just a dinner… just a dinner…”

But the chat wouldn’t stop burning.

And the front door was about to open.