He can't resist.

The Edge of Control

The living room felt too small, the air thick with the scent of Rebecca’s citrus perfume and the faint musk of Stefano’s own sweat. He stood by the couch, the Osiris ring glinting on his finger, its warmth seeping into his bones like a slow poison.

Rebecca was still there, her phone fix forgotten, her emerald eyes flicking between his face and something unspoken. The violet tattoo on his gut throbbed, a low pulse that synced with his heartbeat, urging him to push, to see how far this power could bend her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice dipping low, the ring’s hum sharpening every syllable. “Mind sticking around? Got some old museum photos I could use your help sorting.” A flimsy excuse, but the words carried weight, laced with intent that felt like a hook sinking into the air between them.

Rebecca tilted her head, red hair spilling over one shoulder, his loose shirt rode up her wide hips giving him a view of his daughter’s frilled panties for a moment, clinging to her fat pussy. “Photos? Since when do you need me for that?” she teased, but she didn’t move away.

Her lips quirked, and fuck, there was a spark in her eyes—curiosity, maybe, or something heavier. Stefano’s pulse quickened, the ring feeding off it, the corruption seeping with each pulse amplifying the heat pooling in his chest.

Stefano gestured to a box by the coffee table, his movements deliberate, letting his newfound charisma bleed through. “Humor me,” he said, softer now, almost a command. She hesitated, then nodded, sinking onto the couch beside him, close enough that her knee brushed his. The contact sent a jolt through him, and the tattoo burned hotter, whispering fragments of the temple’s chant: Take. Shape. Bind.

As Rebecca rifled through faded Polaroids—mummies, scarabs, Stefano’s younger self grinning in some desert dig—he watched her, not the photos. The ring’s power was subtle but real, like a current running through his voice, his gaze. “Pick one you like,” he said, leaning closer, his breath grazing her ear. “Tell me what you see.” Her fingers froze on a shot of an Anubis statue, her breath catching. “It’s… intense,” she murmured, voice softer, her eyes locked on the image as if it held her.

Stefano’s hand twitched, itching to touch her, but he held back, letting the ring do the work. “Keep looking,” he urged, and damn, the way her pupils dilated, the way his daughter's luscious red lips parted—it was working. She was slipping, just a little, into his orbit.