Noticeably.

Valeria – That Night

The house was warm and dim when Valeria returned, the scent of fresh tomato soup lingering in the air as she stepped out of her heels and let down her hair. Diego was already at the dinner table, fidgeting with his spoon as she walked in. His eyes lit up when he saw her, but they quickly narrowed — concerned.

“Well?” he asked. “How’d it go?”

Valeria set down her purse, moving to pour herself a glass of water. “Hmm?”

“With Chase,” Diego said, sitting up straighter. “Did you get the apology?”

She sipped the water slowly before answering. “It wasn’t really necessary.”

Diego blinked. “Wait, what?”

She waved a dismissive hand, taking her seat. “We talked. And I realized that the whole thing was a big misunderstanding. Chase isn’t as bad as you made him out to be, sweetheart. He’s just… a passionate young man.”

Diego’s mouth opened slightly, a little stung. “He pantsed me. In front of everyone. Then called me—”

“Yes, yes, I remember what you said,” Valeria interrupted with a strained smile. “But we adults see things differently. We see root causes. That kind of behavior always stems from something else.”

“But—”

“I’ve got it handled,” she said, voice sharper than intended. Then, softening, she reached out to place her hand over his. “Trust me, Diego. I’m going back tomorrow to work with him. I think I can help.”

“Help him?” Diego said quietly, staring at her. “What about helping me?”

She pulled her hand back and looked at her soup.

“Sometimes helping someone else… helps everyone in the end,” she said.

He didn't argue. But the hurt in his eyes lingered long after the conversation faded.

Valeria - The Next Morning

As Valeria stepped into the Whitmore estate again, pushing open the grand oak doors, the house was quiet, empty.

She looked around, the air strangely still.

“Chase?” she called, stepping inside.

He was already waiting in the living room, lounging with one ankle over his knee, a mug in each hand. “Morning, Dr. Valeria,” he said smoothly. “I made you a coffee. Exactly how you like it I’ve heard — black, no sugar.”

She hesitated. Just slightly.

Then took the mug from his outstretched hand, eyeing it.

“Thanks,” she said, but didn’t drink.

“You came,” Chase said simply, gesturing for her to sit. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I said I would,” she replied, lowering herself into the armchair across from him. “Let’s get started.”

Chase nodded. But he didn’t rush. He just began to talk.

Not about Diego. Not directly.

Instead, he spoke in slow, thoughtful sentences, letting his words ebb and flow in a cadence she barely noticed was rhythmic. He talked about the nature of punishment. How misunderstood it was. How arbitrary. How often it was misapplied — a kneejerk reaction rather than a deliberate, thoughtful process.

“How often,” he murmured, voice velvet-soft, “do we punish the symptom instead of the cause?”

Valeria blinked slowly.

Chase leaned forward, his tone intimate now. “See, when a child struggles… whose fault is that really? The child? Or the parent who raised them?”

Valeria opened her mouth to reply, but her voice caught.

“Maybe it was never me or Diego that needed correction,” Chase continued gently. “Maybe Diego struggles because of the softness you built into him. The weakness. The niceness. Maybe, just maybe… the problem began at home.”

She stared at him, hand loosely gripping the coffee mug. Her breath had grown slower. Deeper.

“Think about it, Valeria,” he said, using just her first name now. “You’ve spent your whole life correcting others. Fixing things. But what if your own flaws… created flaws in Diego? And now, I — I’m just reflecting them back to you.”

She swallowed.

“And maybe,” Chase said, his voice just above a whisper, “that means you’re the one who deserves to be punished. For what you did to him. For what you did to me. For the lies you told yourself… about being a good mother.”

Valeria’s fingers trembled slightly on the rim of the mug. Her eyelids fluttered once… then stilled.

Chase leaned back, letting the silence sit between them for a beat.

“Say it, Valeria.”

She didn’t speak.

So he leaned closer again, eyes boring into hers. “Say it. Say what you’re thinking.”

Her lips parted, mechanical and soft.

“I… I should be punished.”

A shiver ran through Chase’s chest.

He couldn’t stop the grin that curled on his face — not gloating, not smug. Hungry.

“For what?” he prompted.

Her voice was fragile. “For failing as a mother. For making Diego weak. For letting it all happen.”

“Good,” Chase whispered. “And who should punish you?”

“I don’t… know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Her eyes met his. Blurry. ****. Completely open.

“You,” she whispered.

Chase exhaled slowly.

Victory.

She was still mostly herself. But now she carried the seed. That quiet guilt turned inward. That belief — however faint — that she deserved this. That her pain might be necessary.

She blinked once, face twitching with a faint question.

“So…” she said quietly, “how… should I be punished?”

Chase could’ve kissed her.

He didn’t.

Not yet.

The room was eerily quiet. Only the distant sound of a clock ticking and the subtle hum of the air conditioning filled the space as Valeria sat in front of Chase. Her posture was straight, yet there was an air of discomfort, a tension simmering beneath her cool exterior. The once-commanding woman, the respected doctor, was now being carefully molded, one suggestion at a time.

Her vulnerability was undeniable, and it wasn't just the physical exposure. There was something deeper — a mental surrender, a part of her psyche that was slipping away under Chase’s carefully crafted words. The shift in her eyes, the way her voice was calmer, softer, as though the words were being whispered directly into her mind, it was all so subtle, but it was happening.

Chase set the coffee down slowly on the table, his fingers brushing against the edge. He didn’t need to rush. He knew he had the power now. Valeria might not have been as easily swayed as his mother, but her composure was cracking. And the cracks were starting to show.

He stood, slowly, and stepped toward her with deliberate ease. The closer he got, the more intense the air became. Every step was a calculated move. He could almost feel the pulse in her throat — steady, regulated, but trembling, like a string about to snap.

“You’re ready to accept responsibility, aren’t you, Valeria?” His voice was soft, coaxing, but there was something dangerous lurking beneath the calm. He was no longer asking a question.

Valeria nodded, her eyes slightly glazed over but still holding onto something that was distinctly her.

“Yes,” she said softly, her voice almost whispering, “I failed Diego. I failed as a mother. I… deserve to be punished.”

Chase could see the conflict in her eyes, a flicker of something deep within her, but it was quickly overshadowed by the blankness that he had cultivated. The same blankness that she had willingly allowed him to insert into her mind.

His lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t one of pleasure. It was satisfaction — deep, consuming satisfaction. This was the moment.

“Good,” he said, his voice rich with control. “Then you’ll remove your slacks. Just the slacks. Leave your blouse on.”