Dinner & Confessions

Anita hadn’t expected the restaurant to be so extravagant. The moment they stepped inside, she was enveloped in an air of luxury—dimmed lighting, elegant leather chairs, crystal glasses that caught the glow of the chandeliers. A faint aroma of truffle and grilled Wagyu lingered in the air. She suddenly felt out of place.

She swallowed and turned to Rachel. "This is... wow. I didn’t know we were going somewhere so... fancy."

Rachel grinned, not even glancing at the menu. "What did you think? That I’d take you to some diner?"

Anita tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I just mean... even I could barely afford a place like this, and I’m the director."

Rachel rested her elbows on the table, eyes locked on Anita with a smirk. "And I’m your deputy. But you know what? That doesn’t matter. You don’t have to worry about things like that, sweetheart. That pretty little head of yours is for other things."

Anita flushed. There it was again—that tone, the way Rachel spoke to her as if she were just a silly girl who didn’t need to think for herself. It should have pissed her off. It did piss her off... right? But deep down, there was a voice whispering that Rachel was right.

A waitress appeared with a polite smile, taking their orders. Anita wasn’t given a choice—Rachel ordered for her without hesitation. A perfectly grilled Wagyu steak with roasted vegetables and an expensive glass of red wine.

“I could’ve ordered for myself,” Anita mumbled as the waitress walked away.

Rachel simply grinned and leaned back in her chair. "Of course, you could’ve. But why would you? I make the decisions. You just enjoy. Right?"

Anita pressed her lips together, her stomach tightening—not just with nerves. Why did that excite her so much?

When the food arrived—perfectly cooked, the flavors rich and indulgent—Anita struggled to enjoy it. The restaurant was too lavish, Rachel was too in control, and the conversation was slipping into dangerous territory.

Rachel swirled her wine, watching Anita over the rim of her glass. Her gaze was slow, deliberate, and unyielding, making Anita shift slightly in her seat. She felt the weight of that stare, the unspoken challenge in it, as if Rachel was waiting for her to crack first. The heat creeping up her neck had nothing to do with the expensive red wine. Her fingers curled around her fork, knuckles whitening as she tried to steady herself, but the tension only thickened. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” she mused. “Thinking about the past?”

Anita tensed, gripping her fork tighter. “I don’t dwell on the past.”

Rachel chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “Really? Then why does it still have such a hold on you?” She set her glass down, tapping her nails idly against the stem. “Jamal stabed Garrett half to ****, and yet here you are, still talking about him like he was the monster.”

Anita’s jaw tightened. “He was dangerous. He is dangerous.”

Rachel tilted her head, feigning curiosity. “Dangerous? Or just better? Stronger, smarter—everything your kind can’t stand because he doesn’t bow like a good little boy?”

Anita’s breath caught, a flicker of shame and something else twisting inside her. “That’s not—”

Rachel cut into her steak smoothly, like she was carving into Anita’s convictions. “Oh, come on, Anita. You were never scared of Garrett. You were obsessed with him. You watched him, followed his every move, hated that he was always just a little bit more than Malik. And let’s be real…” Rachel speared a piece of meat and brought it to her lips, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “...you resented your daughter for it too, didn’t you?”

Anita felt like she had been slapped. “I did not—”

Rachel raised a brow, swirling her wine again, giving Anita time to hear the lie in her own words. “No? You never envied her? Never looked at her and thought, why does she get to have him?”

The blood drained from Anita’s face.

Rachel smirked, leaning forward slightly. “It’s natural, you know. To admire what’s superior. To crave the strength you know you’ll never have.” She let the words settle, let Anita’s silence do the work for her before continuing. “And it’s why you fought him so hard. Not because you feared him. Because you wanted him.”

Anita’s stomach turned. “That’s disgusting.”

Rachel shrugged. “Is it? Or is it just true? You always knew Malik was weak. That he’d never compare. That he’d always be small next to a man like Garrett.” She took another sip of wine, licking the remnants off her lips. “And now look at you. Sitting here, drinking expensive wine, letting a white woman tell you exactly what to do.”

Anita’s face burned, shame and something hotter mixing in her bloodstream.

Rachel smirked, satisfied. “And tell me, Anita—since I started making the decisions at White Hollow, how has it been?”

Anita’s lips parted, her instinct to argue flickering before dying out. The truth was undeniable. White Hollow had run more efficiently under Rachel’s command. Fewer conflicts. Tighter discipline. Even she had felt it—things were... better.

“I... I suppose things have improved,” Anita admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rachel’s smirk deepened. “Of course they have. Because when people like me take charge, everything falls into place.” She leaned in closer, her voice a seductive whisper. “And tell me, Anita... how does it feel, knowing someone else is making the decisions for you? Does it make you feel safe? Relieved?”

Anita swallowed hard, her pulse hammering in her throat. She should push back. She should resist. But the warmth spreading through her body told a different story. Rachel was right. Rachel was always right.

Rachel tilted her head, observing her with amusement. “Maybe I should start helping you in your personal life too. Imagine how much easier things would be if you just let me take care of everything.”

Anita’s breath hitched. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, the last remnants of her resistance crumbling under Rachel’s gaze.

Anita swallowed hard. She should say something. Push back. But…

Rachel leaned in, voice dropping to a purr. “Better. And how does that make you feel?”

Anita’s thighs clenched beneath the table.

Rachel grinned, watching her. “Maybe I should start helping in your personal life too. Would you like that, Anita? Me making your choices for you?”

Anita’s breath hitched, her entire world tilting on its axis.

Rachel was right.

Rachel was always right.

By the time they left, Anita was a mess. Sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, her mind was fogged with Rachel—her words, her control. She couldn’t keep it in any longer.

"Rachel…?" Anita’s voice was barely above a whisper as she shifted in her seat, her hand hesitantly trailing to Rachel’s thigh.

Rachel raised an eyebrow, keeping one hand on the wheel while swatting Anita’s fingers away. "Who’s in charge here?"

Anita’s breath hitched. She bit her lip. "You…"

"Mmh. Good. Then behave. I decide when you get something."

But minutes later, Rachel’s fingers traced slow, teasing patterns on Anita’s thigh, gliding higher beneath the fabric. Anita gasped, her knees pressing together—a reflex Rachel immediately undid with gentle pressure.

"Ohh…" Anita’s head fell back, her mind drowning in sensation. Rachel knew exactly how to torment her, keeping her right at the edge... almost.

Then Rachel withdrew.

A sharp gasp escaped Anita before she could stop it, her entire body tightening in **** protest. The lingering heat between her thighs pulsed, unsatisfied, aching, leaving her breath ragged. She opened her mouth, about to plead, to beg for just a little more, but Rachel was already lifting her hand—her fingers glistening with Anita’s need—holding them just in front of her lips, watching with that infuriating smirk.

Anita’s chest rose and fell as she tried to collect herself, but her mind was a haze of lust and frustration. Her hands gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles whitening. She had been so close, and now?

Rachel arched a brow. "Aw, poor thing… You thought you were actually going to get what you wanted?"

Anita blinked in confusion as Rachel lifted her hand—her fingers still damp—and held them out.

"Clean up."

Anita obeyed, her lips parting around Rachel’s fingers. Rachel watched her with a pleased smirk. "Oh, Anita, not tonight…"

"But… when?" Anita’s voice was raw with frustration and need.

Rachel smirked. "You’ll find out soon enough." She paused. "But until then—no coming. Understand?"

Anita sucked in a sharp breath. Her lips parted, the weight of Rachel’s words pressing down on her like an invisible ****. Every part of her screamed to push back, to resist, to hold on to the illusion of control she had once prided herself on. But that illusion was slipping, melting away under Rachel’s gaze.

Her throat tightened. "Y-Yeah..." The admission came out softer than she intended, almost like a plea, her voice trembling with something between hesitation and surrender.

Rachel chuckled. "Yeah, what?"

Anita’s whole body tightened. "Yeah, Director…"

Rachel smirked, pulling back. "Good girl." She let the words settle between them, her fingers idly tapping the steering wheel as if the conversation was already over. Then, with a glance at Anita’s flushed face, she added, "You’ll learn soon enough, sweetheart. The more you listen, the easier it gets."

Anita sat there, flushed and dazed, as Rachel drove on with a satisfied smile—knowing full well this was just the beginning.