She begs

The sound of the coffee cup shattering against the floor is like a gunshot in the small office. I watch the dark liquid soak into the rug, but Madison isn't looking at the mess. Her hand goes to her throat, her fingers tracing the collar of her blouse as her breathing hitches. A sudden, unnatural flush creeps up her neck, staining her skin a deep crimson.

I take another slow, calm sip of my water. I can see the realization dawning in her eyes—the heat she’s feeling isn't just rage. It’s the aphrodisiac I slipped into her drink earlier while she was distracted with those folders. The vial was small, but the dose was heavy.

"Something wrong?" I ask, my voice dropping an octave. The frantic hammering in my chest has finally slowed, cooling into a familiar, icy focus. My palms aren't slick with sweat anymore; they are steady. That old spark, the one that used to thrive on control, is back.

I stand up slowly, the leather of my chair creaking under my weight. I walk around the desk, closing the distance until I’m looming over her. She looks up at me, her eyes glazed and swimming with a mix of defiance and chemically-induced desire.

"You said it yourself, Madison," I lean in, my breath brushing against her ear. "You haven't been with another man since that summer."

I straighten my suit jacket, looking down at her trembling form. "I’m not going to be your Vice President. That’s too high-profile. No, I want a job as a lowly IT guy. Someone invisible. Someone who has the password to every file, every webcam, and every private message in this building—including yours."

I glance toward the door, where the elite, gorgeous women she’s hired as her VPs are likely walking the halls. "Think of all those beautiful executives you’ve surrounded yourself with. Being the 'IT guy' will allow me to scout my next victims right under your nose without anyone ever suspecting the man in the server room. And that VP contract you drafted? You'll keep it in your safe. On paper, I'm a high-level executive with a salary to match. In reality, I'm the ghost in your machine."

I pick up the framed photo of her son, my thumb brushing over the glass. "My wife is a very good mother, Madison. She is a very loving mother. If you ever try to contact her, the first thing I’ll do is expose what is really in your system... and then we can let the world challenge who your kid’s father really is."

I lean down so our faces are inches apart. Her pupils are blown wide, her chest heaving as the drug takes hold.

"He has my jaw, Madison. He has my eyes. He might just grow up to be a chip off the old block. So, here is your choice. You let me into your systems so I can start hunting... or you can simply resume your old position as my slave, exactly where we left off eight years ago."

The fear in her eyes is finally matched by the hunger I’ve forced back to the surface. I point toward the door she locked just moments ago.

"That the look, Maddie."

She meets my eyes, struggling to fight through the drug's haze. "I'll give you the money," she gasps. "I'll give you the job... just stay away from my son."

I whisper to her "Well? Which is it?"

She stares back at me, her eyes wide and searching mine for a mercy I no longer have. I can see the gears turning behind the haze of the drug. Is she weighing the cost of becoming my slave again against the price of hand-picking another girl to take her place? Part of me wonders if she’ll try to stall, or if I’ll have to reach across this desk and force the choice right out of her.