Chapter 2

The oppressive heat hit us like a wall the moment we stepped outside our apartment building. The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, turning the pavement into a shimmering mirage and making the air thick enough to chew.

"Jesus Christ," Claudia muttered, immediately pulling her dark hair up into a messy bun to get it off her neck. "It's not even nine in the morning and I'm already melting. This is what hell feels like, right? Just endless summer in suburban purgatory?"

"Could be worse," I said, already feeling sweat gathering under my shirt. "Could be humid too."

"Don't jinx it," she shot back, giving me a playful shove. "You have a thing for turning wishes into reality. Don't tempt the weather gods."

We'd barely made it ten steps when I caught sight of a couple in their mid-thirties approaching from the opposite direction. The man's eyes widened in recognition, and he immediately elbowed his girlfriend with a knowing chuckle.

"Holy shit," he whispered, not quite quietly enough. "That's him."

His girlfriend turned to look, her expression shifting from confusion to that familiar spark of recognition. She didn't seem particularly excited or upset, just mildly interested, like spotting a minor celebrity at the grocery store.

I kept walking, trying to ignore them, but internally I sighed. This was my life now. Not only did women still instinctively recognize me as their owner despite my drastically reduced power over them, but both men and women knew me from my brief moment of global fame. Thanks to President Deborah Thomas, who I'd commanded to help me broadcast my message, my face had been beamed into every screen on Earth when I'd "freed" women from my absolute control.

The recognition happened everywhere. At coffee shops, on the street, in the produce aisle... Most people were polite enough to just stare or whisper, but some were bold enough to approach. It was exhausting being a walking reminder of a cosmic event that I was still the only one who really understood, or even cared about.

Claudia noticed my slightly tense shoulders and moved closer, bumping against my arm playfully. "You'll get used to it. Besides it's not like you've got paparazzis hounding you."

"Yeah, I'm just the constant curiosity," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Like, oh, he's that guy from TV who also happens to own all women. Funny! I wonder what's for dinner?"

Claudia laughed and nudged me again. "Maybe you should have added a command for people to leave you alone before freeing everyone."

I frowned. "The entire point was for me to stop—" I sighed. "Your free self would have never agreed with that."

For a second, Claudia seemed genuinely confused, but she shook it off. "Of course not. I was joking, Oliver."

She wasn't joking. She just couldn't wrap her head around why she wouldn't have liked the idea of me commanding every woman on Earth to treat me in a specific way. She just knew that any sign of her forgetting what she wanted before she offered herself to me again made me uncomfortable.

We reached our usual separation point at the corner near the parking lot. Usually, when Claudia was expected at the restaurant before I was expected at the studio, I'd drive her there in my Porsche. The rest of the time, she'd take the bus.

"Oliver," she said, moving closer and looking up at me with perfect puppy dog eyes. "Could you maybe drive me to work today? Please?"

I automatically reached for my phone to check the time again. "No way, I'd be late for my morning meeting with the dev team. We're supposed to go over the new puzzle mechanics for level twelve."

Claudia's expression immediately shifted to a pout that would have been devastating if I hadn't been genuinely pressed for time. "Ugh, fine. Could you at least lend me the car for once?"

My stomach clenched involuntarily. The Porsche Panamera Turbo S was the one material possession I'd kept from my days of unlimited power, obtained when I'd commanded Katherine Winters, the corrupt CEO of Winters Pharmaceuticals, to buy it for me, before commanding her to plead guilty at her own trial. It was beautiful, fast, and irreplaceable now that I couldn't just order women to give me free stuff. The thought of anyone else driving it made me physically anxious.

"Claudia, I don't know if that's such a—"

"Oh, come on," she interrupted, her hands on her hips. "The studio is literally ten minutes away on foot. Ten! You could probably crawl there faster than I can get across town on public transportation. And thanks to your morning shenanigans," she gestured vaguely in the direction of our apartment, "I'm already going to be late if I have to take the bus."

She had a point. Le Petit Château was indeed on the other side of town, and the bus route was notoriously unreliable during rush hour. I sighed, reaching into my pocket for the keys.

"If you so much as scratch the paint," I warned, placing them in her outstretched palm.

"You're the best!" she exclaimed, standing on her toes to blow me a kiss before turning toward the parking lot.

I watched as she made her way to the Panamera, my chest tightening slightly when I spotted the small scrape along the driver's side door. My friend Marcus had put that there a year ago, when Claudia and I had gone to celebrate women's newfound freedom on the West Coast and left the car with him and my best friend Zoe, his girlfriend. It wasn't a huge mark, barely noticeable unless you knew where to look, but it served as a constant reminder that the things I treasured most weren't immune to damage.

Part of me worried that Claudia might add her own contribution to the car's growing collection of minor wounds, but I **** myself to push the paranoia aside. She was careful, responsible, and more importantly, she was mine to trust.

I took a deep breath and started walking toward the studio, trying not to look back as I heard the Porsche's engine purr to life behind me and my girlfriend clearly struggle with the clutch.

The walk to the studio took me through the gradual transition from our suburban residential area into the denser commercial district where Lost Time Studio was located. I kept my head down, hoping to avoid the usual parade of recognition, but it was futile. A woman walking her dog did a double-take and whispered something to her phone. Two college students nudged each other and pointed. A guy in a business suit actually started to approach me before I ducked into a crosswalk and lost him in the crowd.

By the time I reached the studio building, I was seriously considering investing in a fake mustache and glasses combo. Maybe a fedora. Hell, at this point I'd settle for a paper bag with eye holes cut out. Though, the way the magic worked, I wasn't even sure it would have any effect on women's abilities to recognize me.

The building itself was typical for this part of town: a converted warehouse that had been chopped up into dozens of small office spaces for startups, freelancers, and other businesses that needed cheap rent more than prestige. The lobby had that generic modern look with gray tile floors and sleek black furniture that looked nice but was uncomfortable to sit on.

I swiped my badge at the front door and was immediately greeted by Agnes, the building's receptionist. She was cute in that aggressively professional way that screamed "I practiced this smile in the mirror," with perfectly styled blonde hair and a blazer that looked like it came from a "How to Dress for Success" catalog.

"Good morning, Mr. Moore," she said with practiced cheerfulness, then immediately shifted to her stern voice. "I need to remind you again about the night alarm system. Security had to make another visit last Tuesday because someone in your studio didn't reset it properly."

"Right, sorry about that," I mumbled, already heading toward the elevators. "I'll remind everyone about the hourly badge swipes."

"The warning beeps give you two full minutes," she called after me. "More than enough time to get to the lobby."

I stabbed the elevator button and waited, trying to center myself as the doors slid open. Once inside, I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. I had a great life, objectively speaking. An amazing girlfriend who was literally mine by choice, who enjoyed every twisted game I played with her mind. A video game studio financed by my father, working on my dream project with genuinely promising feedback from our play testers. Financial stability, creative freedom, a woman who loved me enough to give herself to me completely.

So why did I always feel so anxious, so paranoid, so stressed? Was it too much? After all, from one day to the next I'd went from lazy loser who spent his days playing video games and watching internet porn to the owner of all women. I'd used the opportunity as a wake up call to turn my life around, without cheating, mostly (the Porsche didn't count!).

The elevator dinged at the third floor, and I stepped out into the narrow hallway lined with identical doors. Mine was halfway down on the right, marked by a simple piece of printed paper that read "Lost Time Studio" beneath our logo: a stylized clock that doubled as a spiral, the hands and numbers blending into hypnotic curves that seemed to draw the eye inward.

I swiped my badge again and pushed open the door to my kingdom.

The studio was cramped but functional, essentially one large room carved out of what used to be warehouse space. Four workstations dominated the area, each equipped with multiple monitors and high-end gaming rigs that hummed quietly in the background. A narrow window offered what could generously be called a view of the adjacent building's brick wall, and a small kitchenette and bathroom completed our modest empire.

Blair looked up from her workstation as I entered, surrounded by her carefully curated collection of Japanese items. A small ceramic tea set sat next to her secondary monitor, alongside a beautifully bound collection of Hokusai prints and what looked like a vintage sake cup repurposed as a pencil holder. No anime figurines or kawaii toys, just the kind of thoughtful pieces someone collected after actually living in Kyoto for two years.

"You're late, Owner," she said in that casual, matter-of-fact tone that never failed to make my jaw clench slightly.

Blair was in her thirties with perpetually messy shoulder-length blonde hair that looked like she'd run her fingers through it while thinking through a particularly challenging 3D model. Her dark blue eyes held a sharp intelligence that missed nothing, and her face had that combination of cute and stern that made people take her seriously without trying to intimidate them. She wasn't trying to be feminine or masculine, just herself, which somehow made her more attractive than either ****. Her curves were subtle but appealing, the kind that looked good in the practical jeans and fitted t-shirts she always wore.

The "Owner" thing drove me absolutely insane. She always called me that, had been doing it since the day I hired her, and it never failed to make my skin crawl. The casual way she said it, like it was just my name, made it worse somehow.

I'd actually commanded her to stop once, half-jokingly after a particularly stressful day, but she'd just looked at me with that trademark smirk and said, "Nah, I don't think I will. It suits you better than 'boss,' don't you think?" When I'd pressed the issue, she'd added with perfect deadpan delivery, "Besides, if I obeyed, you'd just make it even more true."

I couldn't even be properly mad. As far as everyone was concerned, this damn title of mine was just a boring fact of life. With her unable to even realize what it actually meant for me, there was no way for her to really grasp the discomfort it brought. I very well could have been someone with a doctorate degree who hated being called "doctor." It just didn't seem like a big deal to her. Besides, she was too talented a 3D artist to lose over something so petty.

I glanced at my watch, feeling that familiar pang of guilt. Ten minutes late wasn't terrible, but I tried to set a good example for my small team. Being punctual was one of the few leadership qualities I felt confident about.

The sound of flushing came from the bathroom, followed by the door opening to reveal Jonas emerging, looking characteristically relaxed despite the underlying energy that always seemed to buzz just beneath his surface. He was one of those guys who'd learned to channel natural anxiety into focus, like a Vulcan who'd mastered meditation but still felt everything intensely.

Jonas was in his mid-thirties with a soft build that spoke of too many late nights coding and not enough gym time, though he carried it well. His hair had been retreating for years, leaving him with a horseshoe pattern that he made no attempt to disguise or compensate for, though we all knew it bothered him more than he let on. He'd mentioned multiple times that he was considering just shaving it all off but worried he'd look like a bowling ball.

"Oliver!" he said warmly, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure at seeing me. "This is unusual. Everything okay? I mean, not that you can't be late, obviously everyone's late sometimes, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I just know you're usually here before any of us. Did something happen or…"

He trailed off, realizing he was rambling, but his concern was so clearly authentic that I couldn't help but smile. Jonas was honestly the nicest person I'd ever met, the kind of guy who worried about stepping on ants and who couldn't even fake an insult if his life depended on it.

I sighed playfully and shrugged. "Everything's fine. I just got a bit too carried away playing with Claudia this morning and lost track of time. She was going to be late because of me, so I let her take the car and walked here."

Blair's eyebrow arched with that trademark smirk of hers. "You let her drive your Porsche?" she asked in mock horror. "And what did you have her do this time?"

I couldn't help but grin as I made my way to my workstation. "Turned her into a zombie sex alarm clock. She wakes up automatically at eight-thirty to blow me, completely mindless until she's done. Then we fought over who got to shower first, so I froze her mid-step and made her cum while I took my time getting ready."

The casual way I said it would have horrified the old me, but these days I didn't bother hiding the kinky shit I got up to with Claudia. I controlled her mind, fucked her brains out, and played with her like she was my personal toy, which, technically, she was. Women might not be compelled to obey me anymore, but everyone still found it completely normal for me to use my properties however I wanted. Claudia had offered herself back to me, which had made her once again fair game for whatever twisted fantasies I could come up with, as far as everyone else was concerned.

Jonas nodded slowly, his eyes widening slightly with what looked like impressed fascination. "That's… wow. The programming thing is always pretty hot." He cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck. "I mean, the technical aspect is fascinating too. How does she know when to wake up?"

I was about to say I had no idea and found it very intriguing myself when Blair just shook her head with an amused chuckle. "Our Owner has some seriously weird kinks, but whatever works for you two."

An awkward silence settled over the room. Jonas continued nodding thoughtfully, clearly processing the mental images, while Blair looked like she was cataloging this information under "things I didn't need to know about my boss's sex life but aren't surprised by."

Finally, Blair raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. "Anyway... Have you checked the company emails yet?"

I paused in the middle of entering my password, a spark of hope flickering in my chest. "No, haven't had a chance. What's up?"

Jonas practically bounced up and down, his face breaking into a wide grin. "We got an email from Collapsed Star Interactive. They loved the prototype we sent them and want to do a video call. Monday."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I stared at him, then immediately pulled up our email client. This could be exactly what we needed. Collapsed Star had the marketing muscle and financial backing that could help us finish Paradox Proof properly. My father had made it crystal clear that he wouldn't be putting any more money on the table, that I needed to prove myself as a responsible CEO and find additional funding myself. We were struggling with the last half of the game, behind schedule and running low on resources after spending more than planned on freelancers.

I found the email and read it twice, then a third time, focusing on the line that made my heart race: "The team here absolutely loved Paradox Proof. Everyone had a ball trying to solve the first puzzles of the prototype."

"They actually loved it," I whispered, scrolling through the detailed feedback. "They want to discuss partnership opportunities and potential publishing deals."

The office door opened and Cael drifted in, looking like they'd just rolled out of bed despite it being nine thirty. Their long hair was currently a shade of deep purple that shifted to blue at the tips, styled in deliberately messy waves that somehow looked both effortless and carefully crafted. They were tall and willowy, wearing an oversized vintage band t-shirt over ripped jeans, with enough jewelry to stock a small boutique.

"Sorry I'm late," they said quietly, setting down a coffee cup that looked like it had been through several wars. "Traffic was… actually, no, I just couldn't find my keys. Then I couldn't find my wallet. Then I remembered I needed coffee but forgot where I put my—" They trailed off, noticing everyone smirking at them. "What's up? Did I miss something?"

The others exchanged knowing looks, their grins widening as Cael stood there looking perfectly calm despite the chaos they'd just described, already pulling out their phone to check for missed notifications while simultaneously trying to untangle their headphones from their bag strap.