New Ownership

The muffled drone of the intercom shattered the heavy silence shortly past four. My heart skipped a full beat before pounding furiously against my ribs.

Loona was already lounging on the cream sectional in the living room, legs crossed loosely, a cup of tea balanced in her hands. She didn't even glance up as the buzzer chimed. She merely gave me a brief, offhand nod.

I pressed the release and stood by the entrance, listening to the soft hydraulic purr as the elevator glided up to the penthouse. The heavy doors parted, and Emma stepped out with an effortless bounce. She wore an expensive puffer jacket, designer boots, and that breezy, smug radiance she carried like armor.

"Hey, John," she chimed condescendingly without meeting my eyes, peeling off her jacket to toss it carelessly across my forearm. "Put my boots by the door. And bring me an oat milk cappuccino. No foam, got it?"

She strolled past me as if she owned the place. Every step reeked of the unchecked arrogance she had cultivated over the past weeks—the casual certainty that the entire world revolved around her whims.

I hung the coat, aligned her boots neatly against the wall, and entered the living room with downcast eyes.

Emma had already dropped into the deep leather armchair opposite Loona. "God, Loona, that party last night was insane, wasn't it? Leon was just saying your brother really made himself useful. A bit clumsy, but he works out fine as waitstaff." She let out a bright, easy laugh.

Loona did not return the smile. She took a measured sip of tea, set the cup down with a sharp click against the glass tabletop, and met Emma’s gaze evenly.

"Sit up straight, Emma," Loona said. Her tone was neither loud nor aggressive, but carried a razor-sharp chill that instantly dropped the temperature of the room.

Emma’s laugh faltered midway. Her brows knit in irritation. "What? Loona, are you joking, or—?"

"I don't joke," Loona cut in flatly. Reaching for the leather folder on the table, she pulled out three printed pages and laid them flat on the glass before Emma. "Recognize these?"

Emma cast a dismissive glance downward, but in that very breath, every trace of color drained from her face.

Resting on top was the printout of the physics portfolio—complete with metadata proving beyond doubt that the entire project had been created under my user account on my desktop. Beneath it lay a screenshot from her second phone: the photo of her grinning, pen poised over the declaration of independent authorship, paired with her mocking voice memos to Leon about her "stupid ghostwriter."

"Where… where did you get this?" Emma stammered. Her voice broke, dropping out of its confident register into a ragged tremble. Her manicured nails dug into the leather armrests. "Loona, this… this isn't funny. It was just a joke, we had an understanding—"

"It gets better," Loona continued smoothly. She laid down the second sheet: a chat log between Emma and Leon's closest friend. Cruel mockery targeting Leon, intimate admissions, and explicit images never meant for outside eyes. "If Leon sees this, you are finished at that school. Your social standing, your friends, your circle—gone within five minutes."

Emma’s body began to shake. A wild, desperate panic warped her features as she made to stand. "You're insane! You went through my phone?! You’re sick, Loona! I'm leaving right now—"

"You stay right where you are," Loona said. The command landed with the weight of a physical blow. She laid down the third page: records of crypto transactions and delivery confirmations for the drugs sourced for the upcoming graduation gala.

"Your father is a respected notary, Emma. Conservative, proud of his model daughter. How long do you think his reputation holds once this dossier lands on the desks of the principal and the district attorney? You'll be disqualified from graduating for academic fraud. And the rest will have you expelled on the spot."

Dead silence gripped the room, broken only by Emma’s shallow, ragged breathing. The facade of the untouchable schoolyard queen fractured before my eyes, piece by piece, until nothing remained but a cornered, terrified girl. Thick tears welled in her eyes, ruining her makeup as they traced hot paths down her cheeks.

"Please…," Emma whimpered, her hands trembling violently. "Please, Loona… don't do this. It ruins my entire life. I… I'll do anything. Really, anything. What do you want?"

Loona leaned back slowly. A cruel, steady gleam settled in her dark eyes—the quiet triumph of total, indisputable dominance.

"You will go on living your life, Emma," Loona murmured with silky malice. "You will graduate. You will smile whenever Leon puts his arm around you. But from this second forward, every grade you earn, every step you take, and every hour of your day belongs to me. You are no longer in any position to make demands. As of today, you are my personal property."

Loona turned her head slowly toward me. Her gaze locked with mine, carrying an unmistakable, unspoken directive.

"And first," Loona continued, gesturing in my direction, "you will apologize to John. Not standing up. On your knees, Emma. Now."

Emma’s eyes darted wildly between the sheets on the glass table, Loona’s impassive expression, and my rigid posture by the doorway. Her chest rose and fell in frantic gasps. Every instinct in her screamed against the humiliation, her mind visibly racing for an exit that did not exist.

"I… I can't," she choked out through her tears. "Loona, please… not in front of him."

Loona did not budge an inch. She sat composed in the armchair, legs crossed, hands resting quietly in her lap. Her voice cut like honed steel.

"Three seconds, Emma. Then I dial your father. One."

She didn't need to reach two.

The fight died out behind Emma’s eyes, snuffed out by the cold reality of her situation. On unsteady legs, she slid down from the leather chair. Her knees sank quietly into the plush carpet. She knelt hunched over, hands limp against her thighs, head bowed—in the exact spot where I had knelt the previous evening to massage Vanessa’s legs.

"Look at him," Loona instructed evenly.

Emma lifted her head. Her face was flushed, lips quivering. The arrogant girl who had stepped on me in the corridors, extorted my allowance, and treated me like trash looked up at me. For the first time, her eyes held no contempt—only raw, unshielded submission.

"I'm… I'm sorry, John," she forced out, every syllable sounding like physical agony. "I'm sorry for how I treated you. For the money… and for the physics binder."

Loona let the silence hang for a heartbeat, as if the apology barely warranted notice. Then she extended one foot until the tip of her sheer stocking brushed Emma’s trembling chin. "Kiss," she said flatly.

Emma flinched as if struck. A choked sound caught in her throat before she leaned forward, blonde hair spilling over her face, pressing her lips against Loona’s foot. Once. Twice. The contact was damp, hurried, thick with self-disgust—the exact display Loona demanded. I stood frozen in the frame, fingers digging hard into the seams of my trousers. Beneath the locked resin, a suffocating heat flared up; watching Emma brought low hit with the same disorienting force as knowing I had occupied that carpet a hundred times before. Inside the fabric, the cage felt unbearably tight, an agonizing spike of arousal I resented for existing—not simply because Emma was on the floor, but because Loona was orchestrating every breath of it, weaponizing my own reactions while denying me any release.

"A reasonable start," Loona remarked coolly, breaking the spell. "New rules apply from now on. You will treat John with absolute courtesy at school. And whenever I reach out, regardless of the hour, you answer."

Standing up, Loona stepped closer to the kneeling girl, looking down from above.

"One more thing, Emma: you will take your exams. And you will pray Herr Seidel gives you top marks for that folder. Because every grade and every movement of your life hangs on my mood now. Stand up, clean your face, and leave."

It took Emma two attempts to regain her feet. She did not dare make eye contact with either of us again. Head bowed, clutching her bag to her chest, she stumbled toward the door.

When the latch clicked shut and left the apartment in absolute quiet, Loona turned slowly toward me, a faint, predatory smirk touching her lips.

"You see, John?" she breathed softly. "It really is that simple when you're the one holding the strings."

She closed the space between us, stopping inches away to rest her flat palm against my chest, right over my racing pulse.

"Emma has been put in her place. And now, my focus is entirely back on you."