Fernando's POV
I stood at the doorway, unmoving, the weight of my presence alone suffocating the space between us.
The dim lighting of the hallway cast my shadow long and imposing, stretching into the room where the scent of sweat and sex still lingered in the air.
I let the face of the man standing in front of me roll through my mind, tasting it, testing it.
I didn't know him. Not yet. But the way he stiffened, the way his breath hitched as our eyes met-it was delicious.
Terror clung to him like a second skin, thick and visible, and I enjoyed every damn second of it.
He wasn't just scared.
He was petrified.
And I thrived on fear.
He stood frozen, still gripping the doorknob as if he could will himself out of this situation by sheer force alone. But there was no escape-not from me.
A slow smirk spread across my lips as I tilted my head, taking in the sight before me.
His shirt was half-buttoned, the fabric slightly wrinkled, a clear indication he had hurried to dress up and leave.
His hair was scattered, but not from sleep-no, this was the kind of disarray that came after an evening of desperate, sweaty indulgence.
Then, my gaze moved past him to the bed, and there lay Marlo, spread out, naked, completely spent.
Ah.
Amusement curled in my chest, a slow-burning ember turning into a flame.
This was beginning to get more thrilling and I honestly couldn't get enough.
I chuckled, low and dark.
"What do we have here?" My voice was soft, but the sharp edge of authority cut through each word.
My eyes moved back to the small man standing in front of my me and I made sure my gaze bored deep into his face.
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving up.amd down in his throat.
He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall was inevitable but still clinging to the hope of survival.
I took a step forward, and he instinctively took a step back, but the doorframe behind him kept him trapped.
I liked that.
"Tell me," I murmured, my voice almost lazy, "what exactly is a lowly recruit like you doing in Marlo's bed?"
He tensed.
"I-I wasn't-" he began but the words were too heavy for him to let out.
I arched a brow, watching the way he fumbled for words.
"No?" I let the denial hang between us before turning my gaze back to Marlo. "Because it looks like you were."
He clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his face neutral, but I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
He was trying so hard to keep control.
How adorable.
"You're new," I mused, studying him. "I don't recognize you."
He cleared his throat, finding his voice.
"Yes, sir. My name is Michael. I'm a new recruit" he replied.
I scoffed.
"That much is obvious."
Michael swallowed again, and I could practically hear his heartbeat drumming beneath his skin.
I stepped even closer, closing the already small gap between us.
I wasn't touching him, not yet, but I was close enough to feel the heat of his body radiating through the thin barrier of his shirt. Close enough to see the flicker of discomfort in his eyes as he struggled to keep his composure.
"Tell me something, Michael," I said, drawing out his name, tasting it on my tongue like a slow sip of whiskey. "Why are you in Marlo's room instead of working downstairs like a good little servant?"
His lips parted, a split-second delay before his answer came.
"I- I came to ask him some questions about work."
A lie.
Not a bad one, but not a good one either.
I leaned in slightly, letting my breath rest against his ear.
"Questions about work," I echoed, dragging out the words like I was savoring them. "And yet, I find you in here, half-dressed, while Marlo lies in that bed, utterly fucked out."
Michael's entire body went rigid.
I grinned.
"You must think I'm stupid," I continued, my voice dropping lower, silkier. "Do I look like a man who tolerates stupidity?"
Michael's hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn't speak.
Smart choice.
"I'll tell you something," I murmured, bringing my lips dangerously close to his ear. "Listen very carefully, Michael."
He held his breath.
"You don't touch what belongs to me."
Michael flinched.
"I-"
I clicked my tongue, cutting him off.
"Don't." My voice was almost gentle, but the warning behind it was unmistakable. "Don't lie. Don't pretend."
I pulled back slightly, just enough to watch his expression as I delivered the final blow.
"There is only one person permitted to fuck in my mansion," I said, my lips curling into a smirk. "And that person is me."
Michael's face burned with embarrassment, his jaw tightening as he swallowed whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue.
I chuckled darkly.
"I don't like sharing, Michael." I reached out, brushing a single finger along the collar of his wrinkled shirt, enjoying the way his breath hitched at the contact. "So, if I were you, I would think very carefully before making another mistake."
Michael's hands clenched even tighter. His body was coiled, tense, like a cornered animal weighing its options.
But we both knew he wouldn't fight me.
Not here.
Not now.
Not ever.
He inhaled sharply.
"May I be excused, sir?" he asked rather politely.
I let the silence stretch, drawing out his discomfort before I finally, mercifully, gave a slow nod.
"Go."
Michael didn't hesitate. He turned on his heel and practically fled the room, his steps brisk, his entire body radiating the desperate need to get away from me.
I watched him go, my eyes trailing over his retreating form, and slowly, something dark and devious began to take shape in my mind.
Michael.
A new recruit.
A nobody.
But now...
Now, he had my attention.
And that?
That was far more dangerous than anything he could ever imagine.
