Chapter 162

Aiden

Saturday came too quickly.

The last two days I’d felt it—the wrongness in Noah that he tried so hard to hide. Nothing I could point to, nothing concrete. He’d been on time to every drill, polite in every meeting, focused on the field. But the light in him had changed. The tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze sometimes slid past me instead of meeting mine—it gnawed at me.

I’d checked my phone more times than I cared to admit, hoping for a message, a call, any excuse for him to reach out. Nothing.

Silence had a way of sounding like distance.

By six o’clock I was pacing my living room, trying to convince myself that tonight was about focus. Micah would be here any minute. I had a promise to keep and a role to play.

The knock came earlier than expected.

When I opened the door, Micah stood there with his usual bright energy, the nervous excitement already shimmering beneath his calm expression. He’d taken my last instructions literally—arriving early, ready, composed.

The moment I stepped aside he crossed the threshold without hesitation, setting his bag down and beginning to undress.

What the fuck…?

For a heartbeat I almost told him to stop—the reflex of Aiden, the man, the part of me that had forgotten what this world demanded. But then the other side of me took over.

This was what he’d been told to do long ago. This was what I had agreed to continue.

He folded each piece of clothing neatly, every movement careful, practiced. And when he finally knelt, waiting, the sight of his blonde hair, those expectant blue eyes… caught me in the throat.

For an instant it wasn’t Micah at all. It was the memory of another night, another body, another kind of obedience.

The same posture.

Different soul.

I forced the thought away.

“Good job,” I said quietly, resting a hand on his head, the gesture automatic. His hair was lighter—almost gold in the lamplight—and the wrongness of that simple detail burned in my chest.

“Up,” I added, keeping my tone even. “Make yourself useful and bring me a coffee. Fresh.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He moved quickly toward the kitchen, efficient and silent, and I stood there for a moment, letting the smell of ground beans and the steady rhythm of his steps fill the room.

This was my world again—the one made of control and order, where feelings had no place.

If only I believed it.

Micah came back from the kitchen carrying the mug carefully between his hands, the steam curling up between us.

“Perfect,” I said, taking a sip. “Go upstairs and iron the clothes on the bed. Set a bath and play some of my music. We’ll have a light dinner before getting dressed—you’ll prepare it while I bathe.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for trusting me with it all.” He lit up at my commands, eager to get going.

“You’ve done it all before. I trained you well. We’re leaving around eight.”

He brightened immediately. “To the club, then, Sir?”

“The Dominion, yes,” I said. “I have business to discuss with Master Hale. You’re coming with me, and I expect you on your best behaviour.”

Micah’s grin widened. “Always, Sir. But what kind of business? And are we talking good-boy best behaviour or performer best behaviour?”

“Both. But mostly the latter,” I said. “After my meeting, we’ll be on stage. Hale will appreciate another live demonstration—he’s been eager since he saw one of our earlier performances. In fact, that’s the reason he reached out in the first place.”

Micah let out a low whistle. “So he’s finally getting proof that the legends are true.” He gave an exaggerated stretch that was half-tease, half-warm-up. “What are we showing him this time?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” I said, hiding a smile. “Now go do what I asked.”

Micah followed every instruction to perfection. For all his excessive enthusiasm and unnerving sass, he was every Master’s delight—attentive, willing, obedient to a fault, a true submissive at heart.

As evening drew near, I couldn’t help but praise his work as I leaned closer to kiss his forehead. He looked up at me with pride and devotion, and God, he was so beautiful and so willing. He had once held my heart in his hands, and while what I felt for him now wasn’t love, his presence still stirred a kind of tenderness I couldn’t deny.

“Go get ready now, Micah. We’re leaving soon. Did you bring any of your gear?” I asked, knowing how much he loved choosing his own body ornaments before a show.

He darted toward the bedroom, his voice trailing behind him. “Of course! Mesh or leather, Sir? Because you know I’m partial to both.”

“Something minimal,” I called back. “And make sure your collar’s polished.”

When he returned a few minutes later, he was all energy and sparkle—the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who he was. He adjusted the strap at his throat, glanced at me, and grinned. “How’s this?”

“Exactly right,” I said, taking in the silver leather thong and the matching see-through mesh that covered nothing. “Remember the routine—control, rhythm, precision. We’ll focus on balance and endurance tonight.”

“So more artistry than pain,” he said thoughtfully, then laughed. “Got it. The elegant stuff. You’ll make them forget to breathe.”

I shook my head but couldn’t help the smile. “Just remember to breathe yourself.”

Micah winked. “Only if you let me.”

He was impossible. And for what I needed tonight—his energy, his showmanship, the illusion of control—it was perfect.

The Dominion was humming when we arrived, the low pulse of bass and murmured voices vibrating through the marble foyer. Velvet shadows, polished steel, the faint scent of leather and incense—inviting, as always.

Master Hale stood near the entrance, greeting guests with the same smooth authority that had made his name synonymous with the place. When his gaze found us, a slow smile curved his lips.

“Mr A,” he said, crossing the floor with a grace that made people step aside. “Welcome back. And I see you’ve brought the gorgeous Micah with you again.”

For a heartbeat I thought I’d imagined the flicker in his eyes—something sharp and appreciative, bordering on desire. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual polite charm.

“Yes,” I said evenly. “My official new submissive as of today.”

Micah dipped his head just enough to acknowledge the greeting, posture perfect. Hale’s smile deepened.

“Excellent. Come, both of you. We can talk in my office before the evening begins.”

We followed him through the corridors lined with crimson drapes and low amber lights until we reached his private study—a quiet contrast to the hum outside. Hale motioned toward the seating area, poured us each a drink, and then leaned against his desk.

“So,” he said, folding his hands. “Are you ready to talk business, as we mentioned over the phone?”

“I am,” I replied. “The season is ending at my current post, and I don’t plan on staying. I’m ready to consider your earlier offer. I’d like to discuss the position of Master at the Dominion.”

Hale’s brows lifted slightly, pleased. “I was hoping you’d say that. You have the precision and restraint I value here. I had prepared this offer for you. Tell me what more you need, and I’ll see that it’s done.” He slid a folder in my direction and the amount exceeded my every expectation.

“I only ask for structure and the freedom to train as I see fit,” I said. “Micah will be my official submissive and assistant in all sessions and demonstrations.”

Micah’s breath caught softly beside me, but he stayed perfectly still.

Hale regarded me for a long moment, then nodded. “Consider it done, Aiden. Welcome home.”

I inclined my head in acknowledgment, though inside, the words felt heavier than they should have.

Because tonight I had just sealed the part of the plan that would end everything—and begun a new one I wasn’t sure I believed in.