Chapter 164

Aiden

The meeting with Hale had gone better than I could’ve hoped. By the time we stepped out of his office, the contract was as good as promised.

For the first time in weeks, something in my future felt solid. As soon as the season ended, I’d have a choice—maybe not the one I wanted, but at least a way forward.

Judging by how things were looking, I’d definitely be leaving the school. My first instinct had been to find another program, but I knew no university would touch me again once things were public.

That was where the Dominion came in. My lifeline. My plan B.

But before any of that could become real, I had a reputation to uphold.

A scene to deliver.

Micah waited quietly beside me in the backstage corridor, his nerves hidden beneath perfect posture. The low thrum of bass seeped through the walls; beyond the curtain, the crowd was restless.

Hale approached, smile razor-sharp beneath the stage lights. “Mr. A,” he murmured, leaning close enough that I could catch the faint trace of smoke and sandalwood on him. “Would you indulge the audience tonight? A full-suspension display would be quite… appreciated.”

I hesitated. “I told my sub that tonight would be more of a re-introduction to the stage rather than a complicated act.”

“It’s alright, Sir. I think we could—”

My glare stopped him mid-sentence. “That will be two, counting the one I never punished you for.”

Hale’s gaze flicked toward Micah, then back to me. “Maybe we could include that in the scene as well.”

Micah met my eyes—calm, certain—the smallest nod giving consent without words.

Very well.

I drew in a breath and turned to him. “In that case, my boy, you may choose our helper.”

His smile was quick and bright, the kind that used to undo me. “Master Hale, would you honor us with your participation?”

Hale’s eyes lit with unmistakable delight. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Wise choice,” I said softly, brushing my fingers along Micah’s cheek before lowering my hand in quiet dismissal. He understood the signal.

Hale stepped up, and the lights shifted to a deep amber glow.

I leaned down one last time, brushed my lips against Micah’s temple, and whispered, “Let’s give them something to remember. Why don’t you go and grab me the soft tarp we saw in the prop room, remember?”

“I do, Sir. Right away.”

Then I straightened, every emotion locked behind the mask the audience knew as Mr. A. Micah returned, graceful and unafraid, laying the tarp across the stage beneath the suspension frame while Master Hale signaled the technicians to lower the chains.

The soft metallic rattle filled the silence like music. I stepped into the light, adjusting each clasp, each loop, ensuring that every connection would bear the right balance of strain and safety. Hale worked beside me with quiet efficiency, his hands sure, his eyes gleaming with something too sharp to be mere curiosity. He was lusting for Micah. I could feel it through his every move.

When Micah approached again, bare shoulders glowing beneath the amber lights, he didn’t need direction. He raised his arms, allowing us to fasten the cuffs at his wrists, the soft leather pressing against skin already marked from years of discipline. For a while we worked securing the attachments. Each click of the chain echoed through the room—measured, inevitable, until he was completely secured from every angle.

“Ready?” I asked, my voice low.

He nodded once, breathing steady. “I’m ready, Sir.”

There it was—that trust. Beautiful, reckless trust that struck somewhere deep inside me, where the guilt still lived. It should have been Noah standing there—my baby boy looking at me with that same unflinching surrender. But life didn’t deal in should haves.

Together, Hale and I lifted the chains. Slowly, with the care of ceremony, Micah’s body left the ground, rising into the center of the stage. His muscles tightened under the pull, every line of him trembling in quiet strength. The crowd’s murmur faded into reverent silence.

Hale moved around him, testing tension, fingertips brushing a line of chain. I caught the look on his face—part fascination, part that evident hunger once more—and for the briefest instant, jealousy flared like static beneath my skin.

“Hold, my boy,” I said, stepping into his line of sight. “Breathe through it.”

He did—deep, controlled, his body swaying faintly under the lights.

Taking a flogger from the chest to our right, I approached Micah, whose eyes were glued to my every move. “I am going to give you twenty. Ten for each infraction.”

Micah took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if he would’ve chosen to take those right now, but the choice was not his to make.

The first sound split the air—leather against air, not skin. The second followed, precise, measured, a pulse to match the music’s slow beat. The flogger tails slid across his thighs before hitting his chest with a snap. “Count for us, beautiful.”

He obeyed. Each motion painted movement across the light, catching on the sheen of sweat as Micah adjusted to every strike, counting—voice strained by the effort of keeping his balance despite the pain.

It wasn’t just punishment. It was a dance.

Hale circled behind him, keeping balance on the lines, ensuring the suspension stayed clean, his eyes never leaving the performance—his interest like heat—directed at both of us.

Micah’s breath came shorter, muscles trembling with the effort of stillness, but his composure never broke. Every controlled shiver, every taut exhale, was a testament to the training, to the trust between us that had once meant everything.

I stepped closer, ending the rhythm with a single touch to his back. Tears were streaming out of his eyes, his body shaking. My hand lingered just long enough to ground him. “That’s enough, my boy,” I whispered.

The audience erupted in applause as Hale and I began lowering him, the chains gliding smoothly until his feet touched the tarp. Hale reached him first, steadying his arm as I released the last clasp.

Micah lifted his head, flushed and shining with effort, pride written all over his face.

I looked at him and saw everything I couldn’t have—the devotion, the peace, the simplicity of being wanted without question.

And God, I wished it were Noah.

But all I had was this moment—order, control, and a brief illusion of harmony in a world I was about to destroy.