Chapter 199

Aiden

A week to the wedding.

I’d found a temporary rental in Houston, small and tucked away behind a row of old oak trees, exactly the kind of place where no one asked questions and neighbors minded their own damn business. It wasn’t home, not even close, but it was far enough from the life I had lost… and close enough to the Dominion that I could show up for work, keep busy, and pretend I hadn’t collapsed from the inside out.

One after another, every bridge had burned. No amount of money, effort, charm, or sheer fucking will had been enough to save us. I needed power—real power—not the performance I put on at the club, not the façade of control I displayed on stage. And apart from that… I had none.

Still, I worked every day. Training dominants, supervising sessions, coordinating events, guiding new masters through scenes with the calm authority they expected from me. I showed strength I didn’t have, gave commands I barely believed in, and held an image together with string and fumes. The only hints of my reality were the shadows I slipped into afterward, the corners where I sat alone with a drink long after everyone else had gone home.

Micah had been a godsend—bless that kid and his relentless sass. His endless optimism, his intrusive little pep talks, his stupid muffins and sandwiches from the café where he worked part-time… all of it was his way of diluting the alcohol I was starting to rely on a little too often. He listened to my crap, every bit of it, which was more than anyone else would have done. He even had his own death wish on William, thrown in just for solidarity. I could tell he was worried. Hell, even I was worried.

I hadn’t seen Noah in weeks, and even though staying away was the safest, smartest move… it fucking destroyed me. Worse, those lunch calls weren’t happening regularly anymore. Noah was being stretched to his limits—I heard it in his voice every time he managed to call from that old secondhand phone he kept hidden in his locker. And in our last call, he let something slip.

He’d noticed William’s men following him.

Subtle. Distant. Shadows, a car with blacked-out windows, footsteps a few paces behind him. Almost unnoticeable… but he still noticed.

The bastard didn’t want information.

He wanted Noah afraid.

He wanted both of us afraid.

A reminder.

A silent threat.

And there was a part of me—buried deep, cold, and frightening—that had considered the ultimate sacrifice if it came to that. Noah had already given William his career and was about to give him a marriage he didn’t want. What more did the bastard need? Why keep him under surveillance like prey?

I knew the answer.

William wanted us to feel it.

To know he was there.

That night, like every night, I sat in my quiet corner of the Dominion with my drink, watching other people’s lives unfold while drowning in my own self-pity. A tear slid down my face—quick, angry, uninvited.

If only he were gone… if only William disappeared… if only someone—

“Mind if I sit?”

Hale’s voice cut through my thoughts like a switchblade.

I straightened, startled. It was surprising he hadn’t approached me sooner. He was a perceptive man. He had surely noticed the storm inside me—the move to Houston, the missing partner I used to bring, Micah’s hovering, the way I lingered in shadows after every shift with more drinks than any responsible dominant should touch.

He’d supported me anyway. Gave me work. Gave me space. Gave me silence. Never pried.

If only he knew.

“Master Hale—sorry, are we closing?” I started to rise, but he motioned gently.

“No. Stay. Have a drink with me.”

I hesitated, then sank back into my seat. Hale took the chair across from me, his expression unreadable.

We sat in silence for a moment—him studying me, me trying not to fall apart.

“You’ve been carrying something heavy,” he finally said, voice low. “And I’ve respected your privacy. But I’m not blind, Aiden. Something is breaking you.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s… complicated.”

He didn’t budge. “Complicated doesn’t mean you have to carry it alone.”

I tried to shake it off. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aiden,” he said, quietly firm, “you’re not fine.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t order me. He simply stated a truth I couldn’t dodge.

And something inside me cracked.

Little by little, he coaxed the story out of me. All of it. Not in a neat, heroic confession, but in broken, halting pieces. The blackmail. Noah. The engagement. The contract. The lawyers. William’s threats. My failure. My guilt so deep it was eating me alive.

I hadn’t meant to say so much.

I hadn’t meant to show him the worst parts of myself.

But once I started, I couldn’t stop.

“I ruined everything,” I said hoarsely. “I destroyed his future. I promised him I’d get us out and instead I… I failed him. I failed Noah. I failed myself. I lost my job, my home, my career. And now he’s going to marry her and I can’t—”

My voice cracked.

Onstage, I was a pillar.

Here, I was dust.

Hale watched me with something like sorrow.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “You loved someone. You fought for him. And you’re still fighting. That doesn’t make you a failure.”

“He’s getting married next week,” I whispered. “To someone he doesn’t love. Because of me. Because I—”

Hale cut in, gentle but firm. “No. Because of a man who abuses power. That’s not your burden to carry.”

I shook my head, trembling. Rage. Grief. Fear. All of it tangled together, strangling me.

“I need to do something,” I rasped. “I need to fix something. I need to take control. I need to—”

“Aiden.” Hale’s voice sharpened. “Stop.”

I went silent.

He leaned forward, eyes steady on mine.

“I can’t promise miracles,” he said. “I’m not William Hart, and my lawyers aren’t at his level. But I’ll talk to them. I’ll get you a third opinion. I’ll see what’s possible.”

A small breath punched out of me—half relief, half despair.

“But right now,” Hale continued, “there is something else I can do for you. If you allow it.”

I frowned. “Hale, I don’t—”

“You’re punishing yourself,” he said. “Spiraling. Sinking. You are trying to hold onto control so tightly you’re tearing yourself apart.”

My chest tightened.

He lowered his voice.

“Let me take it. Just this once.”

My breath caught.

Not sexual.

Not erotic.

Not a scene.

A surrender.

A release.

A dominant allowed to stop pretending.

A man allowed to stop carrying the world.

“I’m offering,” Hale said, “to hold the weight for you. To give you an outlet. To let you break safely. To take the control you’re killing yourself with… if you want that.”

My hands shook.

“I…” My voice faltered. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” he said. “And you need to. You’ve been holding so much alone. Let me help you carry it.”

And just like that—

the façade broke.

The wall cracked.

My chest lurched, and I felt everything—every fear, every failure, every heartbreak—rise up all at once.

Hale stood, offering his hand.

For the first time in years, I stopped being the dominant, I reached for someone.

And I surrendered.