Chapter 201

Aiden

Hale’s hand closed around mine—steady, warm, grounding—and something inside me gave. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a Hollywood-collapse way. More like a rope finally snapping after being pulled too tight for too long.

He didn’t drag me anywhere. He didn’t rush.

He just held my hand and said quietly, “Come with me.”

I followed.

We walked down the hall into one of Dominion’s private rooms. Not the dungeon. Not the training arena. A quiet one—anyone who’d been here long enough recognized the space. It was a room meant for grounding, not play. Low lights. Thick walls. The faint scent of leather and sandalwood.

Hale closed the door behind us.

“Sit,” he said gently.

I sat on the padded bench in the center of the room, my hands shaking so badly I had to clasp them between my knees to hide it.

Hale knelt—not submissively, just level with me—eyes patient, calm, unreadable in that steady way he had.

“I need you to tell me one thing,” he said. “Do you want to let go? Truly let go?”

Let go… Let go of what? Noah? The memory of everything we were? I could never. He was my life—the only thing that kept me breathing. Let go of the guilt, the pain chewing through me every night? I wanted to… but I also didn’t. Because if the pain went away, if the guilt faded, then what the hell would I have left of him? I’d rather hurt than forget him. I’d rather bleed than move on.

I swallowed, my throat raw. “I… I don’t know.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “You don’t need certainty. You just need honesty.”

Honesty.

The one thing I’d been avoiding with myself for months.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, voice shaking.

His eyes softened—barely, but I saw it. “Good. Fear kept you alive. But is not serving you now. Let me take it from you.”

Fear… that was something I was ready to let go of.

“Let me take the control too,” Hale said softly. “Just this once. The weight you keep carrying alone… it’s killing you. Control has hardened you, turned you into stone. You’ve spent your whole life holding other people’s will. It’s time to let go of your own. Just for a moment. Just to breathe.”

He stood again, slow and deliberate toward the sound system panel before walking to the wall where the implements hung. He didn’t reach for a whip or a cane—nothing harsh, nothing meant to punish. Instead, he chose something simple: a soft leather flogger, worn in from years of use. Gentle. Almost comforting.

He held it up. “Nothing you can’t handle. Nothing meant to punish. Just something to help you release.”

My heart hammered in my throat.

I nodded once.

“Stand up,” he said.

I stood.

He came behind me, placing a grounding hand on my shoulder. “Take off your shirts and pants, please.”

I began to undress on command before my instincts could take over and carry me away from my own needs and emotions. Once I was down to my underwear—a small mercy I never allowed my own subs—I stood before him.

“Hands on the frame.”

I placed my palms against the padded restraint bar—no cuffs, no rope, nothing that trapped me. Just the option of support.

My forehead leaned forward, touching the leather. My breathing shook as the music came up.

Hale stepped behind me, and for the first time since everything with Noah fell apart—

I didn’t hide it.

I didn’t pretend to be strong.

I didn’t pretend at all.

“Breathe,” he murmured as the flogger in his hand leapt toward my bare skin almost on its own.

The first strike landed softly. Barely a tap.

Just enough to make a sound.

Just enough to open the crack in my chest a little wider.

Another.

Then another—his body adjusting to the bite of the leather, his muscles twitching with the light sting and the increasing heat.

Rhythmic.

Slow.

Measured.

Like a heartbeat I didn’t have control over anymore.

Each fall of leather wasn’t pain—it was permission. Permission to feel something that wasn’t guilt. Permission to let my mind go quiet. Permission to break without shattering.

Blow after blow, my mind began to drift, the world blurring away. Even the music began to disappear… My brain only aware of the raw, red skin beneath the flogger, the trembling of my legs, the sweat sliding down my sore skin and into the waistband of my boxers. I could hear my own breathing, my almost silent moans and whimpers, along with Hale’s—his soft sighs contrasting with my sharp intakes, every time the flogger hit in a longer succession…

Hale stepped closer, resting his chin on my shoulder in reassurance and comfort, and the humming that came out of my lips was not a complaint, but a series of pleas that defied all inhibitions, begging for more.

I could feel Hale’s skin against mine, hot and damp, along with the complete silence against my head that came from trust, and the need of surrendering my guilt from the past and my fear from the future into simply feeling the right now. My body, my every sensation, my limitations and the fact that I had no control over this, no control over my life, no control at all.

My breath hitched, and the ground under me shifted. My vision blurred. And then—finally—it happened. I was tired, exhausted… and I was only a man. Living the best I could… Loving the only way I knew how. Unhinged. Raw. Human… I was only human…

My shoulders trembled.

My jaw clenched.

My whole body sagged forward as something sharp and broken tore loose inside me.

Hale stopped immediately. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t touch me. Just waited.

I choked out a sound—weak, humiliating, honest. My knees buckled, and Hale caught me before I sank to the floor. Not holding me like a submissive, not cradling—just bracing me, steadying me, the exact amount of contact I needed.

I couldn’t stop the tears. I tried—God, I tried—but the harder I fought, the harder my body shook.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

And for the first time since Noah walked out of my life—since William destroyed every path forward—I broke. Not with violence or sex or power games, but in the way a person breaks when there’s nothing left to hold on to. Hale stayed there with his arms firm around me, letting me collapse without letting me fall apart completely. He didn’t force words or offer advice or try to fix anything; he just stayed, steady and present, holding the weight with me. Letting me know II wasn’t drowning alone.

When it was over, I dressed slowly, grounding myself in each familiar motion. Shirt. Buttons. Belt. Shoes. Armor. By the time I stood upright again, I felt like a cleaned-out version of myself—hollow, exhausted, but steady enough to hold my own weight.

Hale approached only when I lifted my head.

His voice was nothing like the one he’d used in the scene. Softer. A friend’s voice. “Aiden,” he said, “we’re not done fighting this.”

I swallowed hard. “Hale—”

“Listen to me.” He stepped closer, eyes steady. “I’m calling my legal team. Not the junior associates the public sees—I’m talking about the ones Dominion keeps on retainer for real emergencies. If there is anything that can be done in your case or Noah’s—now or later—we’ll find it.”

My chest tightened. “I already went to firms. All of them said—”

“I know what they said.” His tone didn’t waver. “But they’re not me. And they don’t have the resources we do.”

I stared at him, not fully believing, not fully capable of hope yet, but needing the words more than air.

“I’ll get them started today,” Hale continued. “They’ll dig into both contracts, both cases, every loophole, every technicality. Even if it takes time… we’ll find something. And when we do, I’ll get you to it. I promise.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“But legal battles take time,” he said. “And you need something now. Something that restores your hope. Something that starts building you back up.”

He gave me a small, knowing smile.

“And I think,” he said quietly, “I already have just the thing.”