Chapter 36
Killian got into the car first.
He didn’t wait—just slid into the back seat and shrugged off his jacket, posture already relaxed like the space belonged to him. Theodore hesitated a fraction of a second before following, closing the door carefully behind him.
“Argent Room,” Killian said to António without looking up.
The car pulled away smoothly.
Theodore sat rigid at first, hands folded in his lap, gaze fixed on the window. Killian watched the reflection of the city slide past, jaw set, mind already elsewhere.
By the time they arrived, neither of them had spoken.
Inside the café, the noise was low and controlled—cutlery, muted conversations, the soft clink of cups. They took the same booth as before, familiarity settling in whether they wanted it or not.
A waiter came. Killian ordered automatically. Theodore asked for coffee.
Once they were alone again, Killian leaned back and exhaled.
“So,” he said, “about this first module.”
Theodore looked up, attentive.
“I’ve never done anything like this,” Killian admitted, irritation threading his voice. “I don’t know how to teach someone how to… behave. They sent me a title and a deadline like that’s enough.”
Theodore considered him for a moment. “Then we start with the book,” he said. “See how they frame it.”
Killian frowned. “I don’t have it.”
“You left it at home?” Theodore asked.
“Yes.”
A pause. Then Theodore tilted his head. “Didn’t the team give you a digital copy?”
Killian blinked. “They didn’t say—”
He pulled his phone out anyway, thumb already moving through his inbox. He scrolled, faster now, irritation growing—then stopped.
“…There,” he muttered.
He tapped the file and waited while it downloaded, eyes flicking briefly to Theodore as if daring him to comment.
The screen changed.
BDSM — A Structured Guide for Beginners
Adam Carlos
Killian opened it, scrolling once, twice. Clean formatting. Chapters listed neatly. No theatrics.
“Well,” he said dryly, turning the screen so Theodore could see, “looks like I’ve got homework.”
Theodore adjusted his glasses and leaned in, expression professional, focused.
“Then we read,” he said simply.
Killian watched him for a second longer than necessary before nodding.
“Yeah,” he replied. “We read.”
They didn’t speak at first.
Killian set the phone on the table between them, screen tilted so they could both see. The café noise stayed low and distant, insulated by the booth and the weight of what they were doing.
He scrolled once.
Stopped.
Read.
His jaw tightened almost immediately.
“This is…,” he began, then stopped, annoyed. “This is written like a training manual.”
Theodore leaned closer, adjusting his glasses, eyes already scanning. “That’s exactly what it is.”
Killian flicked his gaze to him. “You sound pleased.”
“I sound unsurprised,” Theodore corrected. “Look at the language.”
Killian scrolled again, slower now:
Submissive behavior is learned through repetition, not emotion.
He snorted softly. “They really stripped the poetry out of it.”
“They stripped the ambiguity,” Theodore said. “Which is the point.”
Killian kept reading.
Posture.
Positioning.
Stillness.
He stopped at a section header.
“‘Seated Conduct,’” he read aloud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Theodore’s eyes moved quickly. “Read it.”
Killian did, irritation threading his voice:
When seated, the Submissive remains still unless instructed otherwise. Hands visible. Spine straight. Feet grounded.
He glanced up. “This sounds like detention.”
“Or a classroom,” Theodore replied evenly.
Killian frowned. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m recognizing it,” Theodore said. “There’s a difference.”
Killian scrolled again.
Standing when the Dominant stands.
Remaining in place when uncertain.
Waiting for correction rather than anticipating it.
He stopped.
“…They want me to teach you how to wait,” he said.
“Yes.”
“How to sit.”
“Yes.”
“How to stand.”
“Yes.”
Killian leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “This is ridiculous.”
Theodore didn’t look at him. “It’s basic conditioning.”
Killian’s eyes narrowed. “You say that like it’s nothing.”
Theodore finally looked up. “Because for me, it isn’t.”
That landed.
Killian looked back at the screen, slower now, reading instead of skimming. He reached the section labeled Correction and stiffened.
“Listen to this,” he muttered.
Correction should be immediate, neutral, and consistent. Emotion introduces inconsistency.
He laughed once, sharp. “They turned me into a teaching assistant.”
“They turned you into an instructor,” Theodore said. “Those are different things.”
Killian shook his head. “I don’t correct people. I tell them what to do.”
“And now you’ll do both,” Theodore replied.
Silence stretched.
Killian scrolled to the end of the chapter:
Mastery of basic conduct reduces the need for punishment.
He stared at that line longer than the rest.
“So if you do this right,” he said slowly, “they won’t push for more.”
Theodore nodded. “That’s how audits work. Measurable compliance.”
Killian locked the phone and set it face down.
A beat.
The phone vibrated.
Killian frowned.
He flipped it over.
Father.
That wiped the smirk clean off his face.
He answered immediately.
“Yes.”
No greeting. No warmth.
“Where are you?” his father asked, voice calm, precise, already irritated.
Killian leaned back in the booth. “Out.”
A pause. Measured. Dangerous. “That wasn’t the question.”
Theodore watched Killian’s posture change before he even realized it himself. His shoulders didn’t slump. They squared. His spine straightened, subtly, instinctively.
“Argent Room,” Killian said.
Another pause. “With who?”
Killian glanced at Theodore.
Didn’t look away this time.
“With a professor.”
Silence.
Then, dry and sharp: “That better not be a joke.”
“It’s not.”
His father exhaled slowly. “You were supposed to be at Leonard’s office an hour ago.”
Killian’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t told.”
“You were informed,” his father corrected. “You just decided it wasn’t important.”
Theodore’s fingers curled slightly around the coffee cup.
Killian leaned forward now, forearms on the table. “I’m handling something.”
“You always are,” his father said. “The question is whether it’s worth delaying a board call.”
A beat.
“Is it?”
Killian didn’t answer immediately.
Theodore felt it then — the shift. The rare hesitation.
“Yes,” Killian said at last. Flat. Certain.
Another silence. This one longer.
“…Interesting,” his father murmured. “Since when do you prioritize anything over appearances?”
Killian’s eyes didn’t leave Theodore. “Since now.”
The call ended.
No goodbye.
Killian set the phone down slowly.
He knew then that the silence at breakfast hadn’t been ignorance.
It had been notice.
The café noise rushed back in, too loud, too normal.
Theodore spoke first. “That sounded… important.”
Killian scoffed. “Everything sounds important to him.”
“But you didn’t go.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Killian met his gaze. Really met it this time.
“Because,” he said quietly, “he doesn’t tolerate loss of control.”
A beat.
“And neither does the team.”
Theodore understood immediately.
This wasn’t just about contracts or modules.
Killian had been raised inside hierarchies long before the Annex.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure which one he was answering to.