Good Girl

The tires of the fleet of SUVs let out a subtle screech as they rolled onto the pristine marble driveway of the Four Seasons Hotel in Moscow. The grand entrance was illuminated by golden lights, making the already imposing structure look even more regal. Cynthia sat stiffly in her seat, her hands clasped together, as the car came to a halt. She didn’t move, not until she saw Carlos step down first, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement with the kind of authority only he could command. His presence was enough to silence a room, let alone a hotel driveway.

The car door opened, and she turned her head slightly, watching as Carlos extended his hand toward her. His expression was unreadable, his eyes as sharp as ever, daring her to refuse the simple gesture.

“Take my hand,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm.

Cynthia hesitated, just for a second, but she knew better than to defy him in public. She placed her hand in his, and as always, his grip was firm, in control. He guided her out smoothly, and as soon as her feet hit the ground, his fingers tightened slightly around hers before loosening, just enough to remind her who was in charge.

The other officials exited their vehicles as well, along with the security detail. With Carlos leading the way, they all moved toward the entrance of the hotel, Cynthia’s steps perfectly synchronized with his, not out of choice but necessity— his hand was still intertwined with hers, dictating her pace.

As they approached the entrance, the hotel staff, dressed immaculately, stood in a neat row, their heads slightly bowed, hands clasped in front of them in a display of utmost respect.

“Welcome, Mr. Antonio,” one of them greeted, his voice full of reverence. “It is an honor to have you with us.”

Carlos gave a curt nod, his eyes scanning the line of staff like a predator assessing its territory.

The hotel manager, a stout man with a well-groomed beard, stepped forward, his hands rubbing together in a mix of excitement and nerves. “Mr. Antonio, we have ensured that your stay will be nothing short of perfection. Please allow me to escort you to your quarters personally.”

Carlos barely spared him a glance before turning to Cynthia. “Let’s go.”

She simply nodded, knowing there was no room for argument. The manager led them through the grand lobby, past a towering chandelier that sparkled like a cluster of fallen stars. Guests turned to steal glances, whispering amongst themselves, but no one dared to approach.

When they finally reached the private suite, the manager handed Carlos the key card, a proud smile on his face. “Should you require anything at all, Mr. Antonio, do not hesitate to reach out to me directly.”

Carlos took the card, his fingers brushing against the manager’s briefly before he pulled back. “Alright.”

With that, the manager took his leave, and Carlos turned toward his men standing just behind them.

“Stay here. I need some time alone with my wife.” His tone was final, not up for discussion. The men nodded in silent obedience.

Cynthia swallowed as he placed the key card against the door handle. A green beep echoed in the hallway, and the door unlocked. Carlos pushed it open and gestured for her to step inside.

“After you,” he murmured, his voice almost teasing.

Cynthia walked in, her heels clicking against the glossy floor as she took in the extravagant suite. The space was larger than most apartments, with a panoramic view of the Moscow skyline. A massive king-sized bed dominated the room, draped in silk sheets that probably cost more than an average person’s salary for a year.

The door shut with a soft click behind her, and she stiffened at the sound.

Carlos wasted no time unbuttoning his suit jacket and shrugging it off, tossing it onto the nearby armchair. His movements were unhurried, calculated. He walked to the bed, his fingers grazing the silk sheets before turning his gaze toward her.

“Feel comfortable,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Then, raising a single finger to his lips, he added, “Shhh.”

Cynthia frowned. “Shhh?”

Carlos exhaled as he fell back against the bed, his head resting against the pillows. “I don’t want any disturbances. The meeting is in a few hours, and I need peace.”

She crossed her arms. “And when have I ever denied you that?”

Carlos cracked an eye open, his expression amused. “What else do you do?”

Cynthia clenched her jaw. “I need space from you. I need to be in a separate room.”

Carlos chuckled, low and deep. “A separate room?” He sat up slightly, resting on his elbows. “You wish.”

Her fists curled at her sides, but she forced herself to remain composed. “Carlos, I—”

“Ah,” he cut her off, waving a finger. “Didn’t I say no disturbances?”

Her breath hitched, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. But she knew better than to push him too far. With a sigh, she turned away, walking toward the window to distract herself. The city lights stretched endlessly before her, twinkling under the night sky.

Behind her, Carlos’s voice carried across the room, calm yet authoritative. “Good girl.”