The sterile hum of the hospital room wraps around Elise like a shroud. She stares at the ceiling, her mind sharp even as her body aches. The IV drip feeds her, the monitors track her—control she no longer has. Outside, the city pulses with power pys she once orchestrated. Now, she’s a discarded piece. But not for long.

  ELISE: (muttering) Pathetic.

  [A dry chuckle. She flexes her fingers, testing her strength. The scars on her wrists are reminders—not of weakness, but of what she survived. The window reflects a ghost of the woman who once bent politicians to her will. Now, she’s in Hezri’s debt. The thought burns.]

  ELISE: (whispering) You thought you could throw me away? After all I gave—my body, my mind, my loyalty? Those old vultures picked me clean and tossed me out when I couldn’t pry open Hezri’s vaults. But you… (a slow, venomous smile) You picked me up. Not out of pity. You need me.

  [She sits up, ignoring the pain. The heart monitor spikes—anger, not weakness.]

  ELISE: You want a strategist? Fine. But I’m not one of your investments. Not a shiny Ferrari for your collection, not a penthouse pet like Maya or that idealistic fool Li. You give them cars, apartments, businesses—like it’s nothing. Like money means nothing to you. (her voice drops) But I know better.

  [A pause. She watches the door—no one’s listening. But she’s careful anyway.]

  ELISE: You’re not just rich. You’re reckless. No one spends like you do unless they’re hiding something. Offshore accounts? Shell companies? Or something… worse? But it doesn’t matter. Because you need me to navigate the wolves at the door. The old men who want you dead. The rivals who don’t understand how you keep winning.

  [She leans back, fingers tracing the edge of the bnket—calcuting.]

  ELISE: You think you’re untouchable because you buy loyalty. But loyalty bought is loyalty sold. Maya? She’ll leave if someone offers more. Li? She’s a true believer—until she realizes you’re not the messiah she thinks you are. But me? (a cold smile) I don’t need your money. I need vengeance. And you’re the key.

  The door to Elise’s private hospital suite slides open with a hushed click. Hezri steps in, fnked by Sara Croft, Dr. Lakyus, and Renner. The air shifts—charged, deliberate. Elise’s eyes flicker up from her brooding, instantly assessing, instantly defensive

  HEZRI: (smirking) Still plotting in the dark, Elise?

  [She doesn’t answer. Sara moves first, her fingers trailing along the edge of the hospital bed—possessive, knowing. Renner dims the lights, while Lakyus locks the door with a quiet, final sound.]

  ELISE: (coldly) Here to gloat? Or just to remind me how owned I am?

  [Hezri ughs, low and unbothered. He sits at the edge of the bed, his presence overwhelming the sterile space. His fingers brush her wrist—where the scars are. Not pity. A challenge.]

  HEZRI: You’re not owned. You’re underestimated. And that makes you dangerous. But right now… (his thumb traces her pulse) …you’re also tense.

  [Elise’s breath hitches—anger or something else, she isn’t sure. Sara’s hand slides up her bare calf, warm and unhurried. Renner adjusts the pillows behind her, her touch clinical yet intimate. Lakyus watches, arms crossed, a silent sentinel.]

  SARA: (murmuring) You think too much, Elise. Let go.

  [Elise scoffs, but Hezri’s grip tightens slightly. Not painful. Commanding. His other hand cups her jaw, tilting her face to his.]

  HEZRI: You want control. Fine. But tonight, you’ll take what I give you. And you’ll like it.

  She opens her mouth to retort—but his lips crash onto hers, swallowing her defiance. Sara’s hands glide higher, pushing the thin hospital gown up her thighs. Renner’s fingers weave into Elise’s hair, holding her steady as Hezri deepens the kiss, slow and relentless. Lakyus moves closer, her voice a velvet murmur.]

  LAKYUS: Heart rate elevated. Adrenaline. But not from fear.

  [Elise shudders. She hates how easily they read her. How Hezri’s touch—rough yet deliberate—unravels her. Sara’s lips find her neck, biting just enough to sting. Renner’s breath ghosts over her ear.]

  RENNER: Stop fighting. It’s easier when you surrender.

  [Hezri pulls back, watching the conflict in Elise’s eyes—the fury, the reluctant hunger. His smile is darkly satisfied. With a nod, Sara slips onto the bed beside her, skin against skin, while Lakyus presses a syringe to Elise’s IV line—something soft, warm, just enough to blur the edges.]

  HEZRI: You’ll hate me tomorrow. But tonight? (his hand slides between her legs) Tonight, you’ll remember who holds your leash.

  *[Elise’s gasp is swallowed by moving his dick inside her vagina as Hezri cims her—body, breath, and the st shreds of her resistance. Around them, Sara, Renner, and Lakyus move in practiced harmony, weaving her into their web of pleasure and power. And for the first time in years… Elise doesn’t think about revenge.

  Only him.]*

  Elise’s body is no longer hers—not in the way it once was. Hezri’s hands are firm, possessive, tracing the lines of her like a man mapping conquered territory. Sara’s lips are warm against her colrbone, Renner’s fingers deft and knowing, Lakyus’ gaze clinical yet hungry. Elise wants to hate this. But her body… her body betrays her.

  Hezri’s Touch – His palm presses against her sternum, fingers spyed like a brand. She feels the heat of him through the thin fabric of her gown, the slow drag of his thumb over her ribs. His other hand grips her thigh, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to remind her: you are not in control here.

  Sara’s Mouth – Soft, then sharp. A kiss at the base of her throat, then teeth. Elise’s breath hitches. Sara knows how to unravel her, knows where to linger—the hollow behind her ear, the sensitive dip above her hip.

  Renner’s Hands – Cool, efficient, like a nurse adjusting an IV. But there’s nothing sterile about the way her fingers trace Elise’s spine, dip into the small of her back, coaxing her to arch into Hezri’s touch.

  Lakyus’ Voice – A murmur, almost amused. "Pulse elevated. Pupils dited." Clinical, yet intimate. She doesn’t touch Elise—not yet. But her presence is a promise.

  This is a trap.

  Elise knows it. Knows that every sigh, every shiver, is another chain Hezri wraps around her. She should be cwing at him, should be spitting venom. But her body—traitorous thing—melts under their hands.

  "You’re thinking again," Sara murmurs against her skin, and Elise wants to sp her. Wants to pull her closer.

  This is how he wins. Not with force, but with patience. With pleasure so deliberate it feels like punishment.

  Hezri’s lips brush her ear. "You’re not broken, Elise. You’re just… relearning."

  Her nails dig into the sheets. She won’t give him the satisfaction of begging.

  (But oh, she’s close.)

  Lakyus finally touches her—a gloved hand skimming her abdomen, a mockery of medical detachment. "You can fight it," she says, "but why?"

  Elise’s breath comes faster.

  This is how empires fall. Not with a scream, but a sigh.

  Elise tenses, fingers twisting in the sheets, her body instinctively resisting the intrusion. Hezri doesn’t rush. His dick penetrating with deliberate, unhurried force, letting her feel every inch, every ridge, the way her body yields to him despite the fury in her eyes.

  "Breathe," Sara murmurs beside her, lips grazing Elise’s shoulder.

  She doesn’t want to. She wants to choke on her own defiance.

  But then Hezri moves.

  A slow, deep drag—out, then in again, a rhythm that isn’t punishing, but patient. The kind of rhythm that carves away resistance, yer by yer. Her hips jerk, torn between pushing him away and pulling him deeper.

  Traitorous flesh.

  His palm slides up her stomach, over her ribs, coming to rest just beneath her throat. Not squeezing. Just ciming.

  Elise’s breath comes in sharp, controlled bursts—each one measured, each one a silent rebellion. Hezri watches her, his gaze dark with amusement. He doesn’t need to speak. His body says enough.

  You can hate me all you want, his slow, deep thrusts seem to murmur. But your body knows the truth.

  Her nails bite into her own palms, her thighs trembling with the effort of resistance. But Hezri doesn’t allow her to retreat. He pins her with his weight, his hips rolling in a relentless, hypnotic rhythm. Every withdrawal is a taunt, every reentry a conquest.

  Sara’s fingers skim Elise’s jaw, tilting her face toward Hezri’s. "Look at him," she whispers. "Really look."

  Elise’s gre is venomous. But Hezri doesn’t flinch. Instead, he smiles—a slow, knowing curve of his lips.

  "You’re still thinking about revenge," he murmurs, his voice rough with exertion. "Still counting the ways you’ll destroy them. Destroy me."

  Another deep stroke, deliberate and slow. Elise’s breath hitches.

  "But right now," he continues, his thumb brushing the frantic pulse at her throat, "you can’t even remember their names."

  It’s true. The edges of her fury blur, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. The past—the betrayals, the humiliations—fades beneath the heat of his body, the relentless pull of pleasure coiling low in her stomach.

  Renner’s hands glide down Elise’s arms, loosening her clenched fists, intercing their fingers. "Let go," she murmurs.

  Lakyus watches from the foot of the bed, her gaze analytical. "Fascinating," she muses. Hez continues moving his penis in her at changing pace.

  The words slither into her mind, venomous and sweet. Hezri’s voice, low and certain, wraps around her thoughts like a noose—tightening.

  Her body arches, traitorous, as he fills her again, deep and unhurried. The rhythm is maddening—just enough to make her gasp, never enough to let her think.

  Elise y suspended between resistance and revetion as Hezri's hands charted undiscovered territory across her skin. His touch was neither rough nor gentle, but devastatingly precise—each caress a calcuted step in their intricate dance.

  "You're fighting yourself more than you're fighting me," he murmured against the curve of her neck, his breath warm where his lips barely grazed her pulse point.

  Sara's knowing hands glided along Elise's sides, her touch like liquid confidence. "We know what you need," she whispered, her lips following the path of her fingers.

  Renner's clinical precision had transformed into something more intimate as she traced invisible patterns along Elise's sensitive inner arms. "Your body remembers what your mind refuses to acknowledge," she observed quietly.

  In that suspended moment between breaths, Elise understood this wasn't about defeat. It was about discovering a different kind of power—one that came from complete surrender.

  That’s what I should be feeling. What I should be thinking. Lying here, skin still flushed, breath still uneven. Surrounded. Outmaneuvered. Again.

  But the anger doesn’t come. Not like before. Not like the sharp, righteous fury that kept me alive all these years. Instead, there’s just… silence. And warmth. And him.

  His arm is draped over my waist, possessive even in sleep. Sara is curled against my back, her breathing slow and even. I should shove them both away. I should get up, get dressed, walk out of here and never look back. But my body won’t move. Not because it can’t. Because it doesn’t want to.

  What does that say about me? That after everything—after the betrayals, the humiliations, the scars—all it took was a few skilled hands and whispered words to make me forget? No. Not forget. Just… stop caring, for a little while. And that might be worse.

  Hezri shifts slightly, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around my hip. Like he knows I’m thinking of leaving. Like he’s daring me to try. Bastard. He’s probably awake. Probably listening to every racing thought in my head, waiting to see which way I’ll break.

  But that’s the thing—I’m not breaking. I’m…

  God, I don’t even know what I am anymore.

  Sara murmurs something in her sleep, nuzzling closer. Her skin is warm against mine. It’s disgustingly comforting. When did I st let someone touch me like this? Not for power. Not for leverage. Just… because they wanted to?

  I hate this. I hate him for doing this to me. For making me feel things I buried years ago. For peeling back every yer of control until there’s nothing left but this—raw, exposed, and terrifyingly alive.

  But most of all?

  I hate that part of me doesn’t hate it at all.