---
The next morning, I found a note on my nightstand.
> Breakfast is at 10. If you're late, starve.
– Celeste
I smiled.
Petty. Cold. Controlling.
Just how I like my women.
---
When I walked into the dining room, she was already there — legs crossed, sipping espresso, pretending I didn't exist.
She didn't look up when I sat.
Didn't offer me coffee.
Didn't speak.
So I did what I always do.
I tested her patience.
> "Thanks for the kiss," I said casually, reaching for a croissant. "I've had better in my dreams, but not bad."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink.
But I saw her jaw tighten.
Good.
I wanted her irritated.
I wanted her to remember she didn't own me — not fully.
Not yet.
---
She finally looked at me — cold, unreadable.
> "Don't mistake my interest for affection," she said.
> "Don't mistake my silence for submission," I shot back.
A beat passed. Then she smiled — slow and dangerous.
> "You're playing a game you don't know the rules of, Aurora."
> "Then teach me," I said, leaning forward. "But be warned—I learn fast."
---
That night, I wore nothing under her silk robe and walked barefoot into her library.
She was reading something expensive, something leather-bound, like a woman with real taste and zero guilt.
She didn't glance up.
> "Do you want something?"
> "I want to see if you break your own rules."
> "Which one?"
I let the robe slip off my shoulder — just enough to show bare skin.
> "The one where you said you won't touch me unless I ask."
That got her attention.
She set the book down.
> "Are you asking?"
I walked closer.
> "No. I'm teasing."
---
She stood, slow and precise, as if she wasn't sure whether she wanted to kiss me or strangle me.
> "You're playing with fire."
I tilted my head.
> "I thought you liked heat."
---
She grabbed my wrist. Hard. Pulled me forward until our chests almost touched.
> "Do you want me to ruin you, Aurora?"
My voice dropped to a whisper.
> "Do you want to beg for it?"
Her hand slid around my waist, down my back, fingers pressing into my skin. My breath caught—but I didn't back down.
> "You're a virgin," she murmured, lips brushing my cheek. "You should be afraid."
> "And you're arrogant," I breathed. "You should be careful."
---
She pushed me backward until I hit the wall.
Her lips grazed my neck, her breath warm against my collarbone. But she didn't kiss me. Didn't touch what I wanted her to.
> "Say please," she whispered.
> "No."
Her grip tightened. Her mouth hovered over mine.
> "Then I won't touch you."
I smirked. "Good. That means I still have power."
And I walked away — robe slipping, pulse racing, legs weak. But I didn't let her see it.
Because this wasn't about who kissed who.
It was about who would break first.
---
Back in my room, I couldn't stop thinking about the way her fingers felt on my skin.
The way her voice made my stomach twist.
The way I wanted her… and hated her for it.
And in the darkness, I whispered to myself:
> "She thinks she owns me. But she's already losing."
---
The next morning, she sent flowers to my room.
Lavender roses — rare, expensive, poisonous in the right hands.
No note. Just the silence of control.
So I put on my tightest dress, the one that barely covered my thighs, and walked into her studio while she was working.
> "You sent me poison," I said, tossing the flowers on her desk.
She looked up slowly, biting the end of her pen.
> "No. I sent you a warning."
I sat across from her, spreading my legs just enough to make her lose focus.
> "You'll need stronger warnings if you expect me to kneel."
> "You'll kneel," she said, voice like glass. "One day. And when you do, I won't be gentle."
---
I leaned in, eyes locked on hers.
> "Then earn my begging."
---