The door to the room creaked open, and Nathalie stepped out, her presence filling the space with a suffocating mix of dread and desire. Her long, dark hair hung in damp waves around her shoulders, glistening under the dim, flickering light as if she'd just emerged from a scalding shower. The air around her was thick with the scent of soap and something else—something raw and trembling, like fear given form.

The thin, translucent fabric of her nightie clung to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The sheer black silk outlined the swell of her breasts, the tight buds of her nipples pressing desperately against the delicate lace, as if begging for attention.

The hem ended mid-thigh, the shadow of her thighs visible beneath, the fabric so flimsy it might as well have been a whisper. Her skin was still flushed from the heat of the water, her lips slightly parted, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as she took in the scene before her—Angela in my arms, my hands possessive on her waist, our lips still swollen from kissing.

Tyler's voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, his body straining against the hospital bed, his face twisted in agony. "Mother... please..." His voice was raw, shattered, his hands clawing at the sheets as if he could tear himself free from the nightmare unfolding before him.

"I'm willing to die... please don't—" His words dissolved into a choked sob, his body convulsing with the weight of his helplessness.

Nathalie's gaze flickered between us, her eyes wide with humiliation and desperation. She swallowed hard, her fingers twisting together in front of her, her voice barely more than a trembling plea. "Can we not... can we not do this in front of our son... please."

Angela pushed away from me, her lips curling into a slow, cruel smile as she stepped closer to Nathalie. Her fingers traced the strap of Nathalie's nightie, her touch mockingly gentle.

"How can that be?" she murmured, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "I want your son to be grateful for his mother. How can he truly appreciate your sacrifice if he doesn't get to see your efforts?" She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Besides, Tyler needs to learn what it means to be powerless. Don't you think so, Nathalie?"

The room was thick with the suffocating weight of Tyler's sobs, his voice breaking as he thrashed against the hospital bed, his body trembling violently. "Mother, please... don't do this... don't let him—" His words dissolved into a ragged gasp, his tears streaming down his face, his fingers clawing at the sheets as if he could tear himself free from the nightmare unfolding before him.

Angela's laughter cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and mocking. She stepped closer to Nathalie, her eyes raking over her with a cruel, calculating gaze. "What are you waiting for?" she sneered, her voice dripping with venom.

"Do you need me to peel those rags off you myself? Let's see what Dexter thinks of that sagging, wrinkled body of yours. Maybe he'll still want you, or maybe he'll just laugh and walk away." She reached out, her fingers toying with the delicate strap of Nathalie's nightie, her touch laced with disdain.

Nathalie's face burned with humiliation, her hands trembling at her sides. She could feel Tyler's eyes on her, his sobs tearing at her heart, but she refused to look at him. Instead, she lifted her chin, her voice trembling but defiant. "I'm sorry, son," she whispered, her words barely audible over the sound of his cries.

Then, she turned to Angela, her cheeks flushed with shame and anger. "I... think it would be better if Master removes my clothes himself," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her. She kept her gaze locked on Angela, her expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something dangerous.

Angela's smirk deepened, her fingers dropping from Nathalie's nightie as she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Oh, how considerate of you," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"Dexter, do you hear that? She's offering herself to you like a good little whore. Isn't that just precious?" She turned to me, her smile widening. "Go on, then. Let's see if she's still worth the trouble."

I nodded, my eyes never leaving Nathalie. There was something off about her tone, something too controlled, too deliberate. I could sense the tension coiling in her body, the way her fingers twitched at her sides. She was hiding something.

Nathalie took a slow, deliberate step toward me, her movements measured, her breath coming in shallow gasps. As I reached out to grab her wrist, her body tensed—and then, in a flash of movement, she struck.

With a sudden, desperate cry, she yanked her arm back, revealing a small, glinting knife hidden in the sleeve of her nightie. Before I could react, she pressed the blade against my throat, her hand shaking but her grip firm.

"I won't let you touch me!" she screamed, her voice raw with fury and fear. "I won't let you touch my son! I'd rather die than let you near him!"

Tyler's voice cut through the room, frantic and desperate. "Mother, no! He's—not human! You don't understand what he is! You can't fight him like this!" His body strained against the bed, his eyes wide with terror as he watched the scene unfold.

Angela's smirk vanished, her expression twisting into something darker, more dangerous. "You stupid, pathetic bitch," she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

"You think you can fight him? You think a little knife is going to save you?" She took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Dexter isn't just a man, Nathalie. He's something far worse. And you've just signed your death warrant."

I didn't move. The blade pressed against my skin, but I only smiled, my voice calm, almost amused. "Nathalie... you really should have thought this through." My fingers tightened around her wrist, not to pull away, but to hold her in place, my grip unyielding.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with." My eyes darkened, my voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill down her spine. "But you're about to find out."

Nathalie's breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling as she pressed the knife harder against my throat, her knuckles white with the effort. "I don't care what you are," she spat, her voice trembling but fierce. "I won't let you hurt my son. I won't let you hurt anyone else!"

Angela let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Oh, this is rich. The great Nathalie, the doting mother, finally grows a spine." She stepped even closer, her voice dripping with contempt. "But it's too late, darling. You've already lost. And now? Now you're just going to watch as Dexter makes you beg for death."

The room seemed to close in around them, the air thick with tension and the unspoken promise of violence. Nathalie's grip on the knife faltered for just a second, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. But she didn't back down. She couldn't. Not when Tyler's life was on the line.

I leaned in slightly, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my voice a dark, velvety whisper. "You should have stayed on your knees, Nathalie." My free hand snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against me, the hardness of my body pressing into hers. "Now you're going to learn what happens when you defy me."

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