The interior of the Gulfstream was a masterclass in excess—all cream leather, polished walnut, and gold accents. It was a silent, pressurized fortress cutting through the stratosphere. As we leveled out above the clouds, the tension in the cabin was thick enough to choke on.

​Monet sat across from us, the absolute queen of her domain. It was painfully obvious that Sasha's presence was a nuisance she was only tolerating because I was the one holding the leash. She looked at Sasha like a piece of baggage that had been accidentally tagged for the first-class cabin.

​"Did you enjoy Los Angeles, Druski?" Monet asked, her voice silky and laced with a deliberate, private heat.

​"I did," I replied, my gaze locking onto hers. I let my eyes travel slowly over her, making it clear I was remembering the way I had dominated her in her own bedroom just a day ago. "Parts of it were... unforgettable."

​A faint flush crept up her neck, and she bit her lower lip, a subtle tell that she was reliving the exact same memories. For a moment, the air between us crackled with the ghost of that encounter.

​Then, her gaze shifted, turning ice-cold as she looked at Sasha. "And what about you, girl? Did the city of angels treat you well?"

​Sasha didn't look up. She just gave a slow, weary shake of her head.

​I felt the weight of her silence. To Sasha, this trip had been a disaster. She had come here for a romantic getaway, a chance to be with me away from the noise of the city. Instead, she'd been thrust into a high-stakes shoot with Evelyn and then dragged into the belly of a literal beast at the butchery. She was exhausted, overwhelmed, and clearly suspicious. She knew Monet and I had a history, but the level of intimacy—the private jets, the effortless access—was starting to paint a picture she wasn't sure she wanted to see.

​Monet let out a small, dismissive hum. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. A pity." She turned back to me, her eyes burning with a naked, predatory hunger. "But as for me, I had a truly spectacular time. And I fully intend to ensure those great days continue once we're back in New York."

​The message was loud and clear. She wasn't just giving us a ride home; she was staking her claim. She wanted more of me, and she didn't care who was sitting in the seat next to me.

Sasha remained silent, her gaze fixed out the window at the endless carpet of white clouds. The tension between her and Monet was a physical weight in the cabin, a silent war of cold stares and even colder indifference.

​"Okay, enough with the nostalgia," I said, my voice cutting through the thick atmosphere like a blade. I needed to shift the focus before the air turned toxic. "Let's talk business. What's the word from Holmes?"

​Monet leaned back, swirling the champagne in her glass, her expression shifting from predatory to professional. "Holmes has been busy. In the three days you've been 'distracted' here in LA, he's managed to wrap eighteen scenes."

​"Eighteen?" I echoed, sitting up straighter.

​The math hit me instantly. They'd doubled their output, jumping from a standard three-scene-a-day grind to a grueling six. Holmes was clearly cracking the whip, likely with Lana Grande's ruthless efficiency backing him up. They weren't just running a studio; they were building a factory.

​"A massive leap," Monet noted, her eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a shark sensing blood in the water. "The Banghouse isn't just a project anymore, Druski. It's a monster. Do you even have any idea what the revenue look like as of this morning?"

​I felt a pang of guilt. Between the system's rewards, the chaos of the butchery, and the high-octane distraction of the women around me, I'd lost sight of the ledger. I shook my head.

​Sasha turned away from the window, her eyes wide with genuine disbelief. "Really, Druski? You're the face of the company and you haven't even checked the books?"

​Monet let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Surprising, isn't it? At this rate, I could probably skim the accounts and you wouldn't notice for a month."

​"But you won't," I countered, locking eyes with her.

​"Of course not," she purred. "I make far too much money to risk my reputation stealing a few million bucks."

​The air seemed to leave my lungs. "A few million? Just how much are we talking about?"

​Monet leaned forward, savoring the moment she got to floor me with the reality of my own success. "One point two," she said simply.

​"Million?" I blurted out.

​She nodded slowly, a triumphant smirk on her lips. "One point two million dollars. Welcome to the big leagues, Druski."

I felt my jaw go slack, the sheer weight of the numbers hitting me like a physical blow.

​One point two million.

​It hadn't even been two months since I'd stood in Monet's office, a man with a vision and a dangerous edge, brokering a deal to turn my chaos into her profit. Now, we weren't just "successful"—we were a goddamn phenomenon. In a few months we had generated more wealth than most people saw in a lifetime. The Banghouse had evolved from a gritty startup into a digital mint.

​"Wow..." I breathed out, the word feeling too small for the reality. "Fucking wow."

​My mind immediately began to spark, the mental gears grinding through the logistics. If a few scenes brought in seven figures, then the ceiling for this company didn't exist. We could buy the block. We could buy the competition. I wasn't just a performer or a director anymore; I was a mogul with a war chest.

​Sasha's voice was small, cutting through my internal calculations. "That's... that's a lot," she whispered.

​She wasn't looking at me with the same excitement I felt. She looked at the number like it was a wall being built between the two of us. To her, every extra zero on that balance sheet represented another layer of complexity, another crowd of masked elites, and another reason for me to stay in the shadows of the world she hated.

​Monet watched us both, her eyes shimmering with the cold, calculated pride of a scientist who had just successfully split the atom. She saw the hunger in me and the hesitation in Sasha, and she seemed to savor the friction.

​"It's more than 'a lot,' Sasha," Monet said, her voice dripping with silk and steel. "It's power. And in New York, power is the only thing that keeps you from being eaten alive."

​She turned back to me, her gaze pinning me to my seat. "So, Druski. Now that you know the size of your kingdom... what are you going to build next?"

"A studio that makes this one look like a basement project," I said, my voice hardening with conviction. "With that kind of capital, we're not just hiring girls; we're headhunting the top tier. We're going to triple the talent pool and turn the Banghouse into a twenty-four-hour production machine."

​Monet leaned back, her eyes narrowing with a sharp, appreciative glint. "You're dangerously ambitious, Druski."

​"I have to be. I'm not just playing the game anymore; I'm about to set the entire porn industry on fire."

​"Of course you are," she purred, the billionaire in her overriding the lover. "As long as the smoke smells like money, I'm happy to provide the gasoline."

​She poured three glasses of vintage champagne, the bubbles hissing in the quiet cabin. She handed one to me and one to Sasha.

​"Oh, I'm going to make you more money than you know what to do with, ma'am," I said, raising the flute in a mock toast. Then, I turned my gaze to Sasha. "And I'm going to do the same for you."

​Sasha stopped mid-sip, her eyebrow arching in a mix of surprise and suspicion. "Me...?"

​"Yeah, Sasha. I'm officially naming you my Head Director. Every scene I personally shoot from here on out will be directed by you. No one else."

​The cabin fell into a heavy, ringing silence. Monet watched us over the rim of her glass, her expression unreadable but her interest piqued by the shift in power dynamics.

​"Really, Druski?" Sasha finally whispered. "What about Holmes? What about Lana? You're just going to demote them?"

​"The company is growing into a leviathan, Sasha. There's more than enough meat for everyone," I explained. "We'll let Holmes and Lana handle the factory side—the six-scene-a-day grind. Meanwhile, you and I will focus on the 'prestige' content. Three scenes a day, high-end, high-impact. Just us. What do you say?"

​She looked stunned, her mind clearly racing to catch up with the scale of the world I was building around her. "I don't know, Druski... this all feels so unreal. It's moving too fast. I don't know what to say."

​"Say yes," I commanded softly. I reached out, my fingers interlacing with hers, and squeezed her hand firmly right there in front of Monet.

​Monet shifted in her seat, the leather creaking under her. The sight of me publicly anchoring myself to Sasha—of bringing my "girl" into the inner sanctum of the business—clearly rubbed her the wrong way. She didn't like being reminded that she wasn't the only woman in my engine room.

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