Chloe wandered deeper into the penthouse, her heels clicking against the polished marble. She ran a hand over the velvet sofa, her eyes wide as she took in the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline.

​"It's incredible, Druski," she breathed, spinning around to face me. "The kitchen, the view... it's like something out of a magazine. I knew you were doing well, but I didn't realize you were doing this well." She walked over to a glass sculpture, admiring its curves. "You really have become the Main Man, haven't you?"

​I didn't join her in the tour. I stood by the obsidian kitchen island, watching her. "It's home," I said shortly. "But sit down, Chloe. We need to talk."

​The tone of my voice made her smile falter. She sat on the edge of a barstool, smoothing out her red mini dress.

​"I checked my phone earlier," I started, leaning back against the counter. "Thirty-seven missed calls. Over fifty texts. All while I was on a closed set with Lana Grande. That can't happen again."

​Chloe's face flushed, her insecurity bubbling to the surface. "You didn't come home last night, Hart! You didn't even call to say you were safe. I was sitting in that old apartment alone, wondering if you were with one of those... those studio girls."

​I didn't give her the comfort she was looking for. Instead, I let a cold, hard edge creep into my expression.

​"Listen to me carefully," I said, my voice low and steady. "The man you knew at the old place is gone. My time isn't yours to track. If I'm at the studio, I'm working. If I'm out late, I'm building this empire. Whatever I do with my time is none of your business."

​She opened her mouth to argue, but I held up a hand.

​"This is the deal, Chloe. You get to live in luxury. You get the clothes, the car, and the status of being by my side. But the price is your silence and your trust. If you don't like how I do things, or if you can't handle the way I move... the door is right there. You can go back to your mama's house in Queens tonight. I'll even have Two-bit drive you."

​She looked stunned, her bottom lip trembling as she realized the power dynamic had shifted completely. I wasn't her "boyfriend" anymore; I was her provider, and I was the one setting the rules.

Chloe sat there for a long beat, the silence of the penthouse pressing in on her. She looked at the designer kitchen, the sparkling city lights through the glass, and then back at me. The defiance in her eyes flickered and died, replaced by a soft, submissive shimmer. She knew the life waiting for her back in Queens—the cramped rooms, the humidity, the noise—and she knew she couldn't go back. Not after seeing this.

​"I understand, Druski," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I... I was just scared of losing you. I'll stay. I'll do things your way."

​I didn't offer a hug or a soft word. I just nodded, acknowledging her surrender. "Good. There's a guest room down the hall. Make yourself comfortable."

​I left her sitting there, a small figure in a red dress against the backdrop of my new kingdom, and headed toward the master suite.

​The bathroom was a sanctuary of dark stone and chrome. I stripped off my clothes, the expensive fabric hitting the floor in a heap. My body still felt the phantom sensations of the day—the friction of the set, the scent of Sasha and Jess, and the lingering adrenaline of the confrontation in Queens.

​I stepped into the walk-in shower, the rainfall head drenching me in steaming hot water. I leaned my forehead against the cool tile, letting the heat wash away the sweat and the grime of the studio. As the steam filled the room, my mind drifted back to the look on Abigail's face when she left the studio. I had broken her today, and I had tamed Chloe tonight.

I stepped out of the steam, towel wrapped loosely around my waist, only to stop dead in my tracks.

​Chloe was leaned up against the edge of the king-sized bed, and she had clearly been busy while I was washing away the day. She had ditched the red dress for a black, long-sleeved fishnet bodysuit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The intricate diamond mesh strained against her skin, mapping out every inch of her curves like a topographical map of desire.

​Her heavy, full breasts were pressed upward by the tight material, the dark circles of her nipples poking defiantly through the gaps in the netting. The suit was cut high on her hips, exposing the soft, honey-toned skin of her thighs and the deep, inviting curve of her waist. She looked like a masterpiece wrapped in shadow.

​"I know I messed up, Druski," she murmured, her voice a low, vibrating purr as she arched her back, making the fishnet pull even tighter across her stomach. "I don't want to go back to Queens. I want to be right here, under you, doing whatever you need me to do."

​The sight hit me like a physical blow. My cock reacted instantly, surging into a thick, throbbing ache against the towel. The contrast of her vulnerability and that aggressive, predatory outfit was lethal. She wasn't just asking to stay; she was offering herself up as a sacrifice to the "Main Man" she had witnessed tonight.

​She crawled toward the foot of the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on mine with a submissive hunger that made my blood boil.

​"Let me show you how much I want to be your queen," she whispered, reaching out to hook her fingers into the top of my towel.

The opening chords of SZA's Snooze filtered through the penthouse speakers, the bass low and heavy, vibrating through the floorboards. Chloe didn't just walk; she prowled toward me, her hips swaying in a lethally precise catwalk that made the black fishnet bodysuit shift and shimmer against her honeyed skin.

​She reached me, her long, manicured nails trailing a slow, agonizing path up my chest until she hooked her fingers into the collar of my robe. With a playful but firm pressure, she guided me toward the deep leather armchair positioned by the floor-to-ceiling windows. She pushed me back into the seat, her eyes locked on mine with a newfound, hungry confidence.

​"Ever had a real lap dance, Druski?" she whispered, her voice a low vibration that harmonized with the music. "Not for a camera. Not for a paycheck. Just for you."

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