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G: Then let it break free, good girl. Now I want you to slide your hand lower, down to your abdomen, stop there. Imagine my palm covering your stomach, warm, steady, with a little pressure. Can you feel my presence?

I swallowed hard, fingers slowly moving downward, sliding past my ribs to stop at my stomach. The dress fabric was so thin it practically didn't exist. My palm pressed against my skin, and I could feel my body temperature rising. With my eyes closed, I could almost imagine a tall figure standing beside me, his palm broad and warm, carrying irresistible weight.

Me: I can feel it. Your hand is big and heavy, like you're controlling me.

G: Control? No, little rose, I'm not controlling you. I'm guiding you. Now I want you to move your hand a little lower, slide to your inner thigh. Don't rush, go slowly, feel how your body responds to me. Tell me, how do you feel now?

My cheeks burned like fire, but my fingers seemed drawn by his words, slowly sliding toward my inner thigh. Every touch became abnormally clear, each inch magnified countless times. I could feel my breathing becoming shallower and more rapid, feel heat rising from deep within like a tide.

Me: I feel so hot. My skin feels like it's on fire, my heart's beating so fast it might explode. And there's this emptiness, like I'm craving more.

His message appeared almost instantly, carrying heart-stopping urgency.

G: Craving more? Good, good girl. You're braver than I imagined. Now I want you to go further. Put your hand where you're most sensitive, gently, like I'm touching you. Imagine my fingers there, slowly, firmly exploring. Can you do it?

My breathing completely fell apart, fingers hovering at my inner thigh, hesitating for a moment. Rational thought screamed in my head to stop, but my body felt hypnotized by his words, craving obedience, craving surrender. I closed my eyes, bit my lower lip, and slowly moved my fingers to touch that most private place.

Even through the dress fabric, that instant of contact was like electricity shooting through my entire body. I moaned softly, the sound unusually clear in the quiet bedroom. I could almost feel his presence, feel his fingers replacing mine with irresistible force.

Me: I did it. It feels like electricity flowing through my body, so hot I can't stand it. I don't know how much longer I can hold on.

G: Hold on? You don't need to hold on, rose. I want you to let go, let your body tell me what it wants. Now imagine I'm beside you, my breath in your ear, my lips lightly touching your neck. My hands are on you, taking you to places you've never been. Follow my rhythm, slowly, deeply, feel every wave of sensation.

I could barely think, fingers moving lightly under his guidance, every motion like being remote-controlled by him. The imagined him felt so real—his breathing, his whispers, his touch. Heat surged through my body, stronger and stronger, like an uncontrollable storm. My breathing became broken, my body unconsciously tensing, like standing at a cliff's edge about to fall.

Me: G, I feel like I'm losing control!

G: Don't control it. Let go, good girl. Let me take you to the sky.

This was like the final push. My body felt completely ignited, all my senses exploding in that moment. I moaned, the sound echoing in the bedroom, my body trembling as that overwhelming wave crashed over me. Time seemed to stop, my whole being floating in the clouds, all tension and suppression released in this moment.

Several minutes later, I slowly opened my eyes, panting, my body still immersed in the afterglow. The phone screen glowed with his final message lying there quietly:

G: Good, ???????. You belonged to me tonight. Now close your eyes and rest. You need it. Tomorrow the game continues.

I stared at this message, my heartbeat still not completely settled. I knew this game had completely changed me. That timid Cassie, that Cassie trapped in a transparent cage, had been completely awakened by this mysterious "G."

Outside the window, the city still slept, but my life was about to change completely after this night.

I closed my eyes, unconsciously smiling with satisfied contentment, and drifted into sleep.

Chapter 4

Gennady

Blood dripped from my fingertips, thick and warm, blooming like dark crimson petals against the cold, cracked concrete.

I slowly wiped my fingers on a cloth, careful and deliberate, never taking my eyes off the severed ear lying at my feet. It rested there like some grotesque trophy, a quiet reminder of what betrayal costs in my world.

"P-please... please," Antonio's voice was barely more than a whimper now. Blood was gushing from the gash on the side of his head, and his whole body trembled with every pulse of agony. He was curled in the chair, tied and broken, convulsing like a dying animal.

"You still got one ear left, Antonio." My voice was low, calm—too calm. The kind of calm that makes men piss themselves. "Now tell me. Who told you to torch Warehouse Three?"

His mouth moved, trying to form words, but all that came out was blood.

I sighed and passed the bloodied blade to Dimitri. "Make him talk. If he still won't, take the other ear. Then fingers."

Dimitri took the knife without a word, without hesitation. No pity in his eyes. In our world, mercy's just another word for weakness. And we can't afford weakness.