I Want to Control You
trailer
red rose (author)
thanks for giving this a chance
red rose (author)
this story is about Selena hart (our main character)
red rose (author)
this story will mainly have selena's p.o.v. but sometimes it will have other p.o.v also
red rose (author)
Will let's introduce our character to u
Selena hart
Selena Hart
27 year old
current ceo of her grandfather's company books and magazine publishing company
bossy
about nature she shows different nature at different places nobody knows what her nature actually is
only like black and white color
elara hart
Elara Hart
mother of Selena
sweet and easy to control
does what ever Selena says to her
had a past
Dante hart
Dante Hart
Selena's grandfather
Elara's father
only person whom Selena respect
get killed in accident 3 year ago
After his Selena get more controlling
Aya rivers
Aya rivers
assistant of Selena
but is responsible for Elara safety
does what ever Selena told her
julian
Julian Blackwood
A photographer
joyful
not like to be controlled
want a job
want to be successful in life
red rose (author)
More character will be introduced in future if necessary
red rose (author)
Well let's give a give u trailer
She built an empire from nothing.
Perfect schedules. Perfect employees. Perfect silence where chaos once lived.
Selena Hart —CEO. Visionary. Master of control.
But control isn't peace.
It's a cage.
Born from a broken past, Selena spent her life bending the world to her rules.
She controlled her company.
She controlled her mother.
She controlled every piece… of everyone.
Then he walked into her life
Julian Reed—steady, kind,joyful untouchable.
He didn’t fall in line.
He didn’t play her game.
So, she did what she always does.
She tried to control him too.
But some hearts don’t break.
They mirror you back.
And what Selena saw?
Was everything she spent a lifetime burying.
The empire crumbled.
The people left.
Even Julian.
And at the end—when the lights went out, and the silence came again—
She smiled at him.
> "I always loved you.
But my love…
was never about caring.
It was about controlling you."
And then she was gone from his life his world.
Selena's world
The office was silent, save for the precise ticking of a modern clock. Its hands, silver and thin, moved without hesitation—like everything in Selena Hart’s world.
She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of her penthouse office, eyes fixed on the skyline. Towers pierced the clouds like declarations of war against the ordinary. Below, the city pulsed with life and noise, but up here—above it all—there was only silence. Clean, sharp, controlled.
Just how she liked it.
Aya rivers
“Ms. Hart, the investors are in Conference Room One. Waiting on your word.”
Selena didn’t answer right away. She was counting her breaths. Five seconds in. Hold. Five seconds out. It was a trick she'd learned during therapy she never fully trusted. A way to keep the chaos tucked neatly into invisible compartments.
Selena hart
Tell them I’ll be down in three minutes. And remind them—I don’t wait for latecomers
Aya walked back to her desk, heels clicking like punctuation.
The desk was minimalist—glass surface, matte-black legs. No photos, no mess. Just her laptop, a leather-bound notebook, and a perfectly aligned pen.
She sat and opened the notebook, flipping past pages of neat, obsessively organized notes. A line caught her eye.
Selena hart
“When people stop obeying, burn the map and draw a new one.”
She didn’t remember writing that.
After 3 min in conference room
miya
“We’ve been exploring a theme for the next cover story—authenticity in modern relationships,”
Selena hart
“Why would we publish something on authenticity when half our audience is addicted to the illusion of it?” *tilted her head*
miya
“We thought it would—”
Selena hart
“Feel-good content is everywhere. That’s not what we do. We don’t flatter. We lead.”
Silence. The kind that spread like ink in water.
She dismissed the team with a nod. As they filed out, Aya appeared again, holding a fresh proof of a book cover mock-up.
Aya rivers
“Also… your mother left another message. She mentioned your father.”
Selena hart
“Next time she calls, tell her I’m on deadline. Forever.”
Aya Nodded, awkwardly, before slipping out.
At lunch, Selena sat alone in her glass office, flipping through manuscripts with red pencil in hand. She slashed lazy metaphors, circled inconsistencies, rewrote chapter titles. Even fiction had to obey her standards.
From her perch, she could see the floor’s subtle choreography: writers debating headlines, designers fighting over negative space, assistants juggling egos. It was beautiful.
Exactly how she liked it.
At 5:45 p.m., she closed her notebook and stood, stretching her neck slowly. A stack of books lay beside her—some unpublished, others already bestsellers thanks to her ruthless instinct.
at 6:30 p.m. she was at her penthouse
Her apartment was a museum of discipline. A penthouse wrapped in floor-to-ceiling glass, every item aligned, measured, curated. No family photos. No souvenirs. Just design—cold, modern, efficient. Liria didn’t keep things that didn’t serve purpose.
memorial
Mornings belonged to Selena Hart
Not the sun, not the skyline, not even the headlines of her own media empire could interrupt her ritual. She woke every day at 4:45 a.m.—no alarm. Her mind, sharper than any clock, whispered her awake.
She moved with quiet precision. A black silk robe, freshly steamed. Coffee—measured to the gram, brewed to 92 °C. Not a degree more. While it steeped, she opened her notebook. A page marked with the date. Beneath it, her three daily mantras, written in her own tight cursive:
Selena hart
Control is clarity.
Selena hart
Disorder is danger.
Selena hart
Emotion is a luxury.
She read them aloud. She never missed a day.
Selena Had learned long ago: control was not just about schedules and spreadsheets. It was about people. Emotionally volatile people.
And in the world of media—authors, editors, creatives—emotions ran rampant. Which was why she controlled them like a conductor wielding a scalpel.
Her company, Hart House, was a publishing empire: literary novels, trendsetting magazines, curated culture, and bold journalism. They published voices—but only the ones she handpicked. Narratives—but only the ones she approved. Every article, every book cover, every headline bore her invisible fingerprint.
She ran it all from a throne room of glass and steel—her office perched above the editorial floors. Transparent walls. Nothing hidden. She liked it that way. Secrets made her twitch.
Charcoal pantsuit, hair pinned in a knot so precise it might have been sculpted. Burgundy lipstick, lined perfectly. She studied herself in the mirror—not for beauty, but for discipline.
At 7:00 a.m., she entered Hart House through the private elevator. She liked to be in before the editors, before the interns started cluttering the air with chatter about fonts, feelings, and “creative energy.”
The walls of Selena's office were lined with first editions.
Her phone buzzed, slicing through the stillness. She answered without looking.
Aya rivers
“Ms. Hart, ” “It’s your mother. Again. She’s asking if you’ll be attending the memorial this weekend.”
Selena hart
“What memorial?”
Aya rivers
“Your uncle Marcus. The one who—”
Selena hart
“I know who he is.”
Aya rivers
"She said it's for family__ "
Selena hart
" no more words leave Aya "
She returned to her desk and pulled open the bottom drawer—the only one with a lock. Inside: a worn photograph.
She didn’t take it out. She never did. But she always checked that it was still there.
Selena hart
"Where are u MR. Dante" (She called her grandfather Mr. Dante to tease him in past )
Selena hart
"It's really hard to be Clam on that day without u "
her face was emotionless even when she was looking at her dead grandfather
Aya rivers
“Your 11:00 is here,”
Selena hart
“The editor from Sundown?”
Selena hart
“No. It’s the author. Quinn Hale.”
Selena Sighed. Quinn Hale was a brilliant, self-obsessed novelist with a reputation for missing deadlines and starting Twitter fights. She hadn’t approved this meeting.
Selena hart
“Send him in.”
Quinn Hale
“Thought I’d bring it personally,”
Quinn Hale
“Let you see what genius smells like in paper form.”
Selena hart
“Genius? Smells like desperation and cigarettes.”
Quinn Hale
“Read it. You’ll see.”
She flipped through the pages. Sharp prose. Bleak, emotional. Raw enough to bleed.
Selena hart
“You’re bleeding all over the place Are you sure you want the world to see you this naked?”
Quinn Hale
“Maybe it’s time they did.”
She looked up, eyes narrowing. There was something in his voice—a tremble of honesty. It unnerved her.
Selena hart
“Not everyone’s story needs to be this exposed,” she replied. “Some stories are stronger with a filter.”
Quinn Hale
“You say that like you’re speaking from experience.”
Selena hart
“Submit it to legal, If it survives the lawyers, we’ll talk.”
After he left, she stared at the door for a long moment.
Then picked up the manuscript and slammed it into the bin.
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