The Night

That night, under the dim glow of Valeria’s private chamber, Xander stood with his back straight, his shirt discarded, exposing his bare skin to the chill of the night air. The scent of leather and perfume clung to the atmosphere, thick with unspoken power. He did not flinch when the first crack of the whip sliced through the silence, kissing his skin with a sting that burned but did not break him. The pain was precise; controlled, measured, almost tender in its brutality.

Xander did not protest. This was not his time to rebel. This was his time to understand, to endure, to absorb the language of Valeria’s love, twisted and sharp-edged, yet undeniably hers. He had thought she might scorn him, that this discipline was a declaration of her disinterest, of her rejection. But no; this was something else entirely. This was possession. This was her way of marking him, of reminding him that she held the reins, that she dictated the rhythm of his ascension, and that she alone would decide if he was worthy of standing beside her.

With each lash, he felt the weight of his ambition press deeper into his bones. He wanted power, but what was power without submission first? He had long since learned that to be truly dominant, one must first learn to kneel, to obey, to understand control in its purest form. And so he bore it; every stroke, every touch of fire against his skin; until Valeria deemed it enough.

When she finally stepped closer, tracing the marks she had left with the faintest brush of her fingers, Xander exhaled, slow and steady. There was no hatred in her touch. No cruelty. Only ownership. And At that moment, he realized: Valeria did not discipline what she did not love.

Valeria stood before him, her fingers lazily trailing over the taut leather restraints that kept Xander bound to the chair. His chest rose and fell sharply, sweat lining his temples, his shirt discarded somewhere in the room after an hour of discipline under her whip. His wrists ached from the tight knots, and every shallow breath carried the sting of fresh welts across his skin.

She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Still with me, Xander?”

His jaw clenched. “What do you think?”

A slow smirk touched her lips. She leaned in, her breath teasing his ear. “I think you still want more.”

He exhaled shakily, not willing to admit anything. She had broken him tonight, not in defiance, but in submission; a submission he didn’t fight, not because he feared her, but because she was Valeria.

Her fingers traced one of the red marks across his chest, pressing just hard enough to make him wince. “You took it well,” she murmured. “But you always do.”

Xander met her gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “And yet, you never hold back.”

She laughed, soft and dangerous. “Why would I? I don’t need a tamed Alpha, Xander. I need one who can take the pain and still rise when I let go.”

He swallowed, the weight of her words heavier than the lash of her whip. His arms strained against the restraints as she pulled them a fraction tighter, testing him, watching the slight twitch in his muscles.

“What?” She ran her nails along his jaw. “Still hoping I’ll be gentle?”

His voice was hoarse but steady. “I stopped hoping for that a long time ago.”

Valeria grinned, satisfied. “Good.” She leaned down, her lips barely grazing his before she pulled away, just enough to leave him wanting. “Because the moment you think I’m soft, you’ll forget who I am.”

Xander let out a rough chuckle, the ache in his body a sharp reminder of exactly who she was. “Valeria,” he murmured, testing the weight of her name. “You don’t let anyone forget.”

She smirked, finally loosening the restraints. “That’s right. And you? You’ll remember this night every time you look at me.”

Xander flexed his fingers as the bindings fell away, but he didn’t move. Not yet. He just watched her, the woman who had just broken him and, in doing so, made him hers all over again.

Xander's breath was ragged, his body aching from the hour-long discipline Valeria had given him. His wrists burned from the restraints, his skin bore the marks of her authority, and yet; he did not protest. He had learned not to. He knelt there, chest rising and falling heavily, his head lowered in submission.

Valeria, still poised and in control, traced a single gloved finger down his jawline, tilting his chin up just enough to meet her gaze. "That's enough for tonight," she said, voice cool, as if she hadn’t just spent the past hour pushing him past his limits. "Get dressed. You’re driving me home."

Xander swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, but not from defiance; no, that had long since been beaten out of him. He simply nodded, the weight of her command pressing down on him. Slowly, methodically, Valeria loosened the bonds that had held him captive, her movements deliberate, controlled.

The moment his hands were freed, Xander flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering strain. But there was no room for complaint. No moment of defiance. Just silent obedience.

Valeria smirked, watching him compose himself. "Good boy," she murmured, stepping past him toward the door. "Now, don’t make me wait."

Xander exhaled sharply, standing to his feet. As long as he lived under Valeria’s rule, there was no questioning, no hesitation; only obedience. He followed her without a word, his place beside her unquestioned.

The drive back to Valeria’s penthouse was a silent battle for Xander. His hands, still trembling from the lingering ache, gripped the steering wheel with effort. The throbbing pain from his back and wrists sent sharp reminders of the discipline he had endured, but he swallowed it down, forcing his focus on the road. The city lights blurred in his peripheral vision, his exhaustion seeping into his bones. Yet, he said nothing. He had learned that voicing his struggle wouldn’t change anything; Valeria had demanded obedience, and he had given it.

From the passenger seat, Valeria sat with her arms crossed, her gaze distant as if already preoccupied with something else. She hadn’t spared him another glance since they left his office. He was used to that. He didn’t expect concern. But even as he pressed the gas pedal, his body ached in rebellion. His breathing was uneven, each movement sending a dull burn through his muscles.

By the time they reached the towering penthouse building, Xander barely had the strength to put the car in park. The moment the engine cut off, his hands slipped from the wheel, and he exhaled shakily. It wasn’t over yet. He still had to get out, follow her, obey.

“Xander,” Valeria’s sharp voice broke through his haze. “What are you doing? Move.”

He swallowed and nodded, forcing himself to push the car door open. The cold night air did little to ground him as he stepped out, his legs almost buckling. Valeria was already heading toward the entrance, heels clicking against the pavement with unwavering certainty. He followed, each step a test of endurance.

But the second they entered the penthouse, Valeria turned on him, eyes narrowed with irritation. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Xander stiffened. “Nothing.” His voice was hoarse, betraying him.

Her eyes flashed with something unreadable before she grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. A sharp hiss escaped his lips before he could stop it. That was enough for her to realize—he wasn’t just tired.

“You’re in pain,” she stated, her grip tightening. “How bad?”

Xander hesitated. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to show weakness. But Valeria’s eyes bore into him, demanding truth.

“…It’s fine,” he muttered.

“Liar.” Her tone was venomous, but beneath it was something else. Something colder. “You drove me home like this?”

“I had to,” he admitted. “You told me to.”

Valeria stared at him for a long moment before exhaling sharply. “Idiot.” Then, without warning, she pulled him toward the living room. “Sit down.”

He didn’t argue. His body gave in the moment he collapsed onto the couch, breath shallow. Valeria stood before him, arms crossed once again, but this time, her expression wasn’t just cold—it was unreadable.

“Next time,” she said lowly, “if you’re this messed up, you speak up. Understood?”

Xander met her gaze, searching for something in her words. But all he found was command. And maybe, just maybe; something else beneath it.

“…Understood.”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***