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I woke up sweaty, with rays of sunlight cutting through the window and flooding the bedroom in an almost aggressive way. I blinked a few times, trying to organize my thoughts, then turned my face toward the other side of the bed. It was empty. Sofia wasn't there. Memories of the previous night came back in disconnected flashes — touches, words, looks too intense to be ignored. I sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over my face, breathing deeply. My life had turned into complete chaos over the past few weeks. Vanessa, Bianca, Olivia… and now Sofia. Too much information, too many emotions, everything happening far too fast.
I got up still naked and put on the pajamas Sofia had given me the night before. As I pulled the shirt over my body, my eyes were drawn to the wall beside the bed. Photos of me. Many of them. Some old, others recent. All carefully arranged, several circled with hand-drawn hearts. I swallowed hard. And to think that yanderes really did exist. Was it scary? Yes. But in that moment, part of me simply accepted that this was Sofia's twisted way of loving me.
A pleasant smell filled the air, warm and inviting. Coffee. I followed the aroma down the hallway, taking in more of the house as I walked. Since Sofia's parents were wealthy, the house was far too big for a college student. Spacious, quiet, with that discreet kind of luxury that didn't need to prove anything. When I reached the kitchen, I stopped for a moment.
Sofia had her back to me, wearing nothing but white panties and an apron. The sight was almost unbelievable. Her blonde hair fell smoothly down her back, the panties revealed the curves of her hips and full, well-shaped legs. She moved naturally in front of the stove, as if that level of intimacy were completely normal. The kitchen was organized: a small table in the center, the refrigerator in the corner, the stove next to the sink. A clock hanging on the wall read 9:27. I'd missed my morning class. For some reason, that was starting to become a habit.
"Good morning, Sofia. Are you okay?" I said lightly. After all, the night before had been far too intense, especially for her.
"Oh, good morning, Luke. I'm great. I'm making coffee, sit down," she replied with a calm smile, not showing the slightest discomfort.
I did as she said and sat at the table, watching every movement. Sofia could easily work as a model at my company; she wasn't behind Bianca at all. My focus was interrupted by the sound of the toaster. Sofia went over, took out the bread, placed it on a black plate, then returned to the frying pan to finish what she was making.
Within seconds, a plate was set in front of me: toasted bread, scrambled eggs with cheese, and a cup of coffee. In the foam, a perfectly drawn heart. How she managed that, I had no idea. Sofia sat across from me with her own breakfast, something much lighter, almost fitness-style. Maybe that was the price of maintaining such a perfect body.
"We're like newlyweds," she said, smiling.
For a moment, I wondered whether Sofia had really absorbed everything we talked about the night before — about taking things slow, about building something gradually. I decided not to ruin the fantasy. I simply started drinking my coffee. It was excellent — well-balanced, perfectly seasoned, and the coffee surprisingly smooth. Sofia had clearly put in the effort to please me. As I drank, she watched me with happy eyes, softly humming to herself.
"Do you have class today, Sofia?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Only in the afternoon."
"Then we can spend the morning together," I said sincerely, knowing it would please her. "And I need to go to campus to get my car. I left it there yesterday."
After Ethan's invitation, I had decided to walk to the karaoke bar, just as a precaution. I planned to get the car later, since the place wasn't far. I never imagined I'd end up kidnapped by Sofia and that the rest of the night would spiral completely out of any planning.
I spent the morning with her, and, against my expectations, it was fun. Sofia treated me as if I were the top priority in her life — gentle, attentive, always a little too close. Unfortunately, I knew that side of her existed only with me. I couldn't forget the darkness that lay behind that affection.
When it was time for her class, we went to campus together. When we said goodbye, Sofia hesitated, holding my hand longer than necessary. She clearly didn't want me to leave, and I had to promise to go out with her another day just to be able to pull away.
….
I arrived at the company building in the middle of the afternoon. I'd decided to stop by today. The façade was imposing, covered in mirrored glass that reflected the sky and the movement of the city around it. The entire building seemed designed to command respect: each floor housed a different department — marketing, accounting, public relations — as well as the main area where photo shoots, commercial recordings, and all the creative work that sustained the company's image took place. I drove down to the underground parking garage, an exclusive area restricted to a few employees and executives. I showed my credential to the security guard — a privilege my uncle had arranged — and proceeded without issue.
I parked next to other absurdly luxurious cars. Mine looked almost modest in comparison, but that was a conscious choice. I'd never felt the need to show off. I took the elevator straight up to the floor where my uncle's office was. I hadn't scheduled a meeting; there was no need for that between us. I simply asked the secretary to let him know I was there. The response came quickly: he told her to send me in.
The office was exactly as I remembered it: sophisticated, quiet, and brightly lit by the massive windows that took up almost the entire wall. My uncle was sitting behind a large desk, with a modern computer and a chair that looked more comfortable than any couch I'd ever owned. When he noticed me, he looked away from the screen and smiled genuinely.
"Luke. My nephew."
"Hi, Uncle William."
He stood up immediately and came over, pulling me into a firm hug. My uncle always reminded me a lot of my father: tall, dark hair always neatly kept, confident posture, and a strong build, the result of years of maintaining a strict exercise routine. Even well into his fifties, he radiated energy and authority.
"You didn't say you were coming."
"I decided this afternoon. I wanted to see how the company's doing… and I also wanted to talk to you."
"Wonderful." He smiled. "I'm glad to see you interested in this company. You'll be the one responsible for all of this in the future. Let's take a walk through the recording studios."
I knew he had a full schedule, but he still made time for me. Since my parents' death, my uncle had naturally taken on the role of guardian — present, attentive, always trying to make sure I didn't carry everything alone. We went down together to the recording studio floor. The space was enormous, a large adaptable warehouse filled with structures set up for different campaigns and productions.
The environment was busy. Beautiful models with well-trained bodies posed for photos under intense lights; others applied makeup or received instructions for recordings. It was a vibrant, almost chaotic scene, yet perfectly organized. That's when someone caught my attention.
Bianca.
She seemed different there. More professional. More distant. She stood beside the director, listening attentively to instructions, posture straight, expression focused. If I wasn't mistaken, she was filming a commercial for a makeup brand. When her eyes lifted from the script and landed on me, I gave a discreet wave. To my surprise, she waved back, wearing a controlled smile. Probably just keeping up appearances.
"Uncle, would you have some time for an interview?" I asked as we watched the studio. "It's for a college assignment."
"I'll have to check my schedule," he replied thoughtfully. "But I can make some time."
"I'll wait. I think we have time."
He chuckled lightly, crossing his arms.
"And how's your love life, Luke?"
"I don't even want to know," I answered without thinking too much.
Spending that afternoon with him was comforting. We talked about the company, about the future, about responsibilities. At one point, he briefly mentioned the Vanessa situation and Henry's involvement. I chose to leave out many details. I didn't want to worry him unnecessarily; he already carried too much weight on his shoulders.
When the day started to fade, I said goodbye and headed home. I left the company with the strange feeling of being divided between different worlds — the responsibility waiting for me there, the complicated relationships piling up outside of it, and the uncomfortable certainty that my life was entering a phase where every choice would have greater consequences than before.
….
(POV Bianca)
Yesterday, that loser didn't come home.
The realization hit me in a way that was far too irritating to ignore, like a small stone in a shoe that insists on hurting with every step. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care, that it shouldn't affect me, but the truth was that it did. A lot. Was he at that woman's place again? The mere possibility made an uncomfortable pressure form in my chest, a silent, familiar sensation I knew all too well. At least last time, my research had paid off. Knowing where he was, what he was doing, who he was with… that gave me back a sense of control I wasn't willing to lose. I woke up early that morning, even though I didn't need to go to the company. My shoots were scheduled for the afternoon, and the silence of the apartment felt larger than usual.
I decided to occupy my mind. Or perhaps feed an impulse that had been growing for days. I took advantage of the free morning to go to a women's lingerie store, an environment carefully designed to awaken desires and fantasies. I walked between the shelves with my usual confident posture, choosing each piece carefully. I asked the saleswoman for black lingerie — sensual, elegant, made to provoke without needing explanation. Something that, according to her, was "perfect for surprising your partner." Hearing those words, something strange pierced my chest. It wasn't embarrassment over the lingerie itself, but over who I was buying it for. Still, I didn't back down. I took it to the fitting room and tried it on in front of the mirror. I liked what I saw immediately. The fabric highlighted my body, accentuating curves I knew how to use very well. I smiled, satisfied. It will work, I thought. It always does.
In the afternoon, I went to the company. I liked my life. I liked it a lot. I lived in a luxurious apartment, had no bills to worry about, and held a job that paid extremely well — and on top of that gave me something I appreciated even more: visibility. Fame. Attention. I occupied the top ranks of popularity among models, one of the most requested, one of the most desired. That day, I was filming a commercial for a major makeup company — something that would air on television and, as a complement, be promoted on my social media. More reach. More power.
The day was going normally. I was sitting on set, reading the script attentively, when an uncomfortable sensation made me look up. It wasn't rational. It was instinct. And then I saw him. Luke was walking beside William, the current CEO. Legally, the company belonged to Luke — few people knew that — but William managed everything until Luke was ready to take over. Still, walking beside the powerful William automatically put Luke in the spotlight. I saw several models approach him almost immediately, like vultures over carrion, all with calculated smiles and obvious intentions. Gold diggers. The sight made my mood sour instantly, an uncomfortable heat rising in my chest. Even so, I maintained my professional posture. I knew how to pretend. I always had.
Still, I decided: today, I would put my plan into action.
Luckily, my shoot ended a bit earlier than expected. My performance was excellent — maybe even better than usual — and I knew exactly why. Motivation changes everything. I went home earlier than planned. When I arrived, Luke wasn't there yet. I took a long shower, paying attention to every detail, choosing the right perfume — the kind that lingered in the air without being overwhelming. I put on the lingerie I'd bought that morning, feeling the fabric hug my body, and over it I wore a light robe, almost symbolic.
As I looked at myself in the mirror one last time, a thought formed with frightening clarity.
Today would be the day Luke stopped being just someone around me. Today, he would become mine. My pet. My toy.
And I had no doubt that I would get exactly what I wanted.