C7 – SHE'S MY WIFE

LATER THAT DAY...

When Eros arrived at Sonja's apartment, the door was already slightly ajar.

As he crossed the threshold, she was already waiting for him: kneeling on the floor of the foyer, on a black rug, wearing a silk robe with a plunging neckline that revealed she wore nothing underneath—just black lace stockings, held up by garters strapped to her perfect thighs.

"Welcome..." the woman whispered, "...Master."

He walked past her without a glance, letting his jacket slide from his shoulders. Sonja caught it before it hit the floor but didn't dare touch him. She knew the rules. She could only touch him when he decided.

Eros walked into the main living room—the entire apartment designed to seduce: leather, velvet, shadows, and silence.

All for him.

He finally stopped, turned his head, and Sonja was kneeling again, looking up at him with bright, eager eyes.

But he... didn't see Sonja. He saw Lucy.

Her chestnut hair, flushed cheeks, lips red from his kisses.

The image lodged itself so deep in him that it hardened his expression, and once again, a crack appeared in his self-control. And that made him angry.

"Whisky, Master?" Sonja said softly, noticing the shift.

He took a moment to react, but nodded.

Sonja rose, swaying her hips as she walked to the minibar. Her robe slipped with every step, revealing more of her skin, more of her intention. She'd seen him adjust the ring on his finger—something he did when something irritated him. She knew he was angry about something... or someone.

She poured the whisky and turned, determined to reclaim his attention. She approached, set the glass on the table with a smile, and then knelt between his legs.

"Do you want me to relax you, Master?"

Eros looked down, but it wasn't lust gleaming in his eyes—it was a furious emptiness. Rather, pent-up desire and frustration. Sonja slowly unbuttoned his pants with expert fingers, and her breath brushed against the tense skin of his abdomen.

At another time, he would have enjoyed that red hair spilling over his thighs. But now, he wanted chestnut hair. And that only made him harder, colder. She didn't know it, but Lucy was branded in Eros's mind—and no matter how much Sonja knelt, she...

Couldn't compete with what Lucy made him feel without even trying.

The redhead slid the zipper down with a smile and leaned in. Eros closed his eyes, wanting to let the sensation carry him away—but instead of Sonja's lips, he imagined others—soft, shy, innocent.

"Lucy"—without thinking, the name escaped his lips.

Sonja stopped abruptly.

Eros opened his eyes and saw her there, confused and perhaps hurt—but he didn't care. Instead, he hardened his gaze and zipped his pants back up.

"Nothing. Back off."

The order was so cold that Sonja instinctively recoiled. He stood up, adjusting his pants with sharp movements, his mind burning.

"Since when does a woman make me this weak?"

"Who's Lucy?" Sonja asked, her voice sharp with jealousy. "A new one?"

Eros shot her a deadly glare.

"Since when do I owe you explanations about my life?"

She swallowed hard, recognizing her mistake.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Pack your things. From now on, you're free. Pierre will give you a check."

Sonja's world stopped.

"What? No... Eros, please, don't do this. It was a mistake, I—"

But he stood firm—because his decision was already made. He didn't want Sonja anymore. And he probably didn't want anyone else.

"Don't insist."

"Is it about this Lucy?" Sonja exploded through tears. "Is she a new submissive?! Is that it?!"

Eros closed his eyes and clenched his hands. It was always the same with every woman he dismissed.

"Tell me! Is she just another whore?! Is that what she is?!"

He reacted—grabbing her by the neck, his eyes now frozen over.

"You call her a whore again... and you lose your tongue." He squeezed just enough to make fear override her reason. "She's not like you. She's... my wife."

Sonja went pale.

"Y-your wife?"

He released her as if she burned him and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Leave. You're fired."

She shook her head, caught between shock and rage, but his gaze left no room for pleading. Minutes later, she dragged her suitcase out the door.

"You don't have what it takes to be a husband, Eros. I pity the woman who falls into your hands."

The door slammed shut, and Eros clenched his fists.

"One woman. One goddamn woman has him unraveling in hours."

The whisky glass shattered against the wall in a thousand pieces. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"François... Wake Lucy up. Tell her her lessons start... now."