Laying on his bed, Dick stared up at the ceiling. There were bigger targets ahead in his mind than Lana. His step-family. Jessica was the easy one. Vain, predictable, always needing to be the center of attention. She'd notice the changes in him soon, and once she did, it wouldn't take much to shift her interest. Her shallow relationship with Ryan was a joke. He just had to nudge her in the right direction, and she'd come running. He already humiliated Ryan today, and Jessica cared a lot about charisma. Ryan lost it today.
Melissa... now she was the next real challenge. Always so calculated, always thinking three steps ahead. She wasn't like Lana—weak and desperate, thinking she had her boyfriend on leash. No, Melissa thrived on subtlety, games within games, always testing, always playing her hand just right. If he wasn't careful, she could unravel everything he'd worked for. Melissa truly had Daniel on a tight leash.
But he knew her type. Hell, he'd watched her play her mind games for years, luring people into traps with that disarming smile. She liked to make him think she cared, offering little moments of kindness right before pulling the rug out from under him.
He knew better now. Melissa's strength was her great command of emotions, and he'd need to come at her from the right angle. She had to believe she was still in control, still pulling the strings. Let her think she was smarter, that he was still the same fool she loved to toy with. Then, when the moment was right, he'd tear down that carefully constructed facade she hid behind.
But there was time for that. He wasn't rushing anything with her. She'd need to be approached with patience. No quick, reckless moves. He'd outsmart her slowly, make her question her own mind before he moved in.
Emily…
He frowned, pushing himself up, stretching out his arms. Emily was a different breed. Aloof, indifferent, completely out of reach in ways the others weren't. Even now, after all his progress, the thought of tackling Emily made his skin prickle.
There was no obvious way in with her—no button to press, no opening to exploit. She didn't care about status like Jessica, didn't thrive on mind games like Melissa. She barely looked at him. In the decade they lived together, Emily only spoke to him once and only once. "Be that person I see in you and rule or stay out of my way and grovel." Before, Dick didn't know what those words meant, but now, he had a vague idea. Dick had an idea that Emily had figured everyone out. And that's what made her terrifying. If he moved on her too soon, misread her angle, she could blow everything. He wasn't about to take that risk, not yet.
Emily wasn't a threat, though. Not directly. Not like Melissa. He had time with her, time to figure out what made her tick, what strings he'd need to pull.
And finally, Clara, his dear stepmother.
The image of her flashed through Dick's mind—her cold, perfect face twisted in disdain, always looking down at him like he was nothing. The way she sauntered around the house, in her designer clothes, barking orders, expecting absolute obedience. The power she held over everyone in the house, the control she wielded so easily, never once seeing him as a threat.
That would change soon enough.
Dick imagined the moment—her body bent over in submission, her voice, usually so sharp and condescending, broken and begging for him. For his attention, for his approval, begging to fuck her harder, faster. The ice queen of the household reduced to nothing more than a puppet in his hands. It wasn't just about the sex. It was about breaking her, seeing that flawless composure crack, watching her eyes widen in shock and realization when she understood who held the power now.
And Dick wasn't going to rush it. Clara would be his masterpiece. Years of torment and humiliation were going to come full circle, and when he finally took her, it wouldn't be sloppy or reckless. It would be calculated, methodical, and absolute. She wouldn't just submit her body. She'd surrender mind, soul, self.
He yearned for the day he'd bend Clara over, her perfectly controlled facade shattered, eyes wide with shock as she realized her place beneath him. Begging for his cock, pleading for him to fuck her. The power would shift, finally, and he'd drag her through every ounce of submission she never imagined herself capable of. She'd be his to use, her body and mind twisted into a perfect, obedient slave to his cock.
–
The morning came quickly, and Dick didn't bother with the alarm. His body had gotten used to waking early, even when he pushed it late. He dressed swiftly—basic, comfortable clothes that hid the muscle beneath, pulling a hoodie over his head as he stepped out. There were no interruptions this morning. Jessica was probably hungover somewhere, and Clara had likely already retreated to her lavish errands.
By 10:30, Dick was already on his way to the gym. Paige had been blowing up his phone all morning. He arrived at the gym, greeting her with a quick nod. She was already waiting, her bright eyes lighting up the moment she saw him. They got to work, while chatting about this and that. They wrapped up just after one, Paige almost vibrating with energy from their session. He came to like her more and more, the more time they spent together.
By two, Mrs. Harper was at the gym again. The first time had been rough, her sharp tongue trying to bite at every opportunity. But once he bent her to his will, the power dynamics had shifted drastically. Today, she was softer, more obedient. She didn't speak much, only following orders as Dick guided her through his routine, her body pliant and eager.
In the shower, she knelt in front of him, her lips trembling around his cock. She worshipped him like she'd been trained to do. He barely had to say a word—her submission was complete. Then he stuffed her two holes with spunk, and sent her on her way.
His afternoon was mostly quiet after that. He responded to a few messages, cleaned up some minor things on his to-do list, and ate a quick meal. The system hadn't pinged anything new today, which meant he was on schedule.
Next day, he was expecting a similar day, but as soon as Dick stepped out of the mansion, something unusual caught his eye. Parked at the edge of the driveway were two sleek cars, and standing between them, was Victoria Harper, her red lips curving into a smile. Dick raised a brow as he walked toward her.
"What do I owe the pleasure so early, Mrs. Harper?" he asked, his voice casual, eyes flicking between her and the cars.
Victoria's smile deepened, her manicured hand gesturing toward the two vehicles. "Well, Dick," she began, her voice honeyed with pride and submission, "I couldn't help but notice you didn't have your own car. So, I decided it was time to fix that."
One of the cars, a gleaming black Mercedes, was clearly hers—a model he seen her in before. But the second car—his new car—was something else entirely. His eyes narrowed as he took in the details.
The vehicle was a McLaren 720S, its body a sleek, almost predatory shade of matte gray, contrasting sharply against the polished chrome accents. The car's aggressive, low stance suggested raw power and speed. Its wide front grille and sculpted lines gave it the look of a beast ready to pounce, while the signature butterfly doors stood out as a declaration of luxury and control. The wheels—jet-black alloys wrapped in low-profile tires—spoke of performance, as if the car was built to dominate the road.
Victoria's bodyguard stood silently beside it, arms crossed. "That's for you," she said, her eyes flicking toward the McLaren. "I had it brought over yesterday."
Dick chuckled, a low, menacing sound that sent a visible shiver down Victoria's spine. "And you brought your car to return with it?"
Victoria nodded, her smile faltering for a brief second, eyes darting toward the silent bodyguard beside her. Her nervous gaze flickered back to Dick, her excitement tempered by a hint of fear to be found out.
"But Victoria," Dick drawled, stepping closer, his voice smooth as silk, "you didn't think I'd just let you hand me something this valuable and walk away without paying your dues, did you?"
Her breath hitched. He could see it—the thrill mixing with the fear in her eyes. The power he held over her was intoxicating, and she knew it. She was teetering on the edge of submission, and all it would take was a little push.
Victoria glanced at the bodyguard, her silent plea evident, but Dick didn't bother looking his way. "Something on your mind, Victoria?" he asked, his voice a whisper of mock concern.
"N-no," she stammered, biting her lower lip, her body betraying the conflict inside her. "I just thought—"
"Thought what?" Dick interrupted, stepping into her space, his hand tracing the curve of her jaw with casual ownership. "That I'd let you waltz in here, drop off this beautiful machine, and leave without giving me something in return?"
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and Dick could feel the tension radiating off her. The bodyguard shifted slightly, but Dick's attention remained locked on her. He wasn't about to let some hired muscle ruin his fun.
"You've been very generous, Victoria," he murmured, his hand sliding down to her throat, thumb brushing over her pulse. "But I think it's time you showed me just how much you appreciate me."
Victoria's lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as her eyes widened. She wasn't afraid, not at all—she was caught in that dangerous web between her image and desire to kneel.
He could feel the anticipation building in her. Without breaking eye contact, Dick gestured casually toward the bodyguard. "Your pet over there looks like he's getting nervous. Should I put him to good use, or are you going to handle this?"
Victoria's eyes darted back to the bodyguard, her breath hitching again, and Dick could see the gears turning in her head. She was caught, trapped between wanting to prove her loyalty to him and the fear of ruining her name in front of the bodyguard.
"Make a choice," Dick whispered, his voice dark and commanding, "or I'll make it for you."
Her eyes locked with his and then, with a shaky exhale, she made her move. Her hand reached out toward the bodyguard, a silent dismissal, and the man, though hesitant, took the cue. He stepped back, his expression unreadable, but obedient.
Dick smiled, satisfied. "Good girl." His hand tightened on Victoria's arm as he guided her toward the sleek McLaren. Without a word, she followed.
He opened the door for her, gesturing for her to slide in. The sharp click of her heels on the pavement echoed faintly, swallowed by the purr of the McLaren's engine as he started it up. The car was a beast, raw power just waiting to be unleashed. He shot her a sidelong glance as he pulled out of the driveway, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Victoria shifted in her seat, her hands nervously smoothing over her dress, the tight fabric barely containing the curves beneath. The car hummed beneath them, eating up the road as they left the mansion behind. Dick kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. His eyes flicked toward her every so often, watching the way her breath hitched with each turn they took, each stretch of road pulling them further away from prying eyes. She knew what was coming.
They pulled into a secluded spot, the silence around them thick and uninterrupted by the usual noise of the city. Dick killed the engine, the McLaren settling into a quiet purr before falling silent. The only sound left was the faint rustle of leaves outside and the shallow breaths coming from Victoria beside him.
"Out," he said softly.
She hesitated for only a moment, her hand trembling as she reached for the door. She stepped out, her legs shaky. Dick joined her on the other side of the car, pressing her back against the sleek hood. His hands trailed down her arms.
"Let's see just how much you appreciate me," he murmured, leaning in close, his breath hot against her neck.