Jessica's breath hitched, her resolve weakening with each passing second. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms, trying to focus on the pain instead of the way his voice wrapped around her like a noose, pulling tighter with every word.
"Fuck you," she muttered, but there was no strength in her voice. Her body leaned into him, her breathing shallow, betraying the desperate need bubbling just beneath the surface.
Dick's hand slid up her bare back, his touch possessive, fingers grazing her skin in slowly. "Say it," he repeated, his tone sharper now, commanding.
Jessica's chest heaved, the fight draining out. Her lips parted, but she couldn't force the words out. She hated him. Hated how much power he had over her, hated that he knew exactly what to do to break her down piece by piece. But she couldn't deny the truth any longer.
Her gaze flicked up to meet his, her eyes wide and desperate, lips trembling as she whispered, "Please…"
Dick grinned, his fingers tightening around her waist, pulling her in closer. "Please what?"
Jessica's lips parted, the words catching in her throat. Her body was trembling now, barely able to hold back the tension building inside her. She wanted to fight him, tell him to go to hell, but every part of her screamed for more.
"I..." she started, her voice barely a whisper. "I want you."
Suddenly, Dick's demeanor shifted, turning cold. He pulled his hands away from her waist, and the warmth between them vanished in an instant. Jessica blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in him. He stepped back, his eyes narrowing in disdain.
"No," he said flatly, his voice a low growl.
Jessica's lips parted, her confusion mixing with frustration. She was still trembling, the heat of the moment lingering in her body. "What?" she breathed, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Her heart raced, anticipation turning into disbelief as she stared at him.
Dick didn't respond immediately. Instead, he walked over to the door, pulling it open slowly. The click of the door echoed, and when he looked back at her, his expression was hard. His eyes bore into hers with a cold finality that made her stomach drop.
"Get the fuck out of my room," he ordered, his voice like ice.
Jessica froze, the words slamming into her like a punch to the gut. Her eyes widened, the disbelief and anger swirling together. "Wait, what—"
"I said, get out," he cut her off, his tone low but sharp, leaving no room for argument. His hand stayed on the door, and he didn't even spare her another glance. It was like she no longer existed in his world, like the desperation she had just shown meant nothing to him.
For a second, she didn't move. She couldn't. Her mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened, but the coldness in his voice shattered whatever illusion she'd been holding onto. The girl who thought she had control over everything now found herself completely powerless.
Jessica's throat tightened as she stood there, her pride crumbling at her feet. She wanted to scream, to lash out at him for making her feel like this. But no words came. All she could do was stare at him, the anger and humiliation burning through her chest.
Without another word, she stormed toward the door, her steps heavy with frustration. As she brushed past him, Dick didn't so much as flinch. His eyes stayed forward, distant, as if she were already gone.
"Fuck you," she hissed under her breath, but it sounded weak, even to her own ears. She shot him one last glare, hoping for any kind of reaction, but there was nothing. He was done.
She only heard Dick say, "You wish," before the door closed behind her.
Jessica stood frozen in the hallway, the soft thud of the door still echoing in her ears. Her chest tightened, anger flaring as her fists balled at her sides. Humiliation burned under her skin. She wanted to scream, to tear something apart—but what would that fix? She couldn't get the image of his smug face out of her head, and it was driving her insane.
It wasn't supposed to go like this. She came here to confront him, to regain some sense of control, but instead, she walked right into his game. He had her wrapped around his finger, and the worst part was she didn't even get a shred of his affection after begging for it.
Jessica inhaled sharply, fighting back the sting of tears. She wasn't weak. She wasn't going to break just because he got under her skin. Yet, here she was—standing outside his room like a scolded child, feeling like she'd lost a battle she didn't even know she was fighting.
"Fuck this," she muttered under her breath, storming down the hall. But with every step, the weight of what happened pressed down on her. She couldn't shake the way he looked at her, the way his voice sank into her bones. She hated him, hated how he made her feel so small. And worse, she hated that deep down, a part of her didn't want to walk away.
Inside the room, Dick leaned against the door, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps. A slow grin spread across his face. He could feel the tension in his shoulders loosen, a deep satisfaction settling in. Jessica might have left, but he knew she wasn't done. Not by a long shot.
He pushed off the door, pacing the room as he processed what had just happened. Jessica, the arrogant queen of his world, had practically thrown herself at him. It was a delicious irony, watching her crumble when she realized the power had shifted. All the years she spent looking down on him—now she was the one left feeling desperate.
Good.
Dick's grin widened as he imagined how it would play out next. Jessica was stubborn, sure, but she'd be back. She always craved control, and now she couldn't stand that it had slipped from her grasp. He'd leave her hanging for a while, let the frustration build, and then reel her back in when he decided it was time. No rush. He had all the time in the world.
He moved to the window, glancing out at the darkening sky. The faint glow of the streetlights flickered below, casting long shadows across the front yard. The approaching car headlights cut through the dim light outside. Dick's grin widened as he recognized the sleek black sedan pulling into the driveway. "The bastard is back." Sirius, his father, was back after three months. The bastard was probably expecting to return to the same weak, beaten-down son he'd left behind.
But Dick wasn't the same.
He leaned back against the window frame, arms crossed, and imagined the look on his father's face when he saw the new him. The physical transformation was just the surface—what had changed underneath would hit Sirius even harder. Dick chuckled to himself, picturing the moment he would cuckold his father in front of his eyes, Clara beneath him, her moans filling the room. But he wasn't there yet—not with her. Not yet.
He heard the front door creak open downstairs, the deep, familiar rumble of his father's voice. He couldn't make out the words, but it didn't matter. His father was always the same—commanding, critical, and cold. Dick's hand clenched at his side, the old resentment bubbling up, but he quickly smothered it with the satisfaction that tonight would be different.
For a moment, Dick considered heading downstairs to greet his father, relishing the thought of seeing the shock ripple across Sirius' cold, dismissive face. But no, that wasn't how he'd play it. Let Sirius come to him. If he ever did.
The old bastard wouldn't.
He was ashamed to see his sperm could form such an ugly creature. Of course, he tested Dick many times, and every time, the result was the same: Dick was his son. So, he did the next best thing—ignored his existence. Such a loving father he was.
Dick smiled to himself. He wore a baggy hoodie that concealed his form, his face. The longer he could hide from Sirius, the better. Though he knew it wouldn't last. The bastard would find out eventually that Dick now had a McLaren parked in the garage. And that, well—that wasn't normal.
The front door closed, the heavy sound echoing through the house. Dick could hear Clara's voice faintly, a melodic but hollow tone, greeting Sirius with a routine that lacked any real warmth. Probably asking about his trip, pretending to care, as always. The fake pleasantries exchanged like currency.
Sirius of course knew what a snake Clara was. This was never a love marriage, not even a trophy wife situation. His first wife, Dick's mother, had been a true beauty, leagues above Clara, but that hadn't stopped from creating an abomination called Dick. Clara had one purpose—to be a tool. A high-end tool, expensive and demanding, but one Sirius used to get what he needed. Money, leverage, business deals.
Like her current fling, David Trent. Sirius knew she was fucking him; hell, he told her to. It was part of the game, using her to squeeze Trent for business deals and connections. And Clara? She was just a great slut, playing her role as the doting wife while spreading her legs for whoever Sirius pointed her at.
He had practically handed her over to David, making it clear that she should seduce the real estate mogul. David wasn't just some rich playboy Clara picked on a whim—he was Sirius's mark. They were playing him, manipulating the man into a corner where he could no longer operate without Sirius's influence. Clara's body was merely a bargaining chip in the deal, a way to bind Trent closer to Sirius's growing empire.
Sirius's heavy footsteps echoed through the mansion, heading straight for his office. Dick, leaning casually against the window frame, smirked. His father was always predictable, driven by business, always too caught up in his own schemes to notice anything beyond his profit margins.
Upstairs, Dick smirked as he heard Sirius's voice floating up from below, probably talking about some trip, feigning interest in Clara's day. It was all bullshit, but Dick could hear the underlying tones. It was dominance in its purest form, and Sirius wielded it with ruthless efficiency. But even a master like his father would eventually slip.
Dick knew the old man wouldn't come looking for him, not unless there was some urgent reason. He was still a ghost in this house, still the "embarrassment" his father had tried to forget.
Clara's laugh drifted upstairs, high-pitched and fake as always. Dick couldn't help but laugh. The roles everyone in this house played were pathetic, yet they all thought they were running the show.
Two hours later, a sharp knock sounded on the door, snapping Dick out of his quiet thoughts. "Sir Dick," came the voice of Jonas, the head butler he despised more than anyone in this house. "Sir Graves is waiting for you in his study."
Jonas, with his stiff posture and ever-present air of subservience, stood in the doorway, his face unreadable as always. That smug bastard, Dick thought. He knew all too well the depths of Jonas's ass-kissing loyalty to Sirius. The head butler had long since traded his dignity for a comfortable spot at his father's feet. Sirius was likely balls-deep in Jonas's girlfriend, Stacey, every week, and yet here was Jonas, still kissing up to his master with all the grace of a dog licking scraps off the floor.
Dick couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips. Jonas was the perfect lapdog. The old bastard probably relished every drop of spunk Sirius left in Stacey's cunt, swallowing his pride along with it. Everyone knew she spread her legs for Sirius, and Jonas just smiled and bowed like it didn't matter. He'd probably lap up his master's cum with a grin, just to keep his place in this twisted little household.
Dick didn't respond immediately. When he finally moved, he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up, hiding his newly sharpened features. His shoulders were slouched as he passed Jonas without a word, not even sparing him a glance. He could feel the butler's eyes on him, no doubt silently judging, but Dick didn't care. Jonas was beneath his notice.