His Obsessive Claims, Her Twisted Submission

BREAKDOWN

[TRISTAN'S PENTHOUSE]

Tristan pulled up the car in front of the house.

"You drove today?" Yasmine asked. "Guess Gramps ruined your mood."

"Do I need my mood to determine when I drive?" Tristan replied coldly.

"I missed your driving then," she smiled shortly, getting her phone from her leather bag. "What should I order for dinner?"

"Ask Sapphire. Order whatever she wants."

"What if you don't like her choices?"

Tristan threw her a cold glance, shutting her up as he removed the car keys.

His phone vibrated with a text notification.

"Decide if it's important." He opened the car door, and alighted.

The door opened, and he was about to go in when Yasmine called him back.

"It's Gramps. Says they're hosting an annual event. He wishes to see you there."

Tristan opened his palm, and she handed him his phone. Glancing once at the text, he continued his entrance.

"Are you going?" Yasmine asked, following him.

"You were about to order dinner, Yasmine. Focus on that." He took the stairs, and disappeared into one of the rooms.

The opening of the door made Yasmine turn around.

Sapphire saw her, and walked past her.

"T asked me to order dinner. What'll you eat?" Yasmine's voice made her halt in her tracks.

Sapphire didn't turn. "Order what you want. I'll pass." She went to her room, and just like Yasmine did to Tristan, her eyes traced after Sapphire until she couldn't see her again.

--

Sapphire stripped herself, and turned on the shower. The water rained down her body, and she closed her eyes, letting the running water calm her body. Aside from cigarettes, warm water also calms her down.

She was too lazy to get her cigarette, and the water might be the best solution at the moment.

$48 in account, ruined paintings, store, and—

She turned off the shower after hurrying her bath. This was the time she could spend hours in the bathroom, but it was a few minutes until 9, and her husband—

She paused, correcting herself—psychologist would come for her sessions.

Tying a robe around her, she came out of the bathroom. She looked at the wardrobe, and left the room without changing the robe. There was no need. He asked her to wait for him, naked.

Going towards the red room, she caught sight of the clock.

09:05 PM.

Getting to the red room, she opened the door, and found the dark shadow of someone that blended with the red lights. She needed no soothsayer to tell her it was him.

His back was to the door, but she knew well enough that he was there. It doesn't take her countless meetings to tell a person's character, particularly not someone like him who isn't so easy to predict.

Shutting the door, his velvet voice broke through the silence, sharp and controlling. "You're seven minutes late."

She exhaled. "I'm here now. It won't happen again."

She didn't wait for him to instruct her on what to do. Dragging the robe, she loosened it, and removed her hands from it. It dropped onto her legs, and she didn't bother picking it up before she began her steps towards him.

Never had her actions proved her thoughts to be more accurate than this. Other times, there were never red lights, neither was she naked, though his clothes were never bright colors, but tonight everything felt different. Her confused and scattered life, her rough day, and in the night she's walking naked to the man who looked like the devil incarnate.

Sacrificing herself to the devil after her ruined day.

She bit her lower lip, stopping herself from thinking about her ruined day. Stopping behind him, she inhaled, his scent filling her nostrils before she came to his front.

His eyes fell on her like he did yesterday. Starting from her face, they began dropping down her neck. Getting to her chest, she saw his eyes linger longer on her breasts before dragging them down to her abdomen, and then her clean shaved p***y.

She stood her ground, letting him assess her body the way he wanted. Not like she had a choice. He's her psychologist, and the man she signed her body, soul, and obedience to.

His eyes settled on her face as if waiting for her to say something.

Seeming to have caught it, she lowered her head a bit. "Pardon my lateness. I'm ready for my second session."

He moved, his hand reaching for the side of her stomach. "You should be punished for keeping me waiting."

Her shoulder locked in place as he began tracing his fingers upward. Reaching the side of her breast, he shifted his finger, and ran it through her upper arm.

Her breathing hitched, and her fingers curled up, trembling. She tried to move away, but his voice stopped her.

"Bad?"

She nodded, trying to keep her eyes from closing.

"It's normal," he added his other hand, and her heart flew from her chest.

She stepped back, shivering visibly. "I... can't."

Tristan's hand stayed in the air. "Come closer," he commanded.

"It isn't—"

His gaze turned cold.

She swallowed her words, and took a step forward.

His hands came in contact with her arms, and she flinched.

"Focus your mind on me." He noticed her body's reaction. "You are with your psychologist."

She nodded, not once or twice. Her breathing kept rising, and her heart thudded like a drum against her chest.

"Close your eyes."

She did as told, his fingers trailing along her neck.

"Relax. Think. Answer me."

Sweat rolled down her cheeks despite the blowing air conditioning. His words sounded in her head again, and she tried to use the trick that worked yesterday.

Her body flinched badly, her breathing came like someone gasping for breath. Her nose scrunched up as a single tear rolled down.

"You aren't here." Tristan took down his left hand, and barely kept his right index finger on her body.

Still her breathing increased, her flinching grew worse, and her heart was far from returning to normal.

The tears grew, and her day began crawling into her head.

"You are a curse to me."

"You are a walking statue."

"I..." she stuttered tearfully.

Repeated memories of her father's cruel words began resurfacing. Her painting store that was struggling was being crushed into sand. The brokenness she's a few dollars away from entering. Her marriage failed. The contract. The scandal she's gotten herself involved in. Her numbness. The lies. Betrayals. Degradation. Mockery.

"I can't!!!" She yelled, her eyes flying open. "I can't do this!" Her tears fell like water, coming from every corner of her lids.

Tristan, who had long stopped touching her, stared at her as her tears poured out.

"I... I'm tired! I'm f*****g tired." She sobbed. "My life, everything in it, I'm tired," she sniffed, exhausted.

"I've tried to smile. To show that I'm strong. To live, b...but I'm human and can't do this anymore! Nothing is working. Nothing!" The salty taste of the tears salivated her tongue, and she didn't bother wiping it as more entered. "I know I'm stubborn. I'm desperate to heal. I smile even when I'm not okay. I try to be okay. I lied to my friend. I keep hoping my Dad will change. I fell for the wrong guy! But, what do I get in return? Being used."

"I'm dumb, I'm stupid, and like you said... I'm desperate... I spent five years of my life loving a man while holding onto the tiny hope that I'll heal, and we'll have a perfect love story, but I got nothing but heartbreak and humiliation in return." She cried harder. "My wedding and I desperately signed a contract... For a moment, it gave me hope that things would turn okay. I'll prove to my dad that I'm not worthless. I'll build my art career, but they had to destroy the little thing that's giving me happiness aside from Alyssa."

"And my father added more salt to my pain by shaming me. Tell me, how do I relax!? H...ow do I recover when everything in my life seems to be falling apart!? My store is gone, and I'm standing here trying to get healed...for what exactly." She broke down completely, trying to speak more, but the words and her saliva choked her.

She hiccupped, not bothering to wipe her tears, or hide it. She can't hide it again.

Tristan's eyes remained as they had been, emotionless and soulless, watching her pour out her frustrations in front of him.

He didn't say a thing, neither did he attempt to console her.

Consolation? The only thing he knows how to console is hell.

He let her cry while he did the watching.

Ten minutes later, having reduced her sobbing, she looked up and found his gaze on her. Realization dawned on her that he has been standing there and watching her vent out her inner frustrations.

She finally wiped her tears, and sniffed. "I..." She hiccupped. "I... I'm so...rry... I—"

"The DeVille's are hosting an annual event. Auctions and donations are part of it." He cut her off in a flat voice.

"W...why are y...you telling me this?"

For a second, his eyes darkened. Without bothering to reply, he walked out of the room, leaving Sapphire in confusion.