Hug Me Master

I'll change his mind

Aria left the club with her heart still pounding from the weight of Dominic’s words, but her mind was already racing ahead to the chaos waiting at home.

Every step felt like it echoed her own footsteps—trudging toward a door that might not be safe, a man who might be waiting with that glass of whiskey and those fists.

Why didn’t he say yes? she kept thinking, tears threatening again. She begged. She was honest. She was desperate. But he looked at her like she was just… another girl who wanted an easy way out.

He talked about contracts and trust and growth, but what if that’s all bullshit? What if he’s just like every other man who’ll take what she offers and then leave her even more broken? Life is so cruel. She can’t go home. She can’t stay. But where else can she go?

She hugged her arms around herself, the thin coat doing nothing against the wind that cut straight through to her bones. The words he’d spoken kept replaying like a cruel song: If your reason for wanting to be my sub is to run from your house, Aria, she can’t accept you.

Not yet. She’d run. She’d thrown herself at him because she had nowhere else to turn. And now he’d rejected her—not harshly, not even angrily, but with that quiet, patient wisdom that made her feel smaller than any beating her father ever gave. He’s smart, she thought, biting her lip. He’s been doing this for years. He knows exactly how to make you question yourself. But that doesn’t mean he’s right. She just needs to make him see she's serious. She needs to show him she can be what he wants.

By the time she reached her home, the night air had grown heavier, carrying the faint smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke from the neighbors’ windows. She slipped inside quietly, the stairs creaking under her feet like they always did.

Her house was dark when she unlocked the door. Thank God. Her father wasn’t there. No slamming doors, no slurred voice calling her worthless. Just the silence and the lingering smell of last night’s takeout in the air. She let out a shaky breath and kicked off her shoes, padding into the living room.

The floor was sticky from some spilled drink. She didn’t care. She collapsed onto the couch, the cushions sinking under her exhausted weight. Her body ached everywhere: ribs bruised from the last time he’d grabbed her too hard, arms marked with fingerprints, a split lip from yesterday that had barely healed.

He’ll be back soon, she thought, staring at the ceiling. Gambling again. Probably borrowed more money from those loan sharks. And when he does… she has to be gone before he walks in.

She can't take it anymore. But how? She needs to leave this house. Before he gets back. Her mind spun with desperate plans—calling a friend she barely talked to, crashing at a shelter, anything.

But then Dominic’s voice cut through the noise in her head, calm and steady. The lifestyle isn’t a shelter for the desperate. It’s a partnership. Built on mutual respect, consent, and structure.

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. ‘She doesn't know if she can do that. She doesn't know if she can trust someone like him. But maybe… maybe she can make him believe me. She just needs to show him she can be good. That she can be his sub because she chose it, not because she has nowhere else to go.’

She didn’t know how long she sat there. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, then one, then two. Sleep finally pulled her under like a heavy blanket, her body finally letting go of the tension. When morning came, it hit like a wave—bright sunlight slicing through the blinds, forcing her eyes open. She groaned, sitting up slowly, every muscle protesting.

The bed was a mess of twisted sheets from her restless night. She stared at the bruises on her arms and felt that familiar mix of shame and anger. He’ll do it again today. Or next week. Or never stop. Her thoughts turned back to Dominic, warmer now, less lonely. He didn’t have to be so patient. So wise.

Most Doms would have taken what she offered and left her crying on the floor. But he… he made her feel like there was more. Like she could actually become someone else. ‘If she wants to make him agree, she has to be ready. Really ready. No more running. she has to face my own s**t first.’

She showered quickly, the hot water stinging the cuts on her back from the belt he’d used yesterday. The mirror showed a girl with hollow eyes and a tired face—twenty-two years old and already feeling eighty. She just wants to escape. That’s all.

But he won’t see it. She needs to prove she can do this. She can kneel. She can obey. She can learn. She dried off, choosing a simple skirt and blouse that hid the worst of the marks as best she could.

Makeup couldn’t hide the bruises on her face entirely, but she tried anyway, dabbing concealer until it looked almost normal. Work is good, she told herself. She needs money. A lot of it. Enough to get out. Enough to start over with him.

Her heart fluttered at the thought—Dominic, the office, the safety he promised. She shook it off. Don’t get ahead of yourself. You messed up yesterday. Don’t do it again.

The office building was the same gray concrete it always had been as she stepped through the doors at eight-thirty. The lights hummed overhead, the same fluorescent buzz that had become her white noise.

Everyone was already at their desks—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the low hum of the open-plan floor. Nothing looked different from any other morning. Except her.

Aria kept her head down, walking straight to her cubicle in the corner. She logged into her computer, pulled up the reports, and got to work. Her hands moved on autopilot—typing figures, cross-checking emails, answering the occasional question from a coworker. She can do this, she thought. She’ll be the best intern they’ve ever had. He’ll see she's serious when he comes back. No more tears. No more begging like a child. She can grow. Like he said. A small, fragile smile touched her lips for the first time all morning.

But the day had a way of testing her. Around ten-thirty, her concentration shattered when the senior—Mr. Hargrove, with his permanent scowl and the permanent file folder under his arm—stalked over. He’d been avoiding real work for weeks, always pointing fingers at the interns when something went wrong. Today was no different.

Aria had been updating a client database, and the spreadsheet she’d been double-checking had a tiny mismatch in one column. Nothing major. Just a typo from yesterday’s copy-paste. Hargrove’s face went red before he even opened his mouth.

“What the hell is this?” he snapped, slamming his hand on her desk hard enough to rattle the monitor. “You let this slip again? I told you interns to get it right the first time. Do I have to do everything myself while you people play around on your phones?”

Aria flinched, her stomach twisting. She’d spent an entire week’s night trying to remember every detail of the report.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hargrove,” she whispered, voice trembling just a little. She was used to this—apologizing, fixing it, hoping it would blow over. “It was my fault. I’ll redo it right now. Please, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t even look at her properly. His eyes narrowed, the vein in his temple pulsing. “Sorry? You think sorry fixes a mistake like this? I have deadlines, Aria. People trust me, and you… you’re just an intern who can’t keep her head on straight. If you can’t handle basic tasks, maybe I should find someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping to that dangerous growl. “Fix it. Now. And next time, don’t waste my time.”

Aria nodded frantically, cheeks burning with shame. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, erasing and retyping the row. But Hargrove wasn’t done. He grabbed the file folder from the desk and flipped through the pages, his face growing angrier with every second.

“This is a mess,” he muttered, more to himself. “You’re dragging down the whole team.”

Then, without warning, his hand raised high, palm open like he was about to slap her across the face. The file in his grip hovered inches from her shoulder, the motion sudden and sharp.

Aria froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened in pure terror—the same terror she felt every time her father raised his hand. Not again, she thought, heart slamming against her ribs. Please, not today. She braced herself for the impact that was coming.

But his hand was suddenly grabbed—firm, iron-like—from behind her. Not violent. Just… there. Holding it mid-air. Aria’s head snapped up, her pulse roaring in her ears, and she turned to see—

Dominic. Standing there like he’d materialized from the shadows of her own mind. His presence was quiet, commanding, the same steady calm that had made her knees weak in his office last night. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t angry. His eyes were cool, assessing, but his grip on Hargrove’s wrist was gentle enough to remind the man exactly who was in charge. The senior’s face drained of color as he realized who it was—the boss himself, the man whose office she’d just left, the man whose words she’d been trying so hard to believe.

“Mr. Dominic,” Hargrove stammered, voice cracking as he tried to pull away. “I was just— she made a mistake. It won’t happen again. I—”

Dominic’s voice cut through the cubicle like a blade wrapped in silk—deep, patient, impossible to ignore.

“Let go of the file, Mr. Hargrove.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a statement. Hargrove’s hand dropped like it burned, the folder sliding to the desk with a soft thud. Dominic didn’t release the wrist until the man finally stepped back, eyes wide with shock.

Then he turned those same steady eyes to Aria, softening instantly.