Chapter 21
1247 Words
Evening descended on the Finnegan mansion, casting long shadows across the lavish dining room.
Tension hung in the air as Atlas presented his security assessment to the assembled family. The crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the table where Aaron sat at the head, his expression growing increasingly skeptical.
"These measures seem excessive," Aaron interrupted, gesturing at the blueprints spread before them. "Triple authentication for family quarters? Armed guards at every entrance?"
Atlas maintained his professional demeanour. "Given recent events, sir, I believe caution is warranted."
"Or perhaps overcompensating?" Mercer suggested, his voice smooth as silk. He stood beside Aaron, arms folded across his chest. "Sometimes elaborate security creates more vulnerabilities than it solves."
Hannah leaned forward, her diamond bracelet catching the light. "James has kept us safe through an assassination attempt. I think his judgment deserves our trust."
"I agree," Anola added, her gaze lingering on Atlas longer than necessary. "Mr. Reed has proven himself quite... thorough."
The division in the room was palpable, the women firmly in Atlas's camp, Aaron increasingly aligned with Mercer.
"With respect," Mercer continued, circling the table, "I've reviewed the shooter incident. The timing was convenient, wasn't it? Almost as if someone knew exactly when to expect trouble."
Atlas met his gaze evenly. "Good security is anticipating threats before they materialise."
"Or orchestrating them," Mercer countered softly.
Aaron slammed his palm on the table. "That's enough! I want both plans implemented. Reed's physical security, Mercer's surveillance protocols."
"Redundancy creates confusion," Atlas warned. "In crisis situations, clear command structure is essential."
"Then consider yourselves co-directors of security," Aaron declared. "Work together or work elsewhere."
The two men stared at each other across the table, neither blinking nor backing down.
"As you wish, sir," Atlas finally conceded, though his eyes remained cold.
Hannah and Anola exchanged worried glances. The battle lines had been drawn, and the Finnegan family had unwittingly divided itself exactly as Atlas had planned.
…
That night, the mansion exhaled into uneasy silence.
Anola stood by the window of her study. Her robe hung open just enough to reveal the lace edge of a black negligee, her fingers nervously tracing the curve of her collarbone.
She had summoned James Reed again, no, *summoned* was too formal. She had *commanded* him, and like a dutiful servant, he came.
The door opened without a knock.
Atlas stepped in, James Reed’s face calm, composed. But beneath the mask, Atlas Prime waited, coiled and patient.
“You came,” Anola said, her voice low, throaty. The power she once wielded over others now twisted into something desperate, into the hunger of a woman who had everything and was beginning to lose it.
“I serve at your request,” he replied, closing the door behind him.
She turned to face him fully, eyes flickering with lust.
“Everything is falling apart. Aaron’s a disaster. That damn merger collapsed. I built my life on order, on image, and now… now even Victor Mercer is poking around like a vulture. They think they can do this to me? To *us*?”
Atlas walked slowly into the room, shrugging off his jacket. “They forget who you are.”
“Exactly.” Anola stepped closer, her hands drifting to his chest. “You’re the only one who sees me. Really sees me.” Her fingers slipped down, tracing the outline of his belt. “Not the cold widow. Not the domineering mother in law. Just… me.”
He said nothing, just watched her with dark, unreadable eyes.
Then, without breaking his gaze, she dropped to her knees.
His breath hitched, just slightly. Not from arousal. From revulsion, and the cold thrill of victory.
Her manicured hands undid his belt, then the button of his slacks, sliding the zipper down with deliberate slowness. She pulled at his trousers just enough to free his c**k, stiff and thick against her palm.
“God,” she breathily, cupping him, stroking slowly. “I don’t recall this part when you interviewed.”
A smirk played on Atlas’s lips. “You weren’t paying close enough attention.”
She leaned in, licking the tip once, then again, before taking the head into her mouth and sucking. Hard.
A filthy groan escaped her throat, and she gagged slightly as he thrust deeper.
Atlas clenched his jaw. *This woman*, the woman who once called him *nothing*, who watched her son beat him bloody, who stood by as he was dumped in a garbage heap… now kneeling, greedily swallowing his c**k like a starved woman.
He let her take more, gripping her silver-blonde hair, guiding her rhythm. She moaned around him, her eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. She didn’t fight it. She *wanted* it. Wanted to be used, dominated, and *owned*, by the man she once ordered to be broken.
With his free hand, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out his phone. One-handed, he unlocked it, opened the camera, switched to video mode. Without a glance, he placed it on the edge of the antique desk beside him, angled perfectly to capture the entire scene.
Anola was on her knees, her mouth wrapped around his c**k. Her robe fell off one shoulder, and her eyes were hut with pleasure.
It was recording.
Then, softly, he spoke.
“I know you’re there, Hannah. Come out.”
The air in the room stilled.
A sharp intake of breath.
From behind the heavy Chinese screen, a figure emerged.
Hannah.
Pale as a ghost. Eyes wide, lips parted in shock. One hand still clutching her dressing gown.
Anola jerked up, her mouth leaving Atlas’s c**k with a wet pop, saliva trailing down her chin.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, voice curling with disdain.
Hannah said nothing. She just stared at her future mother-in-law on her knees.
Atlas didn’t miss a beat.
He stepped forward, wrapping a hand around the back of Hannah’s head, and pulled her into a deep, punishing kiss. Her lips were soft, surprised, then melting into him.
When he finally pulled away, her breath came fast.
“Atlas,” she whispered. “James…”
He smiled. “Call me whatever feels good.”
Then, without warning, he lead her over the chaise lounge where Anola had so many times been left “exhausted.” He lifted her gown, pushed her down, and shoved his c**k into her warm, tight mouth.
Hannah gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away. She moaned around him, her hands gripping the cushions.
“Join us,” Atlas said, glancing back at Anola. “You wouldn’t mind… would you, Mother?”
Anola stared, frozen, then slowly smiled.
No. She didn’t mind.
Because this, was power. Not being caught, but being *seen*. Her reputation be damned.
She crawled forward again, kneeling beside Hannah’s head.
Atlas pulled out of Hannah’s mouth, letting his c**k dangle before Anola.
She took it again greedily, her hand wrapping around the base, jerking him off as she sucked.
Hannah, still bent over, reached back, grabbing his hips, pulling him back into her mouth.
Two women. Both Finnegans. Both now serving the c**k of the boy they threw away.
Atlas stood tall between them, his hips moving slowly, thrusting into their mouths. The phone still recorded. The scene was perfect.
And the longer he stayed inside them, the deeper their humiliation, the more solid the video evidence became.
What they didn’t know was that this was just the first take.
- Writer
