Sophia had crossed a line she could no longer see. At nineteen, she was old enough to make her own choices—or so she told herself—and she had chosen Victor Lennox completely. What began as a toxic obsession had spiraled into full-blown addiction. Victor, in his late fifties but still powerfully built and commanding, fed every dark craving she possessed.
Their dates had grown more frequent and extravagant. Private jets to Monaco, five-star suites in Singapore, and now a week-long yacht cruise along the Mediterranean. Sophia posted everything on her rapidly growing social media—sun-soaked selfies in tiny bikinis, videos of her sipping champagne on the deck. In several shots, the back of an older man appeared: broad shoulders in tailored linen shirts, silver hair, strong hands on her waist.
