Born To Be Your Slave

The Simon mansion stood in elegant silence, its marble floors and glittering chandeliers giving the illusion of wealth untouched by sorrow. Yet within its walls, Laura Simon lived as though she were a guest in her own home. She was the daughter of Mr. Simon’s first marriage, a reminder of a love long buried beneath polished family portraits and business alliances. Since her mother’s death, Laura’s world had been reshaped by the presence of Rebecca, her father’s new wife, whose smile was as sharp as glass and whose words were laced with venom.

Beside Rebecca bloomed Tessy, Laura’s stepsister. Where Laura possessed quiet grace, Tessy flaunted charm laced with cruelty. Every compliment she gave was poisoned, every laugh directed like a blade. And Mr. Simon—distant, absorbed in his work—remained oblivious to the subtle war fought under his roof.

Laura bore it silently. She moved through the mansion’s gilded halls like a shadow, clutching her books, whispering her dreams to the night sky. Somewhere out there, she believed, life held more than obedience to a cruel stepmother and the smirks of a jealous sister.

One evening, as the family gathered for dinner, Rebecca’s words carried a new name that pierced Laura’s quiet world: Frank Thompson.

“The richest man in the country,” Rebecca said, her voice low and reverent. “Powerful. Unmarried. He is the future, Tessy. Imagine the doors that would open if you caught his attention.”

Tessy’s eyes gleamed with hunger. “Oh, Mama, I’ve seen his photographs. He’s magnificent.”

Laura said nothing, though the name stirred something in her. Frank Thompson. She had heard of him—everyone had. He was the enigmatic head of the Thompson Empire, a man who built his fortune not only on inheritance but on ruthless brilliance. The press painted him as untouchable, a figure of wealth and authority whose life was one long succession of deals and power plays.

Laura lifted her gaze just once, catching Rebecca’s cold smile. She understood the game at once: Tessy would be groomed as bait, and Laura—unwanted, inconvenient—would be cast further aside.

That night, alone in her room, Laura stood by the window, watching the lights of the city flicker like a thousand beating hearts. Somewhere among them lived Frank Thompson. The thought was foolish, she told herself, yet still it lingered: What would it feel like to be seen by a man like him?

---

Across the city, Frank Thompson stood before the towering windows of his penthouse office. The city stretched endlessly beneath him, its brilliance reflecting his own empire. He had everything men envied—wealth, respect, power beyond measure. Yet the silence around him was suffocating.

On his desk lay contracts worth billions, but none filled the hollow ache that grew sharper with each passing year. For all the women who paraded through his life—models, heiresses, socialites—not one had stirred his heart. They admired his money, his name, his empire. But not him.

“Mr. Thompson?” Richard, his aide, appeared in the doorway.

Frank turned slightly. “Yes?”

“The charity gala tomorrow. The Simon family will be present.”

Frank’s brow lifted. He knew of the Simons—wealthy, yes, but struggling. Their patriarch was desperate to remain relevant in circles he was quickly losing. Such families circled him often, eager to bind themselves to his empire.

“Do I need to attend?” Frank asked, his tone clipped.

Richard hesitated. “It would… be noticed if you didn’t.”

Frank’s lips curved in a faint, humorless smile. “Appearances,” he murmured. Always appearances.

“Very well. I’ll attend.”

Left alone, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, his thoughts restless. He longed, against reason, for something real—someone who would look at him not as Frank Thompson the empire, but as Frank, the man.

The night carried on, drawing invisible threads between two strangers who had yet to meet.

---

The gala was a theater of wealth: glittering gowns, champagne glasses tinkling, laughter woven with lies. Laura hated it from the moment Rebecca thrust her into the limousine, her gown chosen to be plain, understated. Tessy, however, glittered in silver silk, her smile trained to perfection.

When Frank entered the room, a ripple of energy passed through the crowd. He was taller than she imagined, his presence magnetic yet controlled. Men stiffened, women leaned forward as though the air bent toward him.

Rebecca whispered urgently into Tessy’s ear. “Now, darling. Smile. Go to him.”

But while Tessy swept forward, Laura remained near the corner, her eyes betraying her curiosity. She told herself not to stare, yet she could not help it. He was the embodiment of everything whispered about him: power in every line of his suit, authority in every measured step. And yet, when his gaze swept across the room, Laura felt a shock—because for one fleeting instant, his eyes found hers.

It lasted no more than a breath. Tessy intercepted him, her laughter ringing false as she reached for