Crossing Lines
Chapter 90
The screen’s glow stabbed my eyes. My fingers hesitated over the
keyboard. I hadn’t done this in weeks. Not since Noah. Not since I let
him inside places even Mr. A never touched.
But if I couldn’t survive as Aiden anymore, maybe I could still survive
as him.
My password typed itself from memory, and just like that, I was back
inside. The dashboard of my Mr. A profile lit up–a world that had
once been mine. A place where I wasn’t a washed–up coach or a failed
brother, where no one gave a damn about scandals or broken careers.
Here, I was someone. Respected. Desired. Feared.
The group chat blinked alive. “Where the hell’ve you been, Sir?” one
of the regulars typed. Another begged for advice, another dropped a
clip asking for critique.
For the first time all night, my chest didn’t feel hollow.
I hit record before I could think twice, my voice gravelly from liquor
and regret. “I see standards have slipped while I was gone,” I said,
cool and sharp like a blade. “That last scene? Sloppy. Don’t ever waste
my time with half–assed rope work again. You want my approval?
Earn it.”
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I dropped the file into the chat. The replies came fast–deference,
eagerness, praise. God help me, I let it fill me. For a moment, I was
him again. Mr. A. Not the man who had just kicked Noah out of his
house like a coward, but the man people looked to for strength.
I answered a few more questions, pushed a few boundaries just to feel
alive, and when the rush started to fade, I did what I knew I
shouldn’t. I switched tabs.
My personal folder.
Micah’s face filled the screen, all bright eyes and obedience. Clips of
training, with that sweet devotion burning in his gaze. Then other
recordings–short scenes at events, parties, strangers who never
mattered. Flashes of control, of release, of the man I used to be when
I thought I could separate it all.
And then I saw it.
A recent notification. Curiosity sparked as I clicked it open.
The message wasn’t like the others. An official seal I recognized. No
eager submissive begging for crumbs of my attention. No group invite
to some half–assed munch. This one had weight. The kind of thing
whispered about in the right circles, the kind of name that turned
heads in hushed tones.
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“Mr. A-
Word of your reputation has reached us, even through your silence. We rarely extend invitations, but exceptions are made for those who’ve proven themselves worthy. The Dominion is an exclusive
society, a private club where the standards are unmatched, the
discipline refined, the members carefully chosen. It is a place where
true power and devotion are recognized and celebrated.
We would be honored to have you join us. If you accept, arrangements will be made discreetly. We believe you would find not only challenge
here, but a home.”
The Dominion.
My breath stilled.
I’d heard of it. Everyone in the scene had. The holy grail of clubs,
whispered about at events like some untouchable kingdom. No ads.
No open doors. Just rumor and envy. A place only the best were ever
invited into. A place that could make–or break–you.
And they wanted me.
My pulse thundered as I read the message again, the word “home”
cutting like a knife. A home. Christ. I didn’t even have one of those
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anymore.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, a war raging in my chest before I reached for my phone instead, about to drunk–message my latest
mistake.
“We need to talk.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
