A day later — Adrian's private mansion, Paris
The air in the room was thick.
Heavy.
Oppressively silent in a way that made every breath feel like a crime against the tension hanging in the space.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the heavy curtains, casting long, sharp shadows across the polished marble floor. The scent of cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of authority and impending punishment.
Stephen knelt motionless in the exact center of the room.
Head slightly bowed.
Back ramrod straight.
Hands resting palm-down on his thighs.
He had been in that precise position for over four long, agonizing hours.
Not once had he shifted.
Not once had he complained.
And Adrian?
