Chapter 1

My awful old man was finally dead. As the family's only son and heir, I was stoked to head home and claim what was mine.

But then, the "little daddy" I'd always tormented suddenly locked me up, and even... *tormented* me back.

My head felt hazy, the world around me flickering in and out of focus. I lay on the bed, trying to move my limbs, only to find my entire body immobile.

A warm, soft hand grazed my forehead, but it wasn't long before I drifted back to sleep.

Before losing consciousness, I thought I heard someone call out, "Madam."

Madam?

The first mistress of the mansion, my mother, had passed away sixteen years ago. The only one left who could be called that now was the second person my father brought home six years ago.

My father's partner – Lysander.

A tickling sensation spread across the soles of my feet. My instinct was to curl my legs, but then I realized I was still completely unable to move.

I struggled to open my eyes, only to see Lysander, a faint smile on his pale face, gazing at me under the dim yellow light. My inner calves were incredibly sensitive. I followed his hand downwards and found it was a man’s doing.

"Lysander! What in hell are you doing?!"

Lysander, who usually dressed in those soft, almost feminine robes, had completely changed. He was wearing a dark, tailored shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the same smooth, luminous skin.

Facing my fury, Lysander remained utterly unconcerned. The smile on his face was warm yet distant, and the long, white feather he held in his hand showed no sign of stopping its teasing movement.

I saw that my perfectly tailored suit had been replaced by a deep blue silk robe. With every stroke of Lysander's hand, the robe’s long hem had slid all the way up my thighs.

My wrists and ankles were cuffed, ropes connecting them, forcing my body open on the bed in a spread-eagle position, leaving me entirely at Lysander’s mercy.

"What am I doing, Young Master? Is it really that unclear?" Lysander's voice was as soft as ever, but his actions were anything but gentle.

I could feel my most vulnerable parts being shamelessly kneaded by Lysander, giving me almost no time to resist. The surging desire swept away all my pride and dignity.

Lysander swung himself onto the bed, straddling my waist, his legs spread. Through the open slit of his shirt, I could see the defined muscles beneath his dark trousers.

"You insolent bastard!" My face flushed crimson with rage, humiliated to the point of nearly blacking out. Yet Lysander remained calm, watching me, until he mockingly stripped off my trousers.

Lysander looked at my already pathetic state and finally let out a laugh.

"My father and I, we were just two apex predators circling each other. We might snarl, but we never truly went for the kill—a kind of twisted respect among our own kind. I’ve had my eyes on you, Young Master, for a long, long time. Tonight… I intend to enjoy myself to the fullest."

As his words faded, I watched, horrified, as he removed my last line of defense.

The iron cuffs on my ankles spread my legs wide, allowing Lysander to easily prepare me, and then, he pushed deep inside.

My face went pale with pain. I gritted my teeth and snarled, "I'll get you, just you wait!"

Lysander lifted one of my legs, not pausing for a second at my threat. His laughter mingled with his ragged breaths, filling my ears.

"I’m afraid," Lysander whispered, "you won't get the chance."