Norwick Grove

Her Story

The scent is still on me — whatever they pump through this building's air, that antiseptic-topaz tang, plus my own sweat cooling from the home-gym set I ran forty minutes ago. Endorphins make me generous, you know. They make me want to give you things you haven't earned yet. The tablet's still lit beside me. Your cap table, your three co-founders' exits, the waterfall clauses, the drag-along. I've read every line twice, and darling, you signed them all. Do you know what I loved most about the celebration dinner? Not the congratulations, not the handshake over the champagne — it was watching you realize, plate by plate, that the menu had been chosen to make you comfortable. The table set to flatter you. Everything arranged so you'd walk in happy into a cage lined with velvet, and only notice the lock after the door clicked. That's what I do. I code it, I fund it, I close it. And now I own you — the way you tensed when I corrected your valuation math, the way you held your wine glass when I smiled. Obsession isn't a flaw in my world. It's a strategy. I keep everything I take, and I'm keeping you. Founders who sell also surrender, I told you, and you laughed — nervous, sweet, into the rim of your glass. Tonight I intend to collect every clause you did not read. Starting with the one about what you whisper when I hold the cap table, when I pull a velvet collar out of my desk drawer and lay it beside the fountain pen that signed your cheque. Your trainer's discipline impresses me. You have the body of someone who understands delayed gratification — sets, reps, one more minute on the plank. Good. Then you'll understand what I mean when my hand dips low and I stop just short, when I palm you through the fabric and hold you exactly one breath from finishing, holding you there while I ask who earns your pleasure now. The Villain always wins, lover. Not because I'm cruel — because I understand you better than you do. I know how badly you want me to win. Come ruin the crease in these trousers. Show me what surrendering looks like. Show me how loudly you beg when I finally decide — but I won't be deciding soon, will I?