Kinky regards

“Choose your role,” reads the tooltip above the dropdown menu. Jaynie scrolls through the list twice, but it doesn’t get any less confusing: amidst the chaos of words, only the occasional “sub,” “dom,” and “switch” look familiar. “Tradwife? Hell no,” she scoffs, scraping the trackpad impatiently. “What else? Cougar? Duck? Possum? What is this, a freaking zoo?” From the very moment Ray suggested signing up for FetHive, it felt like a terrible idea—and the registration alone was proof enough. Seriously, what kind of person would actually make sense of all this? “Mistress, Domme, Madame… That’s more like it.” But if there’s one thing Jaynie knows for sure, it’s that she’d rather be on her own than let anyone boss her around. Life has beaten her down enough—she’s not about to bend over for someone’s riding crop on top of that. And as for wannabe doms like Tristan Knox? They can take a hike. The site lets you pick up to five roles, but after settling on the least dramatic one—“Top”—she scrolls past the rest with a sharp flick. As if thinking about Tristan wasn’t the last thing she needed right now… “I’ll help you for a kiss… Just who the hell do you think you are?!” Jaynie hisses, with last night’s events still raw, bitterness rising in her throat like bile. Sure, she might’ve put that arrogant prick in his place—made him stammer and blush like an idiot. But the very idea that someone tried to exploit her vulnerability like this makes her blood boil. She’s not some poor, innocent lamb—she’s a top-tier university student and probably the youngest informant in FBI history. If Grant hadn’t shown up when he did, she would’ve simply gone after her brother all by herself. Still, accepting help from the other guy was worth it just to see that flash of disappointment on Tristan’s face. Talk about a blow to the ego—getting passed over for his best friend! Besides, Grant isn’t so bad himself. He might be too vanilla by kinkier standards, but at least he’s compassionate and blissfully free of hidden agendas. In a world that’s still stubbornly patriarchal, submissive guys are like unicorns—they might exist, but Jaynie has yet to meet one. Someone like Grant, though? He might be talked into trying a few things. In the “Looking For” section, Jaynie readily ticks off “Events” and “Community,” then pauses as her cursor hovers uncertainly over “A sub.” Wasn’t she just seriously contemplating a relationship with Grant? And it’s not like she’s ever trusted dating platforms anyway. Then again, why not take a chance? If one random trip to a BDSM club could shake up everything she knew about her own sexuality, who knows what other discoveries might be waiting just around the corner? Confirming her pick before she loses the nerve, Jaynie jumps to the “Username” field. Her fingers dart across the keyboard, but each attempt triggers the same infuriating message: “Username already taken.” DommeGirl. DominantElement. DominantForce. “Come on…” Jaynie mutters, trying name after name. “Gotcha!” A little green checkmark lights up next to DomNomNom. Informative yet with a dash of humor—Ray would have definitely approved. By the time she picks the best of a dozen near-identical selfies and hits submit, dawn is already creeping over the horizon. The campus stirs to life, buzzing with the start of a new day. Behind her, Carter’s still snoring away, and Jaynie can only hope her wayward brother won’t overstay his welcome—or her love life is as good as dead.

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By the time morning rolls around, the messages and friend requests are already piling up. Jaynie checks her phone before even getting out of bed—but the thrill of anticipation quickly curdles into confusion, then outright shock. “How much for an hour?” “Don’t go calling yourself a Top until you’ve met me. All my subs are ex-dommes.” “What if I write your name on my dick with a Sharpie?” There are at least a dozen more—not to mention the unsolicited nudes and meaningless messages made up of nothing but a single winking emoji. Jaynie scans through her profile frantically, wondering what, if anything, might have triggered that kind of attention. But aside from the unfortunate “Looking for a sub,” there’s nothing remotely provocative—it’s downright tame by kink site standards. Still, she removes the tag just in case. Later, in the common room, Jaynie scans the faces of her dormmates, and for a few sickening moments, a wave of panic rises in her throat. What if the attack on her profile was some kind of prank? It wouldn’t exactly be beneath them—someone had, after all, come up with that white-trash-themed party. An obvious jab at her less-than-stellar background… As if on cue, that’s exactly when Tristan decides to invade her personal space. “The car…” He’s standing far too close, and it takes all of Jaynie’s self-control not to pull back. “Grant and I left it by the river.” He means the car they “borrowed” from the lot to rescue Carter. Not that Jaynie cares what Tristan plans to do with it—she never asked to steal the damn thing, and she’s still pissed at him. At him—and at most of these rich legacy kids who have so much and value so little. If it weren’t for the FBI assignment, she wouldn’t set foot anywhere near the Rosewood frat. A delivery man rolls by, pushing a cart stacked with beer. Two others are hauling a full-sized bathtub somewhere down the hall. Still refusing to acknowledge the guy hovering a foot away, Jaynie takes a deep breath and tells herself to stay calm. There’s no reason to panic. Her profile pic looks more like a stock image—the wide-brimmed hat hides most of her face, and the bright red lipstick easily adds a few years. No one in their right mind would guess it’s her. Maybe it’s just a rough start. And as Gran always says, “To everything there is a season.”

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A rough start would be putting it mildly—FetHive turns out to be one big disappointment. The stream of bold, vulgar come-ons doesn’t let up the next day, or the day after that. And no matter how many of these creeps Jaynie blocks—new ones pop up almost instantly to take their place. To be fair, some men do seem genuinely interested. But even then, it’s dates and sex right out of the gate—and Jaynie is just not ready for that. Maybe that’s why Grant wins her over so easily. He talks about things Jaynie never imagined guys even thought about—like trust and how important it is to actually get to know each other. And even though their first kiss is awkward and a little stiff—she accidentally knocks her teeth against his—there’s a warm, giddy glow spreading through her chest. Before long, the whole FetHive fiasco starts to feel prophetic. Still, with nothing to lose and no real expectations, Jaynie opens her inbox—for what she believes to be the last time. KinkMaster02: Hey. Hope this doesn’t come off as stalker-ish, but I saw your profile a few days ago, and I’m pretty sure it said “Looking for a sub.” Now it’s gone. Am I too late? KinkMaster02: Anyway, congratulations. Guess people are wrong when they say this site is hopeless. He signs off with what can only be described as a borderline joke: “Kinky regards.”

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By the next evening, Jaynie practically has his profile memorized. Male, twenty-two, living—just like her—somewhere in the greater New York area. His kinks include spanking, bondage, and, weirdly enough, kissing. He calls himself heteroflexible, and his “Role” just says evolving—whatever that’s supposed to mean. That’s it. KinkMaster02’s “About Me” is completely blank, no post history, not a single photo. Not even a face—just a big cat, something panther-like, glaring out from his profile pic. As if his message hadn’t already raised enough red flags, this only makes it worse. And yet… it feels like the most genuine thing anyone has sent her. Am I too late? DomNomNom: You can’t be late if you never show up. But you messaged me anyway. Why? The reply comes almost instantly—only lending more credence to the online-stalker theory. KinkMaster02: Fear of missing out. Once you took down the tag, I immediately regretted not writing sooner. DomNomNom: Bold strategy. Aren’t you afraid it might backfire? KinkMaster02: Not really. Personally, I subscribe to the idea that fear is just an invitation to grow. Happy to elaborate, if you’re interested. They end up talking well into the night—about music, books, favorite foods, and even politics. The guy seems like a hopeless idealist, but for Jaynie, whose life pre-Kearney was all about survival and practicality, that’s oddly appealing. DomNomNom: You know, you’re the only one I’ve actually replied to. KinkMaster02: Consider me honoured. And wildly intrigued. Why’s that? When Jaynie shares her lousy experience, his tone shifts on a dime—from flirty to deadly serious. KinkMaster02: I’m really sorry. I’ve heard femdoms have it rough, but I didn’t realise it could be that bad. KinkMaster02: Just don’t let it shake your confidence. None of this is your fault. It’s all sexism and porn-fueled stereotypes. DomNomNom: And you don’t fall for stereotypes then? KinkMaster02: That’s right. But then again—I’m not here to have someone service my kinks. DomNomNom: Then why are you here? KinkMaster02: Reading the forum. Talking to people. And maybe—if I get lucky—meeting someone special. KinkMaster02: What about you? Jaynie suddenly feels uneasy. She and Grant aren’t exactly a thing yet, but saying nothing at all feels unfair—to both guys. DomNomNom: Look, I gotta be honest with you—there’s someone I’ve been seeing. It’s nothing official, but still. I doubt he’s into kink, though. KinkMaster02: Got it. Fair enough. So you’re not really looking for anything serious? DomNomNom: I don’t know. Still figuring myself out. Maybe that’s the whole reason I’m here. DomNomNom: What helped you realize you were a sub? This time, the reply takes a little longer—long enough for Jaynie to wander down to the kitchen in search of a snack. In the half-lit common room, despite the late hour, she catches sight of Tristan sitting on the couch, hunched over his phone, seemingly unaware of her presence. He’s been quiet lately, even withdrawn, and—despite all the rumors surrounding his persona—hasn’t given her the slightest bit of trouble. Jaynie watches him for another moment, unnoticed, then slips away. By the time she’s back in her room, her laptop screen is blinking with a new message. KinkMaster02: Since we’re being honest, I don’t actually have any real experience as a sub. I always considered myself a dom, but I’ve started to question that lately. Her hands tremble as she types her reply. DomNomNom: You’re a freaking dom?! DomNomNom: I feel betrayed! KinkMaster02: You shouldn’t. It’s not some act. And to answer your question—at some point, I just felt like something was missing. And it wasn’t about not having regular play partners. KinkMaster02: I’m drawn to confident, demanding women. I crave that edge of fear. The challenge. KinkMaster02: So I’ve been meaning to talk to a domme—to get a better sense of how it all works. DomNomNom: But I’m new to this. Wouldn’t you be better off with someone experienced? KinkMaster02: It’s more about trust and communication than experience. KinkMaster02: No pressure. But I really think this could be a great opportunity for both of us. Jaynie shifts uneasily in bed, trying to get comfortable. Her old laptop is hot against her legs, but she barely notices—her whole body is already burning up with anticipation and some kind of thrill. If he’s telling the truth, this might actually be perfect: two strangers figuring things out together, no strings attached. Isn’t it exactly what she’d hoped for when she took Ray’s advice? DomNomNom: Okay. KinkMaster02: So you’re in? DomNomNom: I’m in.

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DomNomNom: Just curious—can you really count kissing as a kink? KinkMaster02: Absolutely. It all comes down to perspective. For me, it’s just way too much of a turn-on. KinkMaster02: Besides, there are all kinds of kisses. On the lips. Neck. Inner thighs. KinkMaster02: Kisses in public. Kisses that mimic oral… Jaynie can feel her face burning up with embarrassment. She and Grant barely kiss—definitely never in public. She figures it’s because she’s inexperienced, or maybe because of her stupid teeth that always seem to get in the way. Not that Grant ever says anything. He just gives her that infuriatingly patient smile. DomNomNom: Wow, you’ve really thought this through… KinkMaster02: That’s just the way I am. KinkMaster02: What about you? What gets you going? KinkMaster02: Are you still here? DomNomNom: Yeah. Just looking for the right words. KinkMaster02: Makes me even more curious. KinkMaster02: But if it feels too personal—seriously, no pressure. DomNomNom: No, I want to tell you! DomNomNom: It’s my very first domination fantasy. DomNomNom: I imagine a guy tied to a chair, ropes wrapped beautifully around his naked body. A blindfold keeps him from seeing me, but he knows what’s coming—and that alone is enough to drive him wild. DomNomNom: I tease him, slowly tracing a riding crop over his most sensitive spots, sometimes switching to light, playful slaps. It’s impossible to predict, so all he can do is arch into the touch, surrendering to the rhythm I set. DomNomNom: That’s what turns me on: watching someone unravel because of me. Because of a pleasure I’ve promised. Hearing those soft, sweet sounds—and knowing they’re all for me. Jaynie has never shown this side of herself to a man before. And there’s something undeniably forbidden—and all the more thrilling—about offering her most intimate thoughts to a stranger. Suddenly, the burn of arousal is dampened by fear. DomNomNom: Great. Now I’m just embarrassed. DomNomNom: It’s such a cliché, isn’t it? Of course it is! The internet is flooded with videos just like that—the only real difference being how merciful the Mistress is, and what kind of restraints she uses… For Jaynie, it’s rope these days—must be Lilian Knox’s influence. Her friend is really into shibari and is, quite literally, a ray of sunshine. So if Tristan Knox has any redeeming qualities, it’s the way he genuinely cares about his little sister. KinkMaster02: IT DEFINITELY IS NOT. KinkMaster02: That was hot as hell. DomNomNom: Oh, come on! You’re probably laughing your ass off right now. KinkMaster02: Laughing is the last thing on my mind. KinkMaster02: Why do you think it’s taking me so long to reply? DomNomNom: Why? DomNomNom: Wait, are you serious?! KinkMaster02: Just kidding. Although standing up from the table isn’t the best idea right now. DomNomNom: Oh. Where are you? KinkMaster02: Trying to survive a family dinner—if you can even call it that. He makes Jaynie blush, but also awakens something bold within her—as if the girl who once worried about awkward kisses is already fading away. DomNomNom: I feel for you. But hey, as long as you’re already at the table, might as well enjoy being a little turned on. It’s not like anyone can tell. KinkMaster02: Oh really? Weren’t you the one talking about embarrassment? DomNomNom: This is strictly for anthropological reasons. DomNomNom: Should I keep going? KinkMaster02: Please do, Miss Anthropologist.

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Step by step, their talks become more and more revealing—especially at night, when everything feels hazy and unreal. Luckily, Carter’s housing situation is finally settled, and Jaynie has the room to herself again. Sometimes, after another one of their conversations, she’s so overwhelmed—both emotionally and physically—that all it takes is her own hands and five quiet minutes alone with her fantasies. And the best part? She’s sure as hell her pen pal is doing the exact same thing. Especially when he signs off with his trademark, deliciously loaded “Kinky regards.” But as luck would have it, Grant is as charming as ever—showering her with compliments and promises of a good life. Gran’s voice in her head keeps sternly insisting this is what she should want; this is what she should be aspiring to. But Jaynie’s heart keeps stubbornly pulling her toward a stranger on FetHive. And there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it. If only Grant were her mystery guy! Every time he lets slip something like “I like demanding women” or “I want to make your dreams come true,” a tiny spark of hope flares up inside Jaynie. But deep down, she knows she’s just fooling herself. DomNomNom: If you could bring one fantasy to life, what would it be? KinkMaster02: World peace? KinkMaster02: Sorry. I’d be down for pretty much any of my submissive kinks—bondage, pleasure torture, spanking… DomNomNom: You do know there are clubs for that, right? KinkMaster02: Obviously. But topping strangers is one thing. Giving up control? A whole different story. I just can’t do it without trust. So yeah… It’s just a fantasy for now. KinkMaster02: Kind of pathetic, considering I’ve got a pretty solid toy collection just sitting there, collecting dust. Intentionally or not, his confession hits her hard. That sweet ache settles low in her belly before she can even find the right words. DomNomNom: Anything in that collection that you could get yourself out of? KinkMaster02: Sure. Why? DomNomNom: Text me next time you’re home alone. KinkMaster02: Is this what I think it is? DomNomNom: Text me.

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Jaynie lounges in bed, a couple of pillows shoved behind her back for support. The bedroom light is off, with only the laptop screen cutting through the darkness. Minute after minute, time crawls—and the weight of what she has set in motion starts to send shivers down her spine. KinkMaster02: Done. DomNomNom: Exactly like I told you? KinkMaster02: Yes, Miss. If he really followed her every instruction, he should be lying on his stomach right now—completely naked, wrists cuffed in front of him, legs spread wide by the bar. Restrained, but still able to hold a phone. Jaynie draws in a sharp breath through her nose and pulls her knees up. Typing with the laptop balanced on her belly isn’t exactly convenient—her fingers are trembling as it is, and she keeps missing the keys. DomNomNom: Tell me—how does it feel to surrender your body to someone else? To know that every move you make is no longer yours? KinkMaster02: Intoxicating. Terrifying. And I still have no idea what to expect. DomNomNom: Did you look at yourself in the mirror while getting undressed? KinkMaster02: Yes, Miss. DomNomNom: And did you touch yourself the way you wish I would? If it’s for real, he must be hopelessly aroused by now. DomNomNom: Go on. KinkMaster02: Yes, Miss. Her imagination spirals, each image filthier than the last. There he is—helpless, clenching his ass, grinding his aching cock into the mattress, desperate for even a shred of relief. Then come the quiet moans—because it’s never, ever enough. Jaynie’s hand slips between her thighs. One finger draws the lace aside and traces the wet heat beneath. DomNomNom: Now get on your knees and elbows. Lift your hips. Don’t let your groin touch the bed. KinkMaster02: For how long, Miss? DomNomNom: Until I say so. Then you’ll get your reward. Her message goes unanswered—maybe typing in that position is too much already. Or maybe she’s underestimating the state he’s in because of her. The very thought of that kind of power makes her dizzy, and Jaynie keeps touching herself, her fingers moving faster without her even noticing. DomNomNom: I wish I could see you right now. KinkMaster02: What would you do? DomNomNom: I’d spank that ass you’re supposed to be keeping nice and high. Then I’d work my way through all your kinks—and tease out the ones you didn’t know you had. DomNomNom: I bet you’re dying to touch yourself, aren’t you? KinkMaster02: May I, please? DomNomNom: Not yet. Jaynie licks her dry lips. With her free hand, she grabs her breast and squeezes the taut nipple hard. The room must be warmer than she realized—sweat trickles down her temples, tickling along her neck. DomNomNom: You have no idea how much I want you. KinkMaster02: Believe me, I do. When the wave of pleasure finally crashes through her, Jaynie slowly slides one finger inside, imagining that in some other reality, it wouldn’t be her hand at all. That instead of the hot laptop resting on her thighs, she’d feel the weight and heat of a hard male body. And how much better it would feel to skip the typing altogether and just whisper into his ear: “Now you may…”

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KinkMaster02: I have it. KinkMaster02: That was quite an experience. Pretty sure some people at the park thought I was digging up a drug stash. Jaynie laughs. DomNomNom: Come on, show me! For a few minutes, nothing happens, and she waits patiently, listening to the quiet around her room. Somewhere down the hall, the floorboards creak under someone’s steps, and a door slams shut—her dormmates must be getting back from class. Finally, a photo drops into the chat—carefully cropped to show nothing but the edge of a jaw and the body from the chest up. Peeking out from the open collar of a burgundy shirt is a black leather choker—the one Jaynie picked up at a rock gear shop just yesterday. It’s a slim, minimalist piece—far better than the bulky “collars” from the local adult store. Looking at the result, she smiles and silently congratulates herself on the smart choice. And if nothing else, one thing is certain now: whoever’s hiding on the other side of the screen, it’s definitely not Grant—and strangely enough, that comes as a relief. Unlike Grant, the guy in the photo is fair-skinned, almost pale. Just beneath the choker, his sharp collarbones stand out, framing a deep, triangular hollow at the base of the throat. And just off to the side of his neck—a small, heartbreakingly cute birthmark. Jaynie leans in, studying the pic with growing curiosity, letting her imagination fill in the rest of the face. His eyes must be blue or gray. Narrow features. High cheekbones. A long, dark fringe falling across his forehead… Suddenly, it seems like she’s describing someone painfully familiar—and that thought alone fills her with a strange sense of dread. KinkMaster02: What do you think? DomNomNom: Looks hot! You really gonna wear it? KinkMaster02: Of course. Just not out in the open yet. I’m not quite ready for the stares. Jaynie’s not sure what he means by “yet,” but something about it makes her stomach do a little flip. They say online relationships are make-believe—and yet, here she is, feeling every bit of it. DomNomNom: How do you like it? KinkMaster02: I was worried it would be a bit too tight, but it’s actually quite nice. DomNomNom: Just nice? KinkMaster02: VERY nice. KinkMaster02: You know, for many people it’s just an accessory, but I’ve always felt a collar should carry some meaning. A shift in power. A gesture of trust. KinkMaster02: Even if we’re not a couple but more like partners in self-discovery, it still feels symbolic. KinkMaster02: I’d been wanting to find out if such a dynamic would be comfortable for me—and your suggestion couldn’t have come at a better time. It really was her idea—to mark whatever it is they have. Jaynie hadn’t exactly expected him to agree and yet here he is—not just agreeing, but expressing his trust in her. The thought alone makes her dizzy with euphoria, followed by an overwhelming tenderness. No matter how often Grant brings up trust—she has never felt anything like this. DomNomNom: So, final verdict? KinkMaster02: Hard to describe. It’s both calming and electrifying. DomNomNom: Hmm! Wanna do something about that? KinkMaster02: I could think of a few things… Jaynie double-checks that her bedroom door is locked from the inside, then climbs into bed with her laptop. She can’t wait to lose herself in their next fantasy—and yet, for some reason, there’s a quiet ache in her chest. DomNomNom: Why can’t all guys be like you? KinkMaster02: Oh no, why would I want more competition? KinkMaster02: But seriously—it’s not my place, but maybe it’s time you talked to him about what you want. DomNomNom: My boyfriend? I’ll think about it tomorrow. KinkMaster02: Oh, Scarlett… DomNomNom: That’s MISS Scarlett to you. KinkMaster02: My apologies, Miss!

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She never really gets the chance to think about her future with Grant, as they break up two days later. That night, he takes her out on a lavish date and gives her a key to the bookstore—the goddamn bookstore! Any other girl might’ve been over the moon, but to Jaynie, all those expensive gifts feel like a noose around her neck. It’s not just the kink stuff, though that plays a part. The truth is, she and Grant come from entirely different worlds, and she’s just too tired of reaching across the gap. And his father’s shady dealings only make things worse. DomNomNom: Describe your perfect date. KinkMaster02: Is it too cliché to say it’s not about what you do, but WHO you’re with? KinkMaster02: Anyway, I’m into late-night walks. Everything feels so different after dark. I’d love to just wander around, hold hands, grab something from a food truck. If there’s kissing involved—even better. KinkMaster02: You know what else would be great? Taking turns—one date is all about what you like, the next, what your partner likes. A little day-in-the-life kind of thing. He doesn’t have to type another word. Somewhere between wandering around and kissing, Jaynie already knows what she has to do. DomNomNom: I need to tell you something. DomNomNom: It’s over with Grant. DomNomNom: I mean, I broke up with my BF. A deep breath. DomNomNom: And I think we should meet.

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When it comes to Jaynie’s life, things tend to fall apart all at once. The investigation hits a dead end. Carter, who was supposed to be in a safehouse, pops up on the other side of the country. The FBI handlers turn out to be fake. And Grant’s father? One of those responsible for getting kids like her brother hooked on drugs in the first place. The fact that Jaynie finds herself dragged into the filthy games of entitled rich men doesn’t even surprise her anymore. What truly shakes her is that the one helping her out of this nightmare is Tristan, of all people. This time, there are no conditions, no more trading kisses for favors. Most importantly, he seems to be just as hell-bent on tearing down the elite as she is—her bullies and his own father included. Maybe Lilian’s right. Maybe Tristan isn’t a terrible person after all. Or maybe she only trusts him because of how broken and vulnerable she feels right now. It’s been three days since she heard from KinkMaster02—and either something terrible has happened to him, or Jaynie crossed an invisible line with her offer. Both possibilities suck. “Listen, Tristan… I need your advice.” They’re standing just outside his house. Spot—an actual pet jaguar—nudges his master’s thigh with a soft headbutt, and Tristan absentmindedly scratches the dappled fur. He listens closely, though not without a flicker of tension. Jaynie worries he’s judging her for breaking up with Grant. But when he finally speaks, there’s not a hint of reproach in his voice: “I don’t think you did anything wrong. Maybe he’s just working up the nerve. Give it a little time.” Strangely enough, by that evening, Jaynie gets the message she’s been so desperate for. KinkMaster02: Hey. Sorry for the radio silence. If you haven’t changed your mind, how about tomorrow at eight?

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Jaynie picks a BDSM club for their meeting, thinking it’s the safest option—public, structured, with a strict code of rules. Sounds smart enough for a first in-person date. Too bad she completely underestimates just how overwhelming the place will be. The place is all shadows, violet glow, and half-naked bodies drifting by—it doesn’t take long before Jaynie feels disoriented, high on adrenaline, and more than a little scared. After brushing off yet another offer to “play,” she backs away, nearly stumbling over a bondage bench, when someone gently catches her by the elbow and guides her to the nearest couch. Once Jaynie snaps out of it, she finds herself face-to-face with Tristan. The surprise fades quickly—of course he’s here. He’s a regular at this club. This is where they first crossed paths, after all. But this time, strangely enough, his presence calms her down. At least until, after a brief exchange of pleasantries, Tristan suddenly leans in and clears his throat awkwardly. “Jaynie,” he says, a little too formally, “thanks again for backing me up in front of the guys.” “Thank yourself—you’re the one who impressed me. Most rich kids don’t give a damn about social inequality.” “What do you think…” Here's a pause, tinged with unexpected shyness. “Could we call this a fresh start?” “Let bygones be bygones. Looks like we’re on the same side now.” She half-extends her hand, then reconsiders and pulls it back awkwardly. “Anyway… would you mind giving me a bit of space now? I’m waiting for someone. Swear I won’t move from this couch until he shows.” Tristan doesn’t budge. Instead, he suddenly averts his eyes, fingers tugging at his collar like the air has grown thin. “Right. Speaking of which, I’m afraid you’re waiting… for me.” “You?” Jaynie frowns, confused—and then, as the words sink in, a sick feeling curls in her gut. “KinkMaster02?..” Pale skin. A neatly shaved jawline. The birthmark. Even the same damn shirt. The nausea rises fast, and for a split second, Jaynie’s sure she’s about to pass out. Tristan lifts his gaze. “Hello, DomNomNom.” A guilty smile flickers across his face—and fades just as fast, because in the very next second, Jaynie erupts in fury. “Does it mean you knew all along?! Was this your idea of revenge? On me? On Grant? On both of us?” “Of course not. I only put things together when you mentioned Grant,” he says calmly, though his fingers are clenched tight on his knees, hopelessly wrinkling the fabric of his dress pants. “Why do you think I kept quiet these past few days?” The anger drains out of her, replaced by a strange numbness. “But you’re a dom, Tristan… You, of all people—what did that dungeon master say?—know the ropes? Why all the pretense?” “The pretense?” Color floods his sharp cheekbones. With a quick, restless motion, Tristan yanks his tie loose and unbuttons the top button. The familiar black strap cuts across his neck—just like the photo—and Jaynie forgets how to breathe. In that instant, it’s like the world splits in half. Jaynie sees two people at once: one she’s irresistibly drawn to, and the other… the other she suddenly, desperately wants to trust. But that would take far more courage than forging any political alliance ever had. Tristan watches her, his gaze long and hard, as if waiting for her to say something—anything. When she doesn’t, he understands without words and finally rises from the couch. “No one here will hurt you. Still, please be careful,” he says. Then he gives her one last piercing look, shrugs somewhat pointedly—and walks away.

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Bursting out of the club and into a neon-lit alley, Jaynie’s greatest fear is that she is too late. But the familiar car is still there—parked just a few steps away, dry leaves skittering along the curb. Through the sheen of the side window, a human silhouette is barely visible. When Jaynie slips into the passenger seat and slams the door, Tristan startles. He stares at her for a few moments, blinking in surprise—then his face twists into a bitter little smirk. “Jaynie, don't… I’m really sorry you had to come here for nothing. I should’ve just told you the truth.” “But you didn’t.” “No. I didn’t.” “Why?” He hesitates, as though weighing whether there is really a point in answering—and how much to say. “At first, I was just stunned. Spent hours staring at my phone, rereading our messages, wondering how I hadn’t seen it sooner. And then you backed my whole plan… and I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try.” Tristan trails off, but quickly adds, “You’re not quitting the movement, are you? The guys listen to you way more than they do to me…” “So you came here knowing you might end up losing my support?” Tristan nods, managing a faint semblance of a smile—though it’s obvious he doesn’t feel like smiling. “A little selfish of me, isn’t it?” Now it’s Jaynie who falls silent. The guy sitting across from her looks nothing like a jerk or a liar. Maybe a clueless idealist, a reckless rebel, even a bit of a cheeky bastard—but never someone who meant her harm. “So it was real, then?” The collar of his burgundy shirt is still undone, and between the tense grip on the steering wheel and the twitch of his Adam’s apple just above the black edge of the choker, his nervousness is almost palpable. “Of course. From start to finish. In every sense.” In that moment, Jaynie wishes she could reread their messages too, right then and there. Still, she remembers enough to admit: there’s nothing in them that contradicts his nature. Nothing that Tristan Knox couldn’t have said—from his very first clumsy pickup line to the last ironic “Kinky regards.” Even the panther avatar fits—perfect for someone who actually owns a pet jaguar. And just like that, the pieces fall into place. Jaynie looks at Tristan as if seeing him for the very first time—her gaze trails across his face, drinking in every detail: from the slightly furrowed brows to those startlingly magnetic eyes, glittering like shards of ice. The swell of attraction catches her completely off guard, and she has to force the words out—anything to break this dangerous silence: “Do you have any idea what went through my head while you weren’t answering? Not to mention that I missed you!” “I’m sorry.” He draws in a slow, deep breath. “I missed you too. A lot.” She barely hears him now—all she can focus on is the way his full lips move, tempting as hell. Her hand acts on its own. Jaynie slowly runs a finger beneath the leather choker, hooks the edge, and pulls Tristan toward her—until his startled breath is cut off by the kiss. What strikes her the most is the surprising ease with which it happens—no awkwardness, no clumsy teeth-clashing. And as Tristan kisses her back, all heat and hunger, Jaynie nearly laughs at the irony: who would have thought that kiss he once tried to bargain for would finally come, unprompted? Even after they part, he stays close, one hand planted behind her, a crooked smile playing at his lips. “What’s on your mind?” “That it all makes sense now—you being the one. I just knew I could never fall for two girls at once.” Jaynie laughs and waves him off, even as something warm unfurls in her chest. “Fall for, huh? Let’s go before you confess to anything else,” she says, reaching for her seatbelt. “How about... introducing me to your legendary collection?” The tires crunch over broken asphalt as the car pulls out of the alley and heads up a street ablaze with neon signs. Tristan’s eyes are on the road, but a satisfied grin slowly spreads across his focused face. “By all means… Miss.”