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Manon Vacher Lamoree sat at the head of the dining table, an untouched glass of wine cradled between her slender fingers. The chandelier above cast a warm, golden glow on the table, illuminating the lavish spread before her. She had spent hours overseeing every detail, ensuring that tonight’s dinner was perfect. It had to be-Rody expected nothing less.
Across from her, her husband, Rody, sat with a relaxed, almost arrogant posture, his eyes fixed on Vincent, who was standing nervously beside him. The younger man was the very picture of timidity, his head bowed slightly, avoiding eye contact with her. Manon’s gaze flickered over him, taking in the sight of his neatly pressed suit, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he clutched the back of Rody’s chair. Vincent looked out of place here, in this world of wealth and power, and yet he had become an integral part of it-a constant presence that Manon couldn’t escape.
Rody leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he reached up to touch Vincent’s hand. The gesture was casual, almost lazy, but it spoke volumes. Manon felt a cold knot of anger twist in her stomach, but she kept her expression neutral. She had grown adept at hiding her emotions, at playing the role of the perfect wife.
“Vincent, why don’t you sit down?” Rody’s voice was smooth, almost affectionate, as he gestured to the chair beside him.
Vincent hesitated for a moment, glancing at Manon as if seeking her permission. She didn’t react, keeping her eyes on the wine glass in her hand, and after a tense silence, Vincent obediently took the seat next to Rody. The moment he sat down, Rody’s hand slid down to rest on his thigh, a possessive gesture that sent a clear message.
Manon had seen it all before-Rody’s calculated dominance, Vincent’s eager submission. The affair had been going on for a year now, and Rody had never bothered to hide it. Why should he? He held all the power, both in their marriage and in her family’s fortunes.
Her father’s business was crumbling, the result of years of poor management and bad investments. Rody had swooped in like a savior, offering financial support that kept them afloat. But his generosity came with strings attached-strings that bound Manon to him, making it impossible for her to leave.
She glanced at Vincent again, noting the way he leaned into Rody’s touch, his breath quickening slightly. Vincent was like a puppy, eager to please, desperate for any scrap of attention Rody would give him. It was pathetic, really, how easily he was manipulated.
The conversation at the table was minimal, consisting mostly of Rody making small talk about his latest business ventures, while Vincent listened attentively, occasionally nodding or offering a timid smile. Manon stayed silent, her mind elsewhere.
She thought back to when she first met Rody. He had been so different then-charming, attentive, the perfect gentleman. She had fallen for him quickly, seduced by his confidence and success. And when he proposed, she had accepted without hesitation, thinking she had found the perfect life.
But the reality had been far from perfect. Rody’s charm had quickly faded, replaced by a cold, calculating demeanor that left her feeling isolated and trapped. He was more interested in his business than in her, and it wasn’t long before the distance between them grew into a chasm.
Then Vincent had come along-a young, impressionable PA who Rody had taken under his wing. At first, Manon hadn’t thought much of it. Vincent was just another employee, someone who catered to Rody’s every whim. But as the months passed, it became clear that their relationship was more than just professional.
Manon had walked in on them one afternoon, Rody’s office door slightly ajar. She had seen them together, Rody’s hands on Vincent, his lips brushing against the younger man’s neck. Vincent had looked terrified, but not of Rody-he was terrified of her, of being caught.
But Rody hadn’t cared. He had merely looked at her with that same arrogant smirk, as if daring her to say something. And she hadn’t. She had simply turned and walked away, her heart pounding in her chest.
From that moment on, the affair had become something of a spectacle. Rody would bring Vincent home, flaunting him in front of her, as if to remind her of her place. He would touch him, kiss him, even in front of their servants, as if Manon didn’t exist. It was humiliating, but she endured it, because she had no choice.
She could feel Rody’s gaze on her now, watching her reaction to the way his hand rested on Vincent’s thigh, the way his fingers teased the fabric of his trousers. He wanted her to react, to show some sign of jealousy or anger, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.
Instead, she took a slow sip of her wine, letting the bitterness of it fill her mouth. “Is there something you’d like to say, Rody?” she asked, her voice calm and measured.
Rody chuckled, his hand squeezing Vincent’s thigh. “Not at all, darling. Just enjoying a quiet evening with my wife… and my lover.”
Vincent’s face flushed a deep red, his eyes darting to Manon in a silent plea for understanding, or maybe forgiveness. But Manon only stared back at him, her expression cold. She felt no sympathy for him-he had chosen this, after all. He had chosen to be Rody’s plaything, knowing full well what it meant.
“I see,” she replied, setting her glass down. “And what about me, Rody? Where do I fit into this little arrangement of yours?”
Rody’s smile widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “You, my dear, are exactly where you need to be. Right here, by my side, just like always.”
“And Vincent?” she pressed, her gaze flickering to the younger man. “Where does he fit in?”
Vincent’s breath hitched, his eyes wide as he looked between them. Rody chuckled again, a low, sinister sound that sent a shiver down Manon’s spine.
“Vincent is… indispensable,” Rody said, his voice dripping with amusement. “He knows his place, don’t you, Vincent?”
Vincent nodded quickly, his voice barely a whisper as he answered. “Yes, sir.”
Manon’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “And what happens when he no longer knows his place? What then, Rody?”
Rody’s eyes darkened, his grip on Vincent’s thigh tightening to the point where Manon could see the younger man wince. “That won’t happen,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Vincent knows better than to cross me. Don’t you, Vincent?”
Vincent nodded again, his face pale as he murmured, “Yes, sir. I won’t… I won’t cross you.”
Manon watched the exchange with a growing sense of disgust. Rody had always been controlling, but this was something else entirely. He was playing with Vincent, manipulating him, and the worst part was that Vincent seemed to welcome it. He was so desperate for Rody’s approval, so eager to please, that he didn’t see the danger he was in.
But Manon saw it. She saw the way Rody’s eyes glittered with a dark satisfaction, the way his grip on Vincent was both possessive and threatening. He was toying with him, pushing him to the edge, just to see how far he could go before Vincent broke.
And Vincent… Vincent was too naïve, too submissive to realize what was happening. He was trapped in Rody’s web, just like she was, but for different reasons. Manon was bound to Rody by financial necessity, but Vincent was bound by something far more insidious-his own need for validation, for affection.
Rody leaned in closer to Vincent, his lips brushing against his ear as he whispered something that Manon couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it made Vincent shiver, his eyes fluttering shut as he nodded, his breathing shallow.
“Good boy,” Rody murmured, his hand sliding up Vincent’s thigh. “Now, why don’t you show Manon just how much you love me?”
Vincent’s eyes snapped open, wide and filled with panic as he looked at Manon, his expression pleading. “Rody, I… I don’t think-“
“Do it,” Rody commanded, his voice hardening. “Now.”
Vincent hesitated for a moment, his gaze darting between Rody and Manon. He looked like he wanted to run, but there was nowhere for him to go. Finally, he nodded, his movements stiff and mechanical as he turned toward Rody.
Manon watched, her heart pounding in her chest as Vincent leaned in, his lips trembling as they pressed against Rody’s. It was a chaste kiss at first, hesitant and unsure, but Rody wasn’t satisfied with that. He deepened the kiss, his hand tangling in Vincent’s hair, pulling him closer.
The kiss was slow, deliberate, and disturbingly intimate. It wasn’t just a display of affection; it was a demonstration of power. Rody was showing her-showing everyone-exactly who was in control.
When they finally broke apart, Vincent was breathing heavily, his face flushed, his eyes dazed. Rody looked pleased with himself, a smug smile playing on his lips as he glanced at Manon, gauging her reaction.
Manon’s hands tightened around her glass, the cool surface digging into her palms. She felt a surge of anger, a deep, burning rage that threatened to spill over. But she couldn’t let it. She had to remain composed, had to keep the mask on.
Vincent, on the other hand, looked like he was about to break. He was trembling, his breaths coming in quick, shallow bursts as he tried to regain his composure. Manon could see the conflict in his eyes-the fear, the guilt, the shame. But there was something else there, too. Something darker. He craved Rody’s attention, no matter the cost. He was so desperate for it that he was willing to debase himself in front of her, to be humiliated just to earn Rody’s approval.
It was sickening.
Rody, of course, reveled in it. He loved pushing Vincent to his limits, testing how far he could go before the younger man would snap. And Vincent, poor, naive Vincent, always came crawling back, eager for more.
“Now, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice smooth and commanding, “why don’t you tell Manon how you feel about her?”
Vincent froze, his eyes widening in panic. “Rody, please… I don’t-“
“Tell her,” Rody insisted, his tone hardening. “Be honest.”
Manon’s heart pounded in her chest as she waited for Vincent’s response. She could see the torment in his eyes, the way he struggled to find the words. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I… I don’t like you,” Vincent admitted, his voice trembling. “I’ve never liked you. You… you’re just in the way.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and cruel. Manon felt them like a physical blow, but she didn’t flinch. She had expected this, after all. Vincent had never made an effort to hide his disdain for her, but hearing it said out loud, in front of Rody, made it all the more real.
Rody chuckled, clearly amused by the confession. “There, now, wasn’t that easy?” he said, his hand sliding up to cup Vincent’s cheek. “You’re such a good boy, Vincent. Always so obedient.”
Vincent shuddered under Rody’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into the contact. He was like a moth drawn to a flame, unable to resist Rody’s allure, even though he knew it would destroy him.
Manon watched the scene unfold with a mix of disgust and pity. Vincent was trapped, just like she was, but his chains were of a different kind. He was bound by his own desires, his own need to be wanted. Rody knew this, and he exploited it at every turn, playing Vincent like a puppet on a string.
“And you, Manon?” Rody asked, turning his attention back to her. “What do you think of Vincent’s little confession?”
Manon swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. She wanted to lash out, to scream at both of them, but she knew it would do no good. Rody would only use it against her, twisting her anger into another weapon.
So instead, she forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I think it’s sad,” she said, her voice cold and distant. “Sad that you’ve reduced him to this. But I suppose that’s what you do best, isn’t it, Rody? You take people and you break them.”
Rody’s smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. But he quickly recovered, his expression settling back into its usual mask of arrogance.
“You’re right, darling,” he said, his tone mocking. “But let’s not pretend you’re any better. After all, you’re still here, aren’t you? Still playing the role of the dutiful wife, even though you know the truth.”
Manon’s smile widened, but it was a smile filled with venom. “I’m here because I have to be,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “But don’t mistake that for loyalty. You disgust me, Rody. And so does he.”
Vincent flinched at her words, his face paling. Rody, however, seemed unfazed. If anything, he looked even more amused.
“Careful, Manon,” Rody warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You wouldn’t want to say something you’ll regret.”
Manon met his gaze, her eyes cold and unyielding. “The only thing I regret is marrying you,” she spat.
Rody’s expression darkened, the smirk finally slipping from his face. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her with a chilling intensity.
“Remember, darling,” he said softly, his voice carrying a threat beneath the surface, “you’re only here because I allow it. You and your family would be nothing without me. So, I suggest you watch your tongue.”
Manon’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to back down. “And what about Vincent?” she challenged. “What happens to him when you’re done playing your games? Do you think he’ll still be here, by your side, once he realizes what you’ve turned him into?”
Vincent’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with fear as he looked at Rody, silently pleading for reassurance. But Rody didn’t offer any. Instead, he turned to Vincent, his expression softening into something almost tender.
“Vincent knows his place,” Rody said, his voice gentle. “Don’t you, Vincent?”
Vincent nodded quickly, his voice trembling as he answered. “Yes, sir. I know my place.”
Manon watched in disbelief as Vincent submitted so easily, so willingly. He was completely under Rody’s control, blinded by his own need for validation. It was pathetic, and yet… there was something tragic about it, too. Vincent had become a victim of his own desires, a pawn in Rody’s twisted game.
But Manon knew she couldn’t save him. Vincent had made his choice, just as she had made hers. They were both trapped, caught in Rody’s web, with no way out.
And Rody… Rody reveled in it. He thrived on their suffering, on the power he held over them. He was a monster, but he was a monster they couldn’t escape.
As the evening wore on, the tension in the room grew thicker, suffocating. Rody continued to toy with Vincent, his touches becoming bolder, more possessive. Vincent, for his part, obeyed every command, his submissiveness only deepening with each passing moment.
Manon watched it all unfold, feeling a deep sense of despair settle over her. This was her life now-an endless cycle of humiliation and power plays, with no end in sight.
And as she looked at Rody, his hand still resting possessively on Vincent’s thigh, she realized with a cold, sinking feeling that she was truly alone. She had lost everything-her dignity, her self-respect, her marriage. All she had left was the bitter truth that Rody had turned her into a shell of the woman she once was.
In the end, Manon knew she couldn’t leave. She was bound to Rody, just as Vincent was, by chains of her own making. And no matter how much she hated him, no matter how much she despised the man he had become, she was trapped.
But as she watched Vincent lean into Rody’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut in a mix of fear and longing, Manon couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Vincent realized the same thing.
How long would it be before he, too, was broken beyond repair?
And when that time came… what would Rody do then?
The room was shrouded in a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words and smoldering resentment. Rody leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on Vincent, who sat on the edge of his seat, barely daring to move. The contrast between them was striking: Rody exuded a casual confidence, while Vincent’s posture was tense, his gaze cast downward in a display of utter submission.
Rody’s eyes lingered on Vincent, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. There was something almost unsettlingly affectionate in his gaze, a possessive pride that seemed to radiate from him. He adored this-adored how obedient Vincent was, how eagerly he complied with every command. To Rody, Vincent’s submission was both a source of amusement and a twisted form of affection.
“You know, Vincent,” Rody began, his voice dripping with mock tenderness, “there’s something incredibly cute about you when you’re like this. So eager to please, so… compliant.”
Vincent’s cheeks flushed a deep red, a mixture of embarrassment and something darker flickering in his eyes. He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to suppress a shiver as Rody’s gaze roved over him with an almost palpable hunger. The way Rody looked at him was both unsettling and oddly comforting, a perverse kind of validation that Vincent was desperate for.
“Do you know what I find particularly endearing?” Rody continued, his tone light and playful. “It’s how you look when you’re waiting for my approval. Like a puppy, just sitting there, hoping for a pat on the head.”
Vincent’s breath hitched at the comparison, his eyes darting to the floor as he tried to hide the mixture of shame and longing that flickered across his face. He had grown accustomed to this dynamic, to Rody’s cruel games and manipulative affection. Yet, each time it happened, it felt like a fresh wound, reopening and bleeding anew.
Rody’s hand reached out, trailing a finger lightly down Vincent’s cheek. The touch was gentle, almost affectionate, but it carried a weight of control that Vincent could never escape. Vincent leaned into it instinctively, his eyes closing momentarily as he savored the rare, tender touch.
“There’s nothing quite like the sight of you so completely at my mercy,” Rody said, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “It’s almost like a reward, seeing you like this. All I have to do is say the word, and you fall apart.”
Vincent shivered at the implication, a soft whimper escaping his lips. The vulnerability he displayed was both heartbreaking and unsettling, a clear testament to how deeply he had succumbed to Rody’s influence. He had lost any pretense of defiance, any remnants of self-worth, and now existed solely to please Rody, to earn his approval.
Rody’s fingers traced a lazy path down Vincent’s neck, his touch lingering possessively. The expression on Rody’s face was one of almost childlike delight, as if he were playing with a favorite toy. He enjoyed every nuance of Vincent’s submission, every reaction that spoke of desperation and desire.
“You know,” Rody said, his voice low and sultry, “I think I might have to show you just how much I appreciate your… efforts.”
Vincent’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting Rody’s with a mixture of trepidation and hope. He could see the glint of satisfaction in Rody’s eyes, the way his lips curved into a predatory smile. It was a look Vincent had seen many times before, but it never failed to send a thrill of fear and anticipation through him.
Without breaking eye contact, Rody slowly undid the top button of his shirt, revealing a hint of skin. The movement was deliberate, designed to heighten the tension, to make Vincent’s heart race with anticipation. Vincent’s breath quickened, his eyes locked on the exposed skin, his body trembling with a mixture of fear and longing.
“Why don’t you come here?” Rody said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Show me how much you appreciate what I’m about to do for you.”
Vincent moved hesitantly, his body moving almost of its own accord as he approached Rody. Each step was a testament to his surrender, to the fact that he had given himself completely to Rody’s whims. As he knelt before Rody, he looked up with a mixture of devotion and apprehension, waiting for the next command.
Rody’s hand gently cupped Vincent’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. The look in Rody’s eyes was almost tender, but there was a dark satisfaction there as well, a pleasure derived from the power he held over Vincent.
“Good boy,” Rody murmured, his voice thick with approval. “You always know how to make me happy.”
Vincent’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into Rody’s touch, his heart aching with a mix of longing and despair. He was lost in this dynamic, unable to break free from the chains that bound him to Rody’s desires. And Rody, for his part, reveled in every moment of it, enjoying the power he wielded and the way Vincent’s submission fueled his own sense of control.
As Rody’s fingers traced over Vincent’s lips, the room seemed to shrink, the rest of the world fading away as their twisted dance continued. Vincent was caught in the web of Rody’s manipulations, his every move, every reaction a testament to the depth of his submission.
And in the midst of it all, Manon watched with a mixture of anger and sorrow, knowing that this was her life now-bound by circumstances, trapped in a cycle of humiliation and control. The power games, the manipulation, and the twisted affection were all part of the same cruel game, one that had consumed them all and left them forever changed.
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