Lauren slammed the door of her private study shut and locked it with a sharp click. The room was dimly lit, filled with dark wood shelves lined with expensive liquor and old ledgers.
She walked straight to the bar, poured herself a large glass of aged whiskey, and downed half of it in one go. The burn did nothing to cool the fire still raging inside her chest.
For the first time in years, the ice queen could not find peace.
She paced the room slowly, glass in hand, her usual cold composure cracked. Jealousy still clawed at her, raw and ugly.
The memory of Ryan sitting obediently on that woman's lap kept replaying... the older bitch's arms wrapped around his solid frame, her fingers stroking his handsome face, offering to "take" him like he was some disposable toy.
How dare he let it happen. How dare he obey her father instead of waiting for her command.
She took another long drink, but the alcohol only sharpened the images in her mind.
Ryan's crying face flashed before her eyes... puffy, tear-streaked, those glassy eyes wide with terror when she had shouted at him.
The bruises forming on his jaw from her grip. The way his body had flinched violently when she leaned closer. The red welts she had left across his back and thighs with the whip and flogger.
She could still hear his broken, breathless cries: "It hurts… Mommy, please… ahh...!"
Lauren stopped pacing and slammed the glass down on the desk, breathing hard.
"What the fuck is happening to me?" she muttered under her breath, voice tight with frustration.
She had killed men without blinking. She had ordered heads delivered in gift boxes, cut off body parts, burned safehouses, and watched people beg for mercy without feeling a single thing afterward.
Forgetting was easy.
But now, just the memory of hitting Ryan... her own weak, vulnerable pet... refused to leave her head. The sound of his sobs kept echoing. The way he had hung limp in the cuffs, breathless and red-faced from crying, kept replaying like a loop she couldn't stop.
Was she angry at herself?
The thought made her jaw clench harder. She was the mafia queen. She did not feel guilt. She did not second-guess her actions. Yet here she was, alone in this room, unable to shake the image of the soft, handsome boy she had just punished so brutally.
Or worse… was she actually feeling something real for him?
"No," she hissed to the empty room, slamming her fist on the desk. "No fucking way."
She was Lauren Voss... cold, ruthless, untouchable. Feelings were for weak people. She had built her empire on ice and blood.
She did not catch feelings for a pathetic, crying eighteen-year-old boy she had taken as interest on a debt. He was her property. Her slave. Her pet. Nothing more.
But deep down, buried beneath layers of ice and years of emotional armor, a small seed of fear had settled inside her chest.
Fear that she was losing control. Fear that this soft, innocent boy was affecting her in ways no one else ever had. Fear that the crack she had felt in her chest the night she first saw him protecting his abusive father was growing wider.
She poured another drink, hands slightly unsteady for the first time in years. The jealousy was still there, mixed now with something darker and more dangerous... confusion, frustration, and that unwelcome flicker of something that felt dangerously close to care.
Lauren stared at the glass in her hand, eyes hard but glassy with unresolved emotion. She took a slow sip, trying to force the images of Ryan's tearful, bruised face out of her mind.
It didn't work.
She remained in the study for nearly an hour, downing two more glasses of whiskey in an attempt to shrug off the memory.
She paced, she stared at the wall, she even tried focusing on tomorrow's business... the Grigori retaliation plans, the new opioid contracts, the Eclipse Club deal.
Nothing worked.
Ryan's tear-streaked face, his breathless cries of pain, the way his body had flinched when she leaned closer... all of it refused to leave her mind.
The images kept resurfacing sharper each time, twisting something deep inside her chest that she desperately wanted to ignore.
Finally, unable to sit still any longer, she set the empty glass down with a sharp clink and left the study.
Her steps were quiet but purposeful as she made her way back to the master bedroom.
She unlocked the door, slipped inside, and locked it again behind her with a soft click, sealing the two of them in complete privacy.
The room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp.
Ryan was lying on his stomach in the center of the massive bed, fast asleep from pure exhaustion. He wore only a pair of soft knee-length shorts the servants had dressed him in.
His back was fully exposed, covered in a map of angry red and purple welts from the whip and flogger. The bruises looked even worse under the low light, some already turning dark where the leather had struck hardest.
His face was turned to the side, still slightly puffy from hours of crying, his breathing slow and heavy.
Lauren approached the bed carefully, her usual commanding stride softened so she wouldn't wake him.
She sat down on the edge of the mattress beside him, the movement gentle. For a long moment she simply watched him sleep... the vulnerable boy who had somehow cracked through years of ice in her chest.
His solid frame, earned from years of hard chores, rose and fell with each tired breath.
She reached out and carefully brushed a few stray strands of hair away from his forehead, then propped herself up on one elbow, lying beside him on the bed.
Leaning down, she pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his forehead, her lips barely brushing his skin. The gesture was quiet, almost tender, but her face remained hard, as if she was fighting against her own actions.
Her eyes drifted to his bruised back. The ointment the servants had applied was starting to dry and flake in places.
Without thinking, she reached for the tube on the nightstand, squeezed more of the cooling cream onto her fingers, and began to gently spread it over the worst of the welts. Her touch was careful, trying not to press too hard.
Ryan flinched "Mhmm!" in his sleep, a small, pained whimper escaping his lips as the fresh ointment touched a particularly sensitive stripe across his shoulder blade.
His body twitched once before settling again, still deep in exhausted slumber.
Lauren froze. Her eyes went glassy, a faint sheen of unshed tears she didn't even realize was forming. She blinked hard, trying to push it away, but the sight of the marks she herself had left on his innocent, soft body hit her harder than she expected.
The powerful mafia queen... the woman who ordered executions without a second thought... sat there silently applying ointment to the boy she had just punished, her chest tight with a confusing mix of lingering jealousy, frustration, and something far more dangerous she refused to name.
She continued spreading the cream with slow, deliberate strokes, making sure every welt was covered so the wounds would heal faster.
Her face stayed cold on the surface, but her movements were uncharacteristically gentle.
Ryan remained asleep, unaware of her presence, his breathing eventually evening out again as the cooling ointment soothed the burning pain.
Lauren stayed beside him, propped on her elbow, watching his peaceful yet bruised form.
The room was completely silent except for his soft breathing and the faint sound of her fingers moving over his skin.
For the first time in a very long time, the ice queen felt the weight of her own actions pressing down on her, and she had no idea how to make it stop.