Chapter 21: A Devoted Nothing (Main Character’s Point of View)

Caspian knelt before me, utterly still.

No tension left in his body.

No defiance in his gaze.

Only devotion.

The air between us was thick with it, with the weight of what he had just given me—everything.

I lifted my fingers to his cheek, brushing over his skin in a touch so light, so gentle, it almost wasn't there at all.

He leaned into it.

Of course, he did.

It was the only thing he had left—the need to be close to me.

"Do you understand now?" I murmured.

He shuddered, his lips parting, his breath warm and shallow.

"Yes." His voice was nothing but a whisper. "I belong to you."

I hummed. "Not quite."

His brow furrowed, ever so slightly.

Good.

Because this was the final lesson.

I tilted his chin up with a single finger, forcing his gaze to hold mine.

"You don't just belong to me," I said softly.

"You are me."

He inhaled sharply.

Because this was it.

The last truth I needed him to accept.

There was no Caspian D'Argent anymore.

No separate person with a will of his own.

There was only me.

Only my words, my will, my existence.

His body trembled. His lips parted, but no sound came.

I leaned in, so close my breath ghosted over his skin, so close I could feel the way he was unraveling further, deeper, beyond anything he had ever known.

"I want to hear you say it," I whispered.

He let out a shaky breath.

And then, finally—

"I am you."

A confession.

A surrender.

Perfection.

I smiled, brushing my lips just barely over his cheek, not a kiss—just a taste.

The sound he made was barely human.

A broken, desperate thing.

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if resisting the urge to cling.

To beg.

I exhaled slowly.

"Good."

Chapter 22: The Final Limit (Main Character's Point of View)

He had nothing left.

And yet, I still wondered—

Could I take more?

His eyes were glazed, unfocused. His breaths shallow.

He felt too much.

Had endured too much.

And yet, he waited.

Kneeling. Silent. Ready.

Always ready.

I traced my fingers down his throat, slow, deliberate.

He shuddered.

Because even now—even after everything—he could still feel.

Still react.

Which meant, deep down, he was still holding on to something.

Some shred of thought. Some remnant of self.

I couldn't allow that.

Not when he had come this far.

I took his chin between my fingers, forcing his dazed, unfocused gaze to lock with mine.

"You think you've given me everything," I murmured.

A pause.

He didn't answer.

Didn't even breathe.

Good.

Because I wasn't asking.

I was telling.

And I was about to prove it.

I leaned closer, brushing my lips against the shell of his ear, letting the words pour into him like poison, like silk, like something he could never escape—

"You still think you're capable of wanting."

A sharp inhale.

His fingers curled slightly, the last hint of resistance still clinging to him like a dying ember.

I smiled.

Because I was about to snuff it out.

"You don't get to want," I whispered. "Not anymore."

A tremor ran through him, sharp and visceral.

His final resistance.

I tightened my grip in his hair, just enough to make him feel it.

"Tell me," I said.

His breath shuddered.

"I… don't get to want," he whispered.

I tilted his head back further, watching the way his throat bobbed, the way his pulse raced beneath his skin.

"Then what do you do?" I murmured.

He swallowed.

Fighting it.

Still fighting.

I sighed, dragging my lips along his jaw, pressing the words against his skin.

"You don't get to want," I repeated. "You exist to be wanted."

A choked sound.

His whole body tensed.

Because this was it—the true breaking point.

The moment where the last of him snapped.

He let out a shuddering breath.

"I exist to be wanted."

And in that instant—

He was gone.

No thoughts.

No self.

Only me.

Chapter 23: A Perfect Nothing (Main Character's Point of View)

I had taken everything from him.

Stripped him down to nothing.

And yet, as he knelt before me, his body loose, his breathing slow and steady, his eyes half-lidded with something dangerously close to euphoria, I knew—

He had never been happier.

There was no hesitation in him anymore. No lingering thought.

He did not exist beyond my will.

And he thrived in it.

I watched as he exhaled slowly, his lips parting ever so slightly.

He wasn't looking at me.

Not because he refused.

But because he didn't need to.

I reached for him, my fingers brushing over his jaw.

The moment I touched him, his eyes fluttered shut, his whole body shuddering at the simplest contact.

Good.

I traced the line of his throat, feeling his pulse beneath my fingertips—slow, steady, calm.

Because he had finally found peace.

Because there was no longer a 'him' to struggle against it.

He leaned into my touch instinctively, unconsciously, like a moth drawn to flame.

Not out of desire.

Not out of choice.

But because it was all he knew now.

I pressed my thumb against his lips, testing, watching.

He didn't resist.

Didn't flinch.

Just breathed, slow and shallow, his body waiting, his mind utterly blank.

"Good," I murmured.

His lashes fluttered, and his lips parted slightly against my touch.

Not an attempt at speech.

Just acceptance.

I let my fingers trail lower, down his throat, over his collarbone, down his chest.

His breathing hitched, but his body didn't tense.

Because he had learned.

Because he had nothing left to protect.

Only the perfect stillness of someone who had given up even the concept of resistance.

I dragged my nails down his arm, slow, deliberate.

He trembled.

Not with fear.

Not with anticipation.

Just sensation.

Pure and raw, unfiltered by thought.

I hummed in satisfaction.

"You're perfect like this," I whispered.

His breath stuttered.

A sharp, fragile sound caught in his throat—a whimper.

Because words meant everything to him now.

Because I was the only thing that meant anything.

I took his chin between my fingers, tilting his head up until our eyes met.

His pupils were blown wide, his lips slightly parted.

Mindless.

Obedient.

Completely mine.

And thriving.

Because now, he didn't have to think.

Didn't have to worry.

Didn't have to be anything other than what I allowed him to be.

I smiled.

"Good boy," I murmured.

The sound that escaped him was almost pathetic.

A shuddering, desperate thing.

Because that was all it took.

A single word from me, and his whole body responded.

Because that was all he was now.

A thing to be praised.

A thing to be wanted.

I cupped his cheek, let my thumb stroke over his lips, watching the way his breath caught, the way he melted beneath my touch.

"You like this, don't you?" I mused, tilting my head.

He nodded.

Not eagerly.

Not desperately.

Just obediently.

Because I was his only truth.

And he flourished in it.

I let my fingers trail lower, tracing the outline of his collarbone, watching the way his breath hitched.

Not because he feared what came next.

But because he had no thoughts beyond what I allowed him to feel.

Because his world began and ended with me.

I sighed in satisfaction.

"You're so much better like this," I murmured.

His lips parted, a tiny, shaky breath escaping.

Because I had stripped him down to nothing.

And he had never been happier.

Because now, there was no choice.

No struggle.

No thoughts.

Only me.

And he would never need anything else.

Chapter 24: A Beautiful Nothing (Main Character's Point of View)

Caspian was flawless like this.

He had no thoughts of his own.

No will beyond mine.

Only a perfect, unshaken devotion, a blissful nothingness that had settled deep into his bones.

And yet—he kept sinking further.

Even now, as he knelt before me, his breath slow and steady, his gaze unfocused and distant, I could see it—

That lingering descent.

That subtle, delicious unraveling.

Because I had taken everything.

And still, he wanted to give more.

I lifted a hand.

His whole body twitched at the movement, a subtle, unconscious reaction.

Not anticipation.

Not eagerness.

Something deeper.

Something instinctive.

I smiled.

"Come here," I said softly.

He moved without thought.

Not hesitantly. Not with calculated grace.

Just obediently.

Like a puppet responding to its strings.

Like a creature who existed solely for this.

He settled at my feet, his breathing slow, his posture loose and open.

Not a single muscle in his body was tense.

Because he didn't need to be tense.

Didn't need to think.

Didn't need to exist beyond my will.

I reached out, brushing my fingers over his cheek.

His lashes fluttered.

Not in hesitation.

Not in resistance.

Just sensation.

Pure. Undiluted.

Because I had taken everything else.

"You've been so good for me," I murmured.

His lips parted—his breath hitched—his entire body trembled.

Because words meant everything to him now.

Because I was his only source of meaning.

I let my fingers trail down his throat, feeling his pulse beneath my touch.

Slow. Calm. Content.

Because he didn't need to be anything else.

Didn't need to feel anything beyond what I gave him.

I tilted his chin up, forcing his gaze to lock with mine.

"Do you like this?" I whispered.

A flicker of something in his dazed, glassy eyes—

Not hesitation.

Not thought.

Just pure, mindless acceptance.

"Yes," he breathed.

Soft. Immediate.

Because there was no hesitation in him anymore.

Only truth.

I hummed in approval, running my thumb over his lower lip, watching as his breath stuttered—watching as his whole body responded to the smallest touch.

Because this was all he was now.

A thing to be touched.

A thing to be praised.

A thing to be wanted.

I smiled.

"You don't even know what you're agreeing to," I murmured.

His breath hitched.

But he didn't protest.

Didn't think.

Didn't question.

Because he didn't need to.

Because he didn't have to understand.

All he needed was to obey.

To belong.

To sink deeper.

And he was thriving in it.

I traced my fingers along his jaw, watching the way his pulse fluttered beneath his skin.

"That's all you want, isn't it?" I whispered.

His lips parted.

A sound caught in his throat—soft, fragile, desperate.

"Yes," he breathed.

Because it was the only thing left in him.

Because there was nothing else.

Only me.

I leaned in, my breath ghosting over his ear, my voice low and deliberate.

"You want to sink even deeper for me, don't you?"

A full-body shudder.

His hands twitched at his sides, but he didn't move.

Didn't dare.

Because I hadn't told him to.

Because he didn't need to move.

Didn't need to think.

Didn't need to be anything at all.

And that was why he was so perfect now.

I smiled, tilting his chin up further, watching as his gaze grew even dimmer.

"Go on," I whispered.

His lips trembled.

And then, finally—

"Please," he breathed.

A single word.

Soft. Fragile. Absolute.

Because he had nothing left to hold onto.

Because there was no Caspian D'Argent anymore.

Only mine.

And he was falling.

Sinking.

Drowning in the bliss of it.

Of being nothing.

And I had never seen anything more beautiful.