the monster in making

After an exhausting training session, Dylan left the court and drove deep into the city's shadowed corners—where beauty was a transaction, and power had a price.The red-light district pulsed with neon and whispered invitations, the streets alive with soft laughter and sharp desperation. Women watched his sleek car glide past, their gazes quiet with hope—not for desire, but for survival.But Dylan wasn't there for just anyone.He drove deeper into the city.Past the places where men with ambitions schemed.Past the places where the desperate prayed.Past the places where no one asked questions.He knew exactly where he was going.His car rolled to a stop in front of Dunhill Bar, a place where names were useless, and money spoke louder than words. A man lingering near the entrance took notice and sauntered over, his loose-collared shirt open just enough to flash the heavy gold chain glinting against his chest.His scent hit Dylan before his voice did—a sickly mix of cheap cologne, sweat, and cigarettes. His slicked-back hair dripped with oil, a single toothpick rolling between his teeth.He leaned in, flashing a toothy grin laced with greed. "Welcome, prince. What can I do for you tonight?"Dylan's face remained unreadable. "Do you have anything for me, Ahmed?"Ahmed's grin widened as he turned slightly, flicking his fingers toward a young boy lingering nearby. A signal."Oh... I might have something you'll like," Ahmed murmured, his tone laced with intrigue.The boy hurried inside, pulling back a curtain over a glass window. Behind it stood a woman—hesitant, her posture stiff with uncertainty."She arrived just yesterday," Ahmed continued, eyes gleaming. "A virgin. She'll cost you a little more."Dylan's gaze lingered on her, studying, calculating.She wasn't striking, but there was something about her—the warm wheatish skin, the cascade of black hair, the way she stood perfectly still, as if waiting for a verdict on her existence.Not waiting.Enduring.Sensing the deal was done, Ahmed leaned in, whispering."An hour or the whole night?"Dylan reached into his pocket, pulled out a rolled bundle of cash, and handed it over.Ahmed grinned, then turned to the woman, gesturing for her to step forward."I hope she's able to entertain your needs," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with satisfaction.She stepped into the car hesitantly. Not with fear, not with excitement, but with the quiet acceptance of someone who knew refusal wasn't an option.She didn't ask where they were going.She already knew.The car moved through the dark, moonlit streets, the city flickering past in a blur of gold and shadow. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating.Dylan drove through moonlit streets, his grip steady, his breathing controlled.She sat beside him, silent, unmoving.He said nothing.She said nothing.But she could feel his power, pressing against her like an invisible force.When they reached the mansion, the garage door slid shut behind them with a quiet hum.Still, Dylan remained silent.She followed him inside.The private elevator carried them straight to his room. The soft chime signaled their arrival. As the doors slid open, Dylan shut the door behind her.He turned to face her, his voice calm. "Do you need anything?"She shook her head. She knew better than to ask.Dylan settled onto his bed, his posture relaxed but his gaze unreadable.She stood there, waiting for his command. But he said nothing.After a moment, she reached for the hem of her long shirt, slipping it over her head. Her loose pajama followed, both pieces landing carelessly on the sofa.Now, clad only in her undergarments, she stood before him—neutral, expectant, resigned.Dylan's eyes traced the contours of her body, his voice finally breaking the silence."What is your name?""Fatima," she said, her voice hesitant and shaky.Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet of white powder.He held it up for her to see.She stilled."I don't do this stuff," she said, her tone firm but unsure.Dylan's voice was steady. "You're going to need it.""I can do anything even without that," she said quickly.Dylan held her gaze. "Trust me when I say—you're going to need it."Fatima hesitated. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. But she knew this wasn't a request.Her fingers curled slightly. She had seen this before. She had seen what happened when a girl refused.She swallowed hard. "I've never done it," she whispered. "You have to show me."Dylan carefully laid out the white powder, using his credit card to divide it into lines. He pulled out a rolled banknote, handing it to her."Snort it."Fatima's breath was shallow. Her pulse thudded against her ribs.She lowered her head.Sniffed.A sharp sting shot up her nose, burning, unfamiliar, unnatural.She winced, coughed, blinked rapidly as her vision blurred.Dylan caught her as she swayed, his hands steady, his touch careful."Shhh," he whispered. "That's it."She hated it."I don't like it," she murmured, a frown etching itself onto her face.Dylan's grip on her tightened slightly."I know," he said, his voice low, almost desperate."But you have to finish it."Fatima's world began to tilt. Colors melted. Sounds blurred.Dylan moved, but she couldn't track him. He was everywhere. Above her. Beside her. Inside her.No...She was without panties and the cleft of her ass flexed as she turn about to face him.He unhooked her bra and opened it exposing her breasts.Her submission was a distraction that Dylan wanted.She noticed dampness between her legs. Whether from arousal or fear, she wasn't certain.She could feel he grabbed her breast and played with it for a moment and then traced his hand down between her legs inserting a finger. She could not resist him. It was not just regular sex. She felt incredibly violated as his finger probed inside her.Weak. Fragile. She submitted because she had no choice.Dylan exhaled faster. He could feel it—her helplessness, her surrender. And he enjoyed it.Beyond the haze of her mind, Fatima drifted somewhere far away. The world around her blurred. There was sensation, but she couldn't place it. There was something happening to her body, but she no longer felt like it belonged to her.A strange, aching kind of pleasure flickered through her—but she didn't know if it was real or something the drug had forced upon her.She didn't know if this was happening to her... or if she had disappeared completely.Her lips parted, but her voice barely formed."Please, no..."Tears welled in her eyes, but Dylan was focused. Gaze cold. Detached. Absolute.She wanted to move, to scream, but her body was no longer hers.Power didn't always need chains.Sometimes, power was the silence between a scream and a whisper.When Fatima woke, the sunlight had already crept in, soft and golden. Mocking.The sheets were warm. She was not.She could taste his warm semen on her tongue.For a moment, she didn't move. Didn't breathe.If she stayed still, maybe she could pretend it hadn't happened.Then she heard him.Slow, even breathing.She turned her head slightly. Dylan lay beside her, his chest rising and falling peacefully—as if last night had meant nothing at all.Her stomach twisted. Her body ached.Fatima watched him for a long moment.He looked so human in the morning light.But she knew better now.There was nothing human about Dylan Mansfield.She slipped out of bed, sliding carefully, as if afraid to disturb the silence.Her hands trembled as she pulled on her undergarments, then her long shirt and pajama. The fabric felt heavier than before, clinging to her skin like something inescapable.She took a slow breath, steadying herself. Just leave. Don't look back.Her fingers barely grazed the door handle when his voice cut through the quiet."Wait."She froze.Dylan pushed the sheets aside and stood, unbothered by his own nakedness as he walked to his dresser. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed a thick bundle of cash, and held it out to her."Take it."Fatima hesitated, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her long shirt. She didn't reach for the money.Dylan stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. "You don't have to tell Ahmed." He watched her carefully, his unreadable gaze settling on her like an unspoken promise. "If you ever need anything, you can come to me."She stood there, confused, wary—trying to make sense of him.This wasn't how things worked.Men took, they didn't give.Dylan sighed, slipping into his robe with effortless ease, as if nothing about last night lingered in his mind. He tied it loosely around his waist and glanced at her. "Stay. Have breakfast with me." His voice was casual, as if he were inviting an old friend instead of the girl he had just broken."Then I'll take you wherever you want to go."She should have said no.She should have left without another word.But she didn't.The KitchenThe smell of fresh eggs, toast, and spiced tea filled the air as Dylan led her to the long marble counter. His personal cook worked in quiet efficiency, crafting a meal meant for someone who had never known hunger.Dylan poured himself coffee, his movements slow, deliberate. He barely acknowledged her as he pulled out a chair, motioning for her to sit.She hesitated—then sat.He slid a plate toward her. Offered it like it meant nothing.Fatima stared down at the food, her stomach twisting with hunger, with confusion, with something she didn't have words for.She shouldn't be here.She shouldn't be eating with the man who had just owned her and fucked her.And yet—she accepted it. Gratefully. No one had ever shown her this kind of kindness, and she was least expecting it from him.Across the counter, Dylan ate in silence. For him, everything was normal.For her, nothing would ever be normal ever again.