In his world, power isn’t negotiated—it’s taken. Kept. Owned.
I learned that too late. Men like him don’t see women the way others do. They see leverage. Risk. Weakness. And somehow, I became all three.
Years ago, I closed a door he intended to walk through without resistance. Cost him ground he doesn’t lose. I told myself it was business. It wasn’t.
Now his company owns Prescott Vantage, and his condition is simple: I stay. I should walk away. I should know better. But walking away from men like him isn’t simple—it’s dangerous.
He watches me like I’m a problem he’s already solved. Like he knows my routines. My tells. The exact moment my control slips. I tell myself I can handle him. That staying is strategy. Survival.
But the longer I’m here, the clearer it becomes.
I’m not managing him. I’m contained by him. He isn’t losing interest. He’s closing in. And the worst part? I think I was marked long before I ever realized I was his.
