CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NATHANIEL
The city moved around me—bustling, bright, alive—but I wasn't part of it. The morning sunlight sliced through the blinds in sharp, unwelcome lines. My empire sprawled beneath me, glittering and pristine, yet inside, I felt hollow, empty—a man running on habit rather than life.
Matt's words from last night echoed relentlessly: "You finally killed your idol, Nat. You wanted freedom, but all you've got is emptiness."
I tried to shake it. I could lose myself in spreadsheets, reports, meetings—the endless decisions that meant nothing—but her shadow, Caroline's, clung to me like a phantom of everything I'd lost and everything I had destroyed.
I pressed the intercom. "Call for Mercy, please."
There was a pause, a quiet hesitation. "Yes, sir," came my PA's low voice. Ten minutes later: "She is here, sir."
"Send her in," I replied.
She entered slowly, measured, deliberate—like walking into fire. Blouse crisp, skirt fitted, hands folded, eyes cautious. She looked at me with the confidence of someone who acts in control, yet I knew the truth beneath the facade: she was not.
"Sit," I said.
She obeyed. Silence stretched over us, suffocating. The tick of the wall clock, her shallow breaths, the faint hum of the air conditioner—it all seemed to mock me. I didn't touch her. Not yet. Not really.
I didn't want Mercy. I wanted what she gave me: distraction, a mask to hide behind, noise to fill the emptiness. She was convenient, available, compliant—nothing more.
"You've been avoiding me," I said finally. "It baffles me, because you asked for this. You know you can cancel anytime. Just say the word."
Her eyes flickered. "You send your PA roses?"
A dry laugh escaped me. "That's new. Mercy is jealous."
Her lips pressed together, parting slightly. "I know this is arranged, but it got me thinking… is she my replacement?"
I laughed, sharp and harsh. "No. She is not. I have no intention of sleeping with my employees. You are the only exception."
I notice everyone, yet I notice nothing—except my own obsessions. Not when Caroline stopped loving me. Not when obsession became worship. Not even now, hollow and lost, even with her present.
I walked toward her. Soon, she was beneath me, obeying, compliant. But I felt no satisfaction. My mental, physical, and emotional hunger remained unquenched.
I called her again mid-morning. Twice. Not for work—she reported to Nnamdi—but to fill the silence, to use her body for release. That barrier helped keep perspective, to prevent my mind from collapsing into obsession. Yet, even with her compliance, I realized something I hadn't admitted: I could no longer pretend that her presence could erase Caroline. Twice today, and still hollow.
By mid-afternoon, as she sat across my desk for the second time, it hit me—Mercy could not fill the void. Not her. Not her body. Caroline's taste, the fire she lit inside me, the memory—it could not be erased.
I didn't call her again. Not out of generosity, but because I knew she wouldn't suffice.
---
NNAMDI
From my office across the hall, I watch the elevator blink—twenty-three.
Mercy is coming again. My chest tightens. She belongs to my department, under my supervision, under my projects—but when Nat calls, all structure disappears. Lines of authority vanish.
I remember the night we shared. Careless, unguarded—a celebration after a late-night deal. She looked at me like I was her escape. I gave in once. The next day, she avoided me. That was the rule. That was safety.
Now, watching her approach Nat, my jaw tightens. I feel the pull again. The cold cruelty of Nathaniel's hands, the way she bends, obeys—not out of desire, but survival, compliance. My teeth clench. He doesn't deserve her. Never did.
But I cannot force her. Not openly. Not without compromising her, without exposing weakness. I have to be subtle, deliberate.
---
MERCY
I walk toward Nat's office, stomach knotting with anxiety and anticipation. I know why I've been called. It is never work. Never business. It is always him—Nathaniel—using me to fill the void he cannot escape.
The door closes behind me. The quiet weight isolates us, thickening the air, pressing in. Each time I step in here, it tightens—the walls, the tension, the unspoken rules. I shouldn't like it, yet I do.
"Did I do something wrong?" I whisper, careful.
"No. You didn't do anything."
Then why am I here?
This is the third time today. I have never been summoned this many times in one day. My heart sinks. Is this the end? Is it him ending it? My mind drifts to money—payments, compensation, everything tangible—and the thought both comforts and shames me.
He slides a check across the desk. My eyes widen. It is four times the amount he has ever paid me. Desire and dread tangle in my stomach as I feel my body react. He motions for me to leave.
---
NATHANIEL
By afternoon, even her presence is insufficient. Twice today I've had her, twice, and still hollow. Not her. Not her body. Caroline—her taste, the fire, the memory—cannot be replaced.
I call her one last time. She comes. I do nothing. I simply look at her. She looks back, tense, unsure, waiting. I realize I am done. She cannot fill this void. I need nothing now.
I write her a check—covering both encounters, doubled—and motion for her to leave.
She goes quietly, compliant, yet more excited than I've ever seen her. I am not surprised. She always responds to desire.
---
NNAMDI
She returns to her desk after lunch, moving carefully, head low, carrying weight. I wait for my window. The office is empty; the silence is in my favor.
I call her in. "Close the door."
She obeys. Every movement deliberate, careful. The sound of the latch echoes too loudly.
"Was it work?" I ask softly.
Her lips part, then shut again. "You know it wasn't."
"Then why do you keep letting it happen?" I step closer.
Her eyes drop. "I… don't know how to stop."
"You do have a choice," I whisper.
She looks up, surprised. "And if I do?"
"Then I want you," I murmur.
The air between us crackles. She bites her lip, torn, fearful, longing—but she does not move. She cannot deny the pull. She never does.
We do not speak. We do not pretend. The empty office bears witness to our quiet collision of desire, control, and regret. It happens. Wordless, weighty, final.
Afterward, she adjusts her clothes. Her body feels used to me, but I do not care. If she gave herself to him, she would give both her body and soul to me. I see the heaviness, the consequences of choice, the fire of remembered warmth.
"Go back to work," I say finally.
She nods once. Her movements are slowed with pain and exhaustion. I regret touching her today; I should have waited. But the body wants what it wants.
---
MERCY (thoughts)
I leave the office, heart pounding, body alive with pain, heat, shame, and longing. Nat is gone, indifferent, handing out money as if it could cover everything.
I carry the memory of Nnamdi's hands, his breath, his quiet force. I've crossed a line again—but it happened without intention, without pretense, without discrimination.
---
NATHANIEL
By evening, the office is silent. The city sprawls beyond the windows, lights scattered like fireflies. I stare out but do not call her. She is no longer enough. She is not enough.
Matt's voice echoes again: "You finally killed your idol, Nat. You wanted freedom, but all you've got is emptiness."
The truth gnaws at me. I am hollow, obsessed, empty.
I lean back, hands limply on the desk, eyes on the city. The empire, the power, the movement—all meaningless. All hollow.
I am alone.