Chapter 1: The Brunch Bombshell

Chapter 1: The Brunch Bombshell

The corner booth at Café Montague was a cocoon of plush velvet and gleaming brass, a sun-drenched haven insulated from the city's Sunday morning bustle. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the bubbles in Lily’s mimosa dance like tiny diamonds. Across the table, her three oldest friends—Chloe, Maya, and Jess—clinked their own glasses against hers, their laughter a familiar, comforting sound.

“Seriously, another dud?” Maya said, rolling her eyes as Jess recounted a disastrous Tinder date involving a man who still lived in his parents’ basement. “The bar is literally on the floor, and these men are bringing shovels.”

Lily took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink, a small, smug smile playing on her lips. She let their chatter about mediocre men and frustrating jobs wash over her. It all felt so… provincial. Like listening to children complain about scraped knees when she had just returned from waging a glorious, soul-altering war.

“You’re quiet today, Lil,” Chloe noted, her brow furrowed with the gentle concern that was so characteristically her. “Everything okay with… you know.”

Chloe always said his name like it was a state secret: Damien Blackwood.

Lily’s smile widened. Okay? It was perfect. It was a symphony of meticulously planned ecstasy, a life curated down to the second. How could she even begin to explain it to them? But looking at their dear, sweet, vanilla faces, she felt a sudden, evangelical zeal. It was her duty to enlighten them, to show them what a real relationship, what real devotion, looked like.

“Everything,” Lily said, her voice dropping into a lower, more intimate register, “is better than okay. It’s… optimized.”

Jess giggled. “Optimized? Like a spreadsheet? God, that sounds like my work week. I need less optimization and more orgasms.”

This was her opening. Lily leaned forward, placing her elbows on the pristine white tablecloth. The noisy café seemed to fade into a dull hum, her world shrinking to the confines of their booth.

“My day doesn’t start with an alarm clock,” she began, her eyes distant, reliving it. “It starts on my knees. Damien’s hand is in my hair, not harshly, just… anchoring me. He’s still half-asleep, and I have the privilege of waking him up. Of tasting him first thing in the morning. It’s a form of worship.”

The lighthearted gossip died instantly. Maya’s fork, laden with eggs Benedict, froze halfway to her mouth. Jess’s bubbly smile went flat.

Lily pressed on, mistaking their stunned silence for rapt attention. “It’s about total submission. Complete trust. After I’m done, he has me stand in the shower. He doesn’t wash me. He just… relieves himself. And I drink. Every drop.”

She said it with the casual reverence of someone describing a sacred tea ceremony. “It’s the ultimate act of acceptance. Taking all of him, holding nothing back. It’s a sacrament. It makes me feel cleaner than any soap ever could.”

A sickening clatter echoed in the sudden silence as Maya dropped her fork. It hit her porcelain plate with a sharp crack. Chloe’s face had gone pale, her mimosa forgotten. Jess looked like she might be sick.

“Lily…” Chloe whispered, her voice strained. “He… he pisses on you? And you… drink it?”

“Don’t be so crude, Chloe,” Lily chided gently, though a flicker of annoyance sparked within her. Why were they so primitive? “It’s not ‘pissing on me.’ It’s a gift. An exchange of power. It proves my devotion, and he rewards me for it. All day long. It sets the tone for everything.”

She thought they just needed a more… conventional example. Something less abstract.

“Okay, look. Think about your lunch breaks,” Lily said, trying a different tack. “You’re stressing about deadlines, eating a sad salad at your desk, right?”

They just stared.

“My lunch break is different. Sometime around noon, I’ll get a text. It never says more than three words. Usually ‘My office. Now.’” A thrill shot through her just repeating the words. “I drop everything. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. I have a go-bag, of course. Everything I need to make myself perfect for him in the back of a cab. I walk into Blackwood Tower, past all those people in their power suits, and they all know who I am. They know where I’m going.”

She paused for dramatic effect, savoring the memory. “His private elevator takes me straight to the top floor. He doesn’t say hello. He just turns from that massive window overlooking the entire city, and he unbuckles his belt. He takes me right there, over the edge of his desk. Sometimes he bends me over his chair. He fucks me, hard and deep, while the whole corporate world buzzes on just outside the door. He owns me, and he owns all of that.” She gestured vaguely towards the window. “He fills me up, buttons me back into my dress, and sends me on my way. I’m usually back home before the traffic gets bad.”

She leaned back in the booth, triumphant, expecting gasps of awe, of envy. She had just laid out the blueprint for a perfect life—a life of purpose, of passion, of absolute devotion to a man worthy of it.

Instead, she was met with a wall of pure, unadulterated horror.

Jess was the first to break. She pushed her chair back with a jarring scrape, her hand flying to her mouth. “I… I think I left my oven on,” she stammered, her eyes wide with panic. She fumbled in her purse, throwing a fifty-dollar bill onto the table. “I have to go. I’m so sorry.” She practically fled, weaving through the tables without a backward glance.

“Lily, that’s not… healthy,” Maya said, her voice tight and clinical. She was already gathering her things, avoiding Lily’s gaze. “That’s… degrading. He’s treating you like a piece of property.”

“He’s treating me like I matter!” Lily retorted, her frustration boiling over. Why were they being so obtuse? “I am his property! That’s the entire point!”

Chloe, her eyes now shimmering with unshed tears, reached across the table, but stopped short of touching Lily’s hand. “We’re worried about you, Lil. This man… he’s isolating you. Can’t you see that? This isn’t love.”

“This is more love than you will ever know in your sad, boring lives!” Lily snapped, the words tasting like acid.

The accusation hung in the air, ugly and final. Chloe flinched as if struck. She stood up slowly, her movements stiff. “I… We’ll call you, Lily.” But her tone said she wouldn’t. Maya was already standing by her side, a protective arm around her friend’s shoulder, glaring at Lily as if she were a monster. They left together, a united front of normalcy retreating from the alien creature in the booth.

Lily was left alone.

The café was suddenly loud again—the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, the distant hiss of an espresso machine. The opulent booth now felt like a cage. Her friends’ half-eaten meals and abandoned mimosas were like artifacts from a different civilization.

She stared at her reflection in the polished brass trim of the table. A beautiful woman stared back, her makeup flawless, her expression bewildered. She had offered them a glimpse into paradise, and they had run from it screaming. She replayed her words, her descriptions. They were beautiful. They were perfect.

It was all perfect.

Why couldn’t they see that?