Five years. That’s how long I’ve been pining for my icy, untouchable adoptive brother. Five years of starving for a man who looked at me like I was a budget report he couldn’t quite balance. Finally, I snapped. I didn't just snap; I went nuclear. I slipped a heavy sedative into his drink, waited for him to go down, and then—feeling dangerously bold—I climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. Just as I was about to savor my victory, a flurry of translucent text started scrolling across my vision, like a frantic livestream chat: [Girlie, you are literally signing your own death warrant. You think he’s some celibate saint? This man is a high-functioning sociopath with severe touch-starvation and a literal addiction to the bedroom. Run!] [I’m telling you, stop acting. You look like a strawberry cupcake—sweet, soft, and totally out of your league. The real monster is lying right under you, just biding his time.] [It’s over. I can’t even imagine what he’s going to do to her once the meds wear off. RIP to her spine.] I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Before I could process the "glitch" in my reality, the man beneath me stirred. His long lashes fluttered, and his eyes snapped open. 1 Bennett’s eyes—dark, bottomless, and terrifyingly sharp—locked onto mine. I’d already stripped him to the waist. He was lying there in nothing but a pair of charcoal-grey lounge pants. I had to give it to him: his physique was top-tier. Broad shoulders, lean muscle that looked like it had been carved from marble, and a core so defined it felt like iron under my thighs. His brow was furrowed, a storm brewing in his expression. Even with his wrists handcuffed to the headboard, he radiated the kind of suffocating authority that usually made me want to hide in the basement. His voice was a lethal frost. "Sadie. What the hell do you think you're doing?" Old habits die hard. Having been under his thumb for a decade, I instinctively flinched. But then I remembered the "spoiler" from those strange floating words. I forced myself to smirk, leaning in close. "Can’t you tell? I’m finally taking what I want. I’m sleeping with you." The catalyst for my madness had happened a few days ago. He’d been trending for twenty-four hours with that A-list starlet, Mia Rossi. Papparazzi had caught her entering the Foster Group headquarters multiple times. There were even rumors that Bennett had dropped nine figures on a rare pink diamond just to make her smile. That same night, Mia had tweeted: My favorite color? Pink, obviously. I had stared at that tweet until my vision blurred, then smashed my phone against the wall. I went straight to the liquor cabinet, picked the strongest bottle, and spiked it with enough sedative to put down a grizzly bear. Then I’d dragged him to bed, stripped him, and locked him down. One smooth motion. I was going to wait for him to wake up and give him an ultimatum: Marry me, or I make sure there’s no turning back from tonight. But I never expected to find out—via some cosmic hallucination—that Bennett might actually want me back. A massive surge of adrenaline, bright as a firework, exploded in my chest. I shifted, grinding slightly against his hips, and leaned down to nip at his prominent Adam's apple. I felt a surge of intoxicating power. "Come on, Ben. You’ve been wanting this for a long time too, haven’t you?" As I leaned over him, the hem of my wine-red lace nightgown rode up, exposing my thighs. If the "feed" was right, my brother was a man with a very specific, very repressed hunger. And here I was, offering myself up on a silver platter. I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning, and whispered in his ear, "Maybe I should give you an heir, Ben. Think about it. Would the kid call you 'Daddy' or 'Uncle'?" 2 Bennett’s face went from icy to thunderous in a heartbeat. He looked at me with the same sharp, disciplinary gaze he used when I was ten and failed my math tests. "Sadie! What kind of garbage is filling that head of yours?" he barked. "Say one more word like that and I swear I'll break your legs." He yanked at the handcuffs, the metal clinking violently against the frame. "Get off me. Now." The shout made me jump. My instinct was to obey, to scramble off the bed and apologize. I started to slide down, pouting. "Fine, fine. So grumpy. Let’s see how much you’re yelling when that 'hunger' hits you." My eyes drifted down, following the lines of his chest, past the eight-pack, and further down... I squinted, waiting for the inevitable sign of his "addiction." Nothing. The grey lounge pants remained frustratingly flat. No "salute," no reaction. I rubbed my eyes, baffled. "This isn't scientifically possible!" Bennett let out a cold, mocking laugh. "You’re my sister, Sadie. What kind of reaction did you expect? Unlock these cuffs. Don't make me ask a third time." He sounded so much like the stern guardian who had raised me that my confidence began to crumble. Was the "feed" lying to me? Just then, the text flickered back into existence: [Girlie, don't believe him! The old fox took a heavy-duty suppressant this morning. He’s literally forcing himself to be 'out of order' right now!] [Exactly. Think about it—living under the same roof as a girl who looks like a literal angel, smelling her vanilla perfume every day... with his 'condition,' he’d have devoured her years ago if he didn't have a moral compass made of titanium.] [He’s the ultimate 'tragic villain' trope. He’d rather make himself 'incapable' than touch his sister. It’s honestly kind of hot.] [+1. This slow burn is killing me. Don't worry, Sadie—that suppressant only lasts seventy-two hours. Once it wears off, he’s going to be a weapon of mass destruction.] I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I looked back at my brother, my smirk returning, wider than ever. "Oh, Ben. You’re the one in the cage, not me. Stop trying to play the big, bad CEO." "Sit tight and be a good little captive. If you keep me happy, maybe I’ll let you go by the weekend." 3 Day two of Bennett’s "captivity." As the head of Foster Group, he couldn't just vanish without the world ending. I played the part of the dutiful captor—I dressed him in a crisp white shirt, tied his silk tie, and even set up his laptop for a high-level board meeting via Zoom. Of course, he was still in his lounge pants below the camera's view, and his wrists were still tethered to the bedpost. I leaned in, just out of the camera's range, and whispered a warning: "Don't you dare mention being kidnapped, Ben. You wouldn't want the whole world to know that the formidable Mr. Foster is his sister’s little pet, would you?" Bennett’s expression was so dark it could have curdled milk. But, as I expected, he was a professional. He sat through the entire hour-long meeting with a stone-cold face, never breathing a word about his predicament. Day three. I stripped the elite suit off him again, leaving him bare-chested. I even looped a decorative body chain over his shoulders—it looked devastatingly erotic on his tan skin. I set up my easel and gave him a foxy little grin. "My oil painting class needs a model, Ben. And honestly, your physique puts those professional models to shame. Just consider this your contribution to the arts." Bennett turned his head away, jaw clenched, refusing to utter a single word. By day four, my resolve was starting to waver. I whispered to the "voices" in my head: You guys said he likes me! It’s been four days and he still looks like he wants to file a restraining order! The response was instant: [That’s because his self-control is legendary! If you hadn't moved first, he would have locked YOU up in about six months. The guy is obsessed.] [In the original story, he has a safe in his study filled with 'toys' and 'special equipment' all labeled with your name. He’s a total deviant under that suit.] My eyes widened. I bolted for the study and cracked the safe—I’d known the combination for years (it was my birthday). The door swung open. There were no toys. No deviant equipment. Instead, there was a will and a series of trust fund documents. The papers stated in black and white: Upon Sadie Foster’s 21st birthday, 5% of Foster Group shares will be transferred to her annually. In the event of Bennett Foster’s death or incapacitation, Sadie Foster is to inherit the entirety of the estate and controlling interest of the company. I stood there, the papers trembling in my hand, feeling like I’d been hit by a freight train. A wave of crushing guilt washed over me. Bennett wasn't my biological brother, but he had given me everything. He was the one who had pulled me out of that terrifying foster-care situation when I was seven. I had clung to him then, begging my parents to keep him. When our parents died in that tragic accident two years later, leaving us with nothing but debt, fifteen-year-old Bennett had grabbed my hand at the funeral. "Don't be scared, Sadie," he’d said, his voice cracking but firm. "I’ve got you. I'll always take care of you." And he had. He was a man of his word. He’d worked three jobs while getting his PhD, built a tech empire from the ground up by twenty-five, and protected me from every predatory relative who tried to cash in on us. He’d even come home with bruises once because he’d taken a job at an underground gym just to buy me the designer dress I wanted for prom. And how did I repay him? By drugging him and humiliating him for my own selfish crush. My throat tightened. I ran back to the bedroom, tears blurring my vision. "Ben... Ben, I’m so sorry. Please don't hate me." Bennett looked up, his eyes weary. "What’s the new game, Sadie?" He looked thinner. He hadn't eaten much in three days. Seeing him like this broke something inside me. I wiped my face, pulled the key from my pocket, and sobbed, "I'm sorry. I'm letting you go. Right now." Suddenly, the "feed" went absolutely ballistic: [OH MY GOD! STOP! I just remembered—the suppressant only lasts 72 hours!] [TODAY IS DAY FOUR! IT’S OVER! THE DRUG IS OUT OF HIS SYSTEM!] [SADIE, DON'T DO IT! DO NOT UNLOCK THOSE CUFFS! He’s been repressing a decade of lust and three days of pure rage—he’s a powder keg!] [He is going to ruin you! You won't be able to walk for a week! ABORT MISSION!] At the same time, Bennett’s calm demeanor vanished. His face flushed, and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous register. "Sadie... wait. Don't touch that lock yet." But I was too fast. I’d already slid the key in. Click. The cuffs fell away.
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