Chapter 22

LEVI'S POV

Being a master in BDSM relationships was a part of my life I believed firmly relegated to the past, buried alongside my personal demons.

Yet, as the pressures of my work intensified, particularly with the daunting task of managing Ferrari despite my robust finance background, I found myself confronting aspects of my identity I thought long subdued.

Resuming my role as CEO should have been a triumph, a return to familiar terrain. Outwardly, I projected an air of calm confidence, but internally, doubt gnawed at me beneath the weight of relentless scrutiny. The expectations—whether from the media, the workforce, or the legacy of my father—loomed large, demanding nothing short of perfection from me.

It drove me to the point of insanity, forcing me to go back to the one thing that could restrain me from harming myself.

In moments of deep uncertainty and self-doubt, I found a haven, or perhaps escape, in revisiting an old online master account, dormant for years. The roleplay I had used the account for had been my sanctuary, and I dare say it was one for my subs too. Where roles were clear, boundaries defined, and relationships fleeting.

Countless online subs had come and gone, often crossing boundaries and growing attached or falling in love, some even stalled me or sent me pictures without me asking, prompting swift ends to our interactions. Until Isabella.

Isabella was different, achingly so. Perhaps it was because ours was not just online Bdsm but a tangible, palpable connection that began in person—a departure from my usual online relationship.

The first time I saw Isabella, I thought to myself. “Can this pretty, soft intern survive the rigors of this business? I doubt.” After which I had chuckled in pity for her.

Isabella has proven wrong. So wrong. She possessed a captivating blend of beauty and intellect, a combination that resonated deeply with what I craved, albeit buried beneath layers of corporate armor. However, hidden beneath my corporate persona. If she wasn't my employee I would have asked her on a date long ago.

But she is. The business world does not permit it. Nor does my father.

Yet I could not help but want her. Isabella emerged from the bathroom as l was deep in my thought, clad only in a short white polo, her wet hair clinging in tousled strands, and her figure revealed through the fabric, my pulse quickened. I could trace her nipples from the shirt.

I swallowed. She's so tempting.

"I'll make you coffee," she said, her laughter ringing through the room. She dashed barefoot to the kitchen, and I hurried after her, a mix of concern that she might stumble and the reluctance to be apart from her driving my steps.

The scent of lavender and rose trailed after her. Fuck! I was hard for her again. It took all my willpower not to glare at her perfectly shaped ass but I did despite my efforts. My cock twitched in my pants.

"You're still tipsy. Making coffee while you're drunk isn't a good idea," I cautioned, trying to distract myself.

"Please," Isabella pleaded, hugging my hands to her chest. "I don't know when I'll get another chance to finish the punishment."

Her words hung in the air, and suddenly, she realized her slip. Her eyes widened, betraying her surprise. If I weren't Mr. L, I would have been thoroughly confused.

"Don't worry, I can make coffee even in my sleep," Isabella declared as she filled the grinder with coffee beans, covered it with a lid, and started grinding. "

The kettle gurgled loudly, filling the kitchen with its energetic protest against the silence that had settled between us.

“I’m hoping our team ranks in the top two this season,” she said while busy with her coffee making.

"Do you enjoy your job?" I asked, wishing to learn more about her.

Isabella nodded slowly, a genuine smile spreading across her face, but her eyes betrayed a deeper emotion, a flicker of vulnerability that intrigued me.

"I remember," she began, her voice wavering slightly as she recalled memories that seemed to weigh heavily on her. "I remember how I walked out of my family's home, step by step. It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made."

As she spoke, I could see the past flooding her mind, her eyes squeezing shut briefly as if to hold back the memories.

"I arrived in Italy alone, with very little money. I could only afford a small house and enough food to get by. I worked part-time in a store until midnight just to make ends meet," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "It was exhausting, but I had to do it."

Tears welled up in her eyes, tracing silent paths down her cheeks, and her shoulders trembled with the weight of her emotions.

"It was so hard," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears continued to flow. "But everything became financially better with my role as a paid intern in Ferrari. In just a few months, I was able to move into this place. I found purpose again, and it all seemed worth it."

I stood there, silent and unmoving, unsure of how to comfort her. It had been a long time since I had connected with someone on such an emotional level, especially someone I found myself drawn to.

"It's just that I like my current job too much. I've worked so hard for it and I deserved it. I have so much to prove..." Her voice breaks again and this time a drop of tears falls on her lips.

I looked at her lips and felt my mouth was too dry. I didn't know what to do.

"The coffee." I blurted out. Fuck! I feel so stupid.

The water in the kettle hissed as it boiled, filling the air with steam. Isabella lost in thought, reached for it absentmindedly. Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the heavy kettle, its handle warm against her palm. With a glance at the coffee grounds waiting patiently in the filter, she moved to pour the water into the funnel. But in a critical moment, her grip faltered. The scalding water surged out uncontrollably, overflowing the funnel and splashing onto the kitchen counter. Coffee grounds scattered across the tiled floor like spilled ink.

The hot liquid didn't discriminate. It splashed onto Isabella's left hand, causing instant, intense pain. She cried out sharply, reacting to the searing agony.

Reacting quickly, I grabbed the kettle from her trembling hands as she almost dropped it.

She was weeping intensely when I set her down.

“Let me see," I murmured urgently, concern furrowing my brow.

Without a moment's hesitation, I gently took her injured hand in mine, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. Instinctively, I brought her fingers to my lips, trying to ease the pain.

I guided her towards the bathroom. In the bathroom, I turned on the faucet, adjusting it until the water flowed cool and strong.

I positioned myself behind her, carefully supporting her injured hand under the stream, cradling her in a protective embrace.

Isabella winced as the cool water made contact with her burn, but I held her steady, murmuring soothing words to reassure her. “It's fine. You're fine.”

My heart ached at the sight of her discomfort, wishing I could take away her pain.

"Just breathe," I whispered, my voice low and calming. Her body leaned heavily against my chest, the rush of water still pouring over her scalded hand. I quickly wrapped my arm around her waist, steadying her before she could slide down. In the mirror, her reflection showed a woman under my protection, her posture submissive and trusting.

The cold water brought some relief to her burns, but I could see the pain etched on her face, even with her eyes closed.

I stood behind her, mesmerized by our reflection in the mirror. The perfect master and the perfect submissive.

I knew I should have turned off the faucet by now, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. I need her right now.

"Please don't leave," Isabella whispered softly, her plea barely audible. Her grip tightened on my arm. “Please stay, master.”