Tu es à Moi

The deal

I storm down the hallway toward her office, my heels clicking on the marble floor with each step. The closer I get, the more my mind races. The Heartless Monster always loves making people feel small, VIP-ing herself like she's above everyone. But not with me. No, not today.

As I reach her office, I don't bother knocking. What's the point? She probably knows I'm here already, waiting to pull some dramatic stunt. I push open the heavy door, and sure enough, there she is—standing by the window, looking out like she was expecting me all along.

"So," I say, with a mocking tone in my voice, "the Monster tells her secretary she's not around, yet here she is, wasting time staring at the damn window."

I step inside without hesitation, my eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to react.

Heartless Monster's POV

I hear her footsteps before she even opens the door. The little heartless monster. She's never one for subtlety.

I turn my swivel chair slowly, facing her with deliberate calm as she barges into my office without so much as a knock. Typical. She's crossing lines again, thinking her bossy attitude will somehow work on me, the big Heartless Monster.

Does she honestly believe she can waltz in here with her arrogance and expect me to bow down? I smirk at the thought. She has no idea what I have in store for her.

"Did you think your attitude would work on me?" I say softly, but my voice carries a dangerous edge. "You should've knocked."

She saunters in like she owns the place, folding her arms across her chest, taking a seat in the chair opposite my desk, and—of course—propping her feet up on my table. Her boots leave marks on the glass surface, and I feel a flicker of irritation. She's pushing it. I can feel my patience wearing thin as she grins at me like a defiant child.

I stand up slowly, and without warning, I grab her by the neck. My hand tightens around her throat as I slam her back against the wall, her body hitting it with a satisfying thud.

Her grin doesn't falter at first. She's still smirking, still thinking she can play this game. But I squeeze tighter, feeling her windpipe beneath my fingers. Her grin finally fades, and her eyes widen in realization as she starts gasping for air.

The sound is delicious—struggling, choking, fighting for breath. It's almost too easy. I feel the bones in her neck shift under the pressure, and her hands start flailing, waving in surrender.

But not yet. I tighten my grip even more, watching as the color drains from her face. She's precious, like me—maybe the only reason she's still breathing. I could break her here and now if I wanted. But what fun would that be?

Finally, when I'm satisfied, I release her, letting her collapse onto the floor. She drops to her knees, gasping and clutching her throat as she desperately tries to catch her breath.

"Damn," she rasps after a long moment, her voice hoarse. "I didn't think you were that powerful, Mom."

I freeze at that word. Mom.

My eyes narrow, and my lip curls in disgust. No one calls me that—no one except my actual children, and even then, it's more of a title than an endearment. Being called Mom implies responsibility, care, and protection. Things I loathe.

She notices the shift in my expression and quickly raises her hands. "Okay, okay, calm down. I'm here for a reason. I'm just here to get the Golden A+ card." She says it with such casualness, like she hasn't just been seconds away from death.

She straightens up, dusting herself off, and has the audacity to make herself comfortable on the couch in my office, lounging as if this is her home.

"And," she adds with a smirk, "since you're so powerful, I figured... why not get some training from you? By any means necessary." She stretches out her legs and leans back like she's settling in for a long chat.

I can't help but scoff internally. Comfortable much, huh?

I sit back down in my chair, watching her closely. This kid thinks she can just waltz in here, demand things, and get away with it. But I've dealt with far worse than her.

This will be interesting.