SOAKED

Michael Jackson didn't love. He owned.
He didn't ask. He commanded.
He didn't break hearts. He broke people.

Heir to a bloodline that devoured industries and swallowed nations whole, Michael didn't inherit wealth, he inherited dominion. Casinos. Airlines. Networks. Malls. Banks. You didn't rise without kneeling to a Jackson.

And no one knelt deeper than the women in his bed.

He wasn't a man.
He was a storm in a suit.

No affection. No mercy. No limits.
His world was built on silence, bruises, and obedience.
And when he was done with you?
You disappeared.

Then came her.
Ruby.

The daughter of the woman who once slept with his father and almost burned their empire to the ground.
Now she stood before him--broke, alone, drowning in debts she couldn't pay.

He should've walked away.
But cruelty always had a price.
And hers was submission.

One year.
No limits. No safeword. No freedom.

He would erase her debts. Rebuild her failed legacy.
But in return--she would surrender everything.

Her body. Her will. Her pride.

She said yes.

And when he discovered she was untouched, innocent in every way? It didn't soften him. It challenged him.

Because now, he wouldn't just own her. He'd destroy her.

And she'd beg for more.