LOGINIRISThe morning begins with a telephone. Not the ringing of it, I mean its arrival.By half past ten, an engineer has installed a neat cream-colored landline on the corner of my cutting table, its cord coiled so perfectly that it almost looks decorative. Daddy insisted that the studio needed its own dedicated number if I was serious about building a business."You can't expect clients to call your personal cell," he'd said over breakfast. “And although we need to get you a work cell, a landline shows an established, dedicated office space.”"I haven't got any clients.""You will."There had been that quiet certainty in his voice again, the sort that always made me wonder if he saw something in me that I hadn’t yet discovered myself.Now, as I smooth my hand across the polished wood of the worktable, the telephone sits silently beside my sketchbook like a promise that hasn't yet decided whether to keep itself.The studio feels wonderfully alive.Afternoon sunlight spills through the t
THOMASThe office feels strangely unfamiliar this morning.Not because anything has changed. The same reception desk stands beneath the Ashcroft crest carved into limestone. The same polished floors reflect the muted light. The same quiet efficiency hums beneath every conversation, as assistants move through corridors with files tucked beneath their arms and appointments already running precisely to schedule.Nothing has altered.Only me.For years I believed this building represented certainty. Problems arrived here untidy and emotional, only to leave ordered into contracts, agreements and decisions that could withstand scrutiny. It was a comforting illusion. Law and negotiations could settle ownership, responsibility, liability.It could never settle grief. Nor love.As I step from the lift, Sarah looks up from her desk with a smile."Good morning, Mr Ashcroft.""Good morning, Sarah.""You've a nine o'clock with Mr Pembroke.""I know.""He arrived early."I smile faintly. "Richard a
IRIS"Kneel for me," he says, his voice low and even, carrying that unmistakable edge of command that makes my breath catch. There's no question in it, just the quiet expectation that sends a flush of warmth through me.My body responds immediately, moving before my mind fully catches up, sliding off the sofa to the floor between his spread legs. The carpet is soft beneath my knees, and I settle there, looking up at him through my lashes. His dark eyes hold mine, intense and unyielding, while the subtle bulge in his trousers hints at the arousal building between us."You're beautiful like this," Daddy murmurs, reaching down to trace his thumb along my lower lip, his touch firm yet gentle, sending a shiver racing down my spine. The dominance in his gaze wraps around me like a velvet restraint, making my skin tingle with submission, my nipples tightening against the fabric of my bra as I lean into his hand.I feel the heat pooling between my thighs, my pussy growing slick with anticipat
IRISBy the time we return to the cottage, the light, dusting snowflakes have settled into the sort of steady rhythm that seems less like weather and more like company.Daddy lights the fire while I change into one of his old sweaters, the sleeves far too long and the collar slipping lazily from one shoulder. The cottage has already begun to feel lived in, though we have occupied it only a handful of days. My sketchbooks lie in untidy stacks beside the sofa. His reading glasses rest on the windowsill. Two mugs wait beside the sink because neither of us remembered to wash them this morning before leaving for the city.It’s imperfect, and I find that I love it.He returns from the kitchen carrying two glasses of wine. "I think we've earned these, princess.”"I think you're right, Daddy.”He hands me one before lowering himself beside me on the sofa, close enough that our knees touch. Outside, darkness has gathered around the cottage, turning every window into a mirror reflecting only th
HELENI don’t think about Iris on the drive home. At least, that’s what I tell myself.The car glides through late afternoon traffic with its customary smoothness, the city slipping past beyond the tinted glass in muted greys and polished stone, and I occupy myself with the day's correspondence instead. Two invitations. A charitable foundation requesting my attendance. A letter from my solicitor requiring a signature. Entirely ordinary matters. Entirely familiar.Yet when I look up, I discover we have already reached my house, and I can’t remember reading a single page. Curious.I dismiss the driver and let myself inside.The house is quiet. It always is. Not lonely, precisely, because loneliness implies the expectation of company. Mine has long since settled into something more civilized than that, a comfortable silence inhabited by books, flowers changed twice weekly, and staff who understand that discretion is infinitely preferable to conversation.Janice takes my coat. "Good after
ZARAInside, the boutique is much quieter than the street, though not silent. Soft music drifts from hidden speakers, subdued enough not to interfere with conversation, and somewhere beyond the main showroom a clothes rail moves across polished flooring with the faint, controlled whisper of expensive fabric.Everything is designed to feel effortless. The lighting is warm without revealing its source, the mirrors flattering without appearing dishonest, the chairs arranged to suggest comfort while ensuring no one forgets they are sitting somewhere exclusive.Helen gestures toward a pale velvet sofa near the fitting rooms.“Sit for a few minutes and warm up,” she says. “Unless you have somewhere else to be.”“I don’t.”The answer feels more revealing than it should.Daddy is upstairs in his office, surrounded by meetings and contracts and people who understand the machinery of money far better than I do. I’d planned to wander until he called. Maybe buy a coffee, maybe look at fabrics.I







