Leo trudged through the doorway, his shoulders slumped under the weight of another brutal day. The sting of his superiors' scolding lingered—not for any mistake he'd made, but because they needed a punching bag to flex their authority. He, the office martyr, had taken it in stride, as always. Once, he'd believed goodness would earn him respect, a lesson etched into him by his mother's devout words: "Be good, son. God favors the honest and devoted." But reality had other plans, and the irony hit harder than their insults. Was he wrong to be kind all these years? Should he shed the mask society forced on him? These thoughts churned as he kicked off his shoes, oblivious to the faint clatter in the kitchen.A grizzled old man sat at his table, devouring Leo's monthly rations like a starved beast. Leo froze, disbelief morphing into rage. Those were his meals, painstakingly budgeted. Something snapped. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared, voice raw with a fury he'd long suppressed.The old man, the same one Leo had once saved from a drunken stumble in an alley, looked up, startled. Crumbs dusted his scruffy beard as he chuckled, unperturbed. "Dropping the mask, eh, boy?" He bolted for the door, but Leo was faster, grabbing his collar with a strength honed from years of labor in his grandfather's fields."How'd you get in?" Leo demanded, his grip tightening. The old man's smirk faltered. "Door was open," he muttered. Leo's eyes narrowed. He'd locked it himself, the sole key tucked in his pocket. "Lie again," he growled, "and you'll regret it."Sensing danger, the old man caved. "Alright, alright! I picked the lock. Planned to rob you, but I ain't eaten in three days—just water from public fountains." His voice cracked, but Leo wasn't buying it. He'd seen the dope stashed in the man's hovel when he'd helped him. Years on his grandparents' farm had sharpened his nose for hidden drugs. "You expect me to believe you're starving with a stash like that?" Leo sneered. "Whose dope is it?"The old man's eyes darted nervously. "Not mine. I'm just holding it for some guys. They'd kill me if I touched it." He hesitated, then added, "I picked your place 'cause I figured you'd let it slide. You're the martyr type, right?"Leo's laugh was bitter, self-deprecating. He'd saved this wretch, carried him home, hoping for some karmic reward. Instead, he'd been played. Leaning close, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you ever cross me again, you'll wish you hadn't." With a swift kick, he sent the old man sprawling onto the street.Slumping against the door, Leo's gaze drifted to the floor. "I get it," he murmured, voice low, strained but not angry—a man piecing together a cruel puzzle. "Every move's a trap. I try to do right, but it's all a mess. And the worst part? I didn't see it coming." His mother's god, karma, devotion—it all felt like a lie. Why suppress his darker urges for a heaven that might not exist? "Fuck it," he spat, hands raking over his face, eyes burning red with defiance. "Fuck God, fuck karma, fuck everyone."He stumbled to the fridge, yanking out a bottle of liquor—a gift from neighbors, forbidden by his religious upbringing. The first swig burned, warmth spreading through his chest. His face flushed, a dizzying mix of sadness and rage flooding him. All those years helping others, only to be mocked or used. Let them laugh. He'd live for himself now, consequences be damned. Excitement stirred within him, a reckless hunger to embrace his desires. Glass in hand, he slumped at the kitchen table and drifted into a fitful sleep.The next morning, his phone's buzz jolted him awake. Groggy, he answered, hearing a feminine voice. "Leo Morrakar?" it asked, urgent. "You're needed at the office immediately.""Tell them to fuck off," he snapped, voice thick with defiance. "I'm done with their games." He hung up, collapsing back into sleep.Hours later, the doorbell's chime roused him. Swaying slightly, he opened the door to a vision that stopped him cold. She stood there, radiating raw power and allure—a woman who commanded desire without ever begging for it. Her black leather corset hugged her curves, laces teasingly loose to reveal a sliver of skin. A dark red skirt clung to her hips, slits flashing toned thighs with every step. Sheer stockings and sharp heels completed the look, a choker at her neck screaming control. Bella, the director of sales operations, the company princess, stared at him with piercing eyes."Leo," she said, voice smooth but direct. "Why'd you lash out at the coordinator?"
Leo, devilishly attractive with piercing blue eyes, entered Carla's office. He ostensibly came to check her work, but his intentions were far more…personal. Carla, a kind-faced milf in a crisp white shirt and black skirt, was engrossed in her tasks. Leo's praise was subtle, his compliment – "You look beautiful today" – whispered close to her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. He mentioned Nektar, a software program, feigning helpfulness while subtly touching her. His nearness, his touch, overwhelmed Carla; she felt like a blushing teenager again, completely captivated by this man. She readily agreed to his tutelage, more interested in his proximity than the software. His hand brushed against her breast, not accidentally. Carla noticed, but instead of recoiling, she leaned in, the burgeoning desire overcoming her initial surprise. Leo, reading her body language perfectly, knew the time was right. He initiated a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth with expertise learned from a childhood spent immersed in biology texts. He expertly found her most sensitive areas; her response was fervent. He'd already disabled the office's security cameras, replacing the feed with older footage.
Bella stood in Leo's modest living room, a vision of youthful power at 21. Her crimson hair shimmered under the soft lamplight, her black leather corset and red skirt hugging curves that radiated confidence beyond her years. Yet her piercing gaze held a curiosity that unsettled Leo. Six months ago, her father, the CEO, had insisted she personally interview him, muttering about the Morrakar surname with a weight Leo couldn't decipher. Now, the director of sales operations stood in his home—an anomaly for a rookie analyst—her presence charged with unspoken intent."Why'd you lash out at the coordinator?" she asked, her voice sharp but tinged with a warmth that hinted at more than professional interest.Leo's head still buzzed from last night's liquor, but the memory of his defiance sparked a sly grin. Six months at the company, and he'd already broken—proof the martyr was crumbling. "I'm done with their games," he said, weaving truth with a calculated edge. "I've poured my soul into this job—tracked leaks, verified intel—but my group leader treats me like dirt. He chases quotas, not quality. The company deserves more."Bella settled onto a cushion, her skirt shifting to reveal a glimpse of thigh that sent a spark through Leo's newly freed desires. At 21, she carried the poise of a seasoned heiress, her choker gleaming against her neck—a symbol of control. Her father's words echoed: Watch the Morrakar boy. His family matters. "If you're right," she said, "what's the fix?"Leo leaned closer, sensing an opening. Six months had exposed the company's flaws, and his analytical mind cut through them. "The rules," he said. "They reward speed over substance. Replace my leader, and the next will follow the same script. We need a team that lives for real intelligence—gathering, analyzing, verifying. A test to sift out the slackers."Bella's lips parted, a flicker of admiration in her eyes. At her age, she'd seen ambition, but Leo's clarity, paired with the mystery of his surname, marked him as different. "You're sharp," she said, her tone warm but measured. "My father won't overhaul the rules—he's too tied to tradition. But I can tighten recruitment." She paused, then made her call. "Tomorrow, you're group leader of Morrakar's Vanguard. Pick your team. I expect results."Leo's pulse surged, not just at the promotion but at her proximity, her jasmine-and-leather scent stirring urges he no longer suppressed. Group leader after six months? It was unheard of, but her trust—rooted in his family's shadowy significance—made it real. "I won't disappoint," he said, a playful lilt testing her boundaries.As Bella rose, her heels clicking softly, Leo saw a chance to unravel her. She was a puzzle—youthful princess, cunning strategist, and something more. "Tea before you go?" he asked, voice smooth, buying time. "Can't send a guest off empty-handed."She hesitated, then smiled faintly, a spark in her young eyes. "Alright."In the kitchen, Leo brewed peppermint tea, a family recipe perfected over years. He served it steaming, its rich aroma curling through the air. Bella sipped, her guard slipping. "This is… incredible," she said, almost vulnerable for a 21-year-old carrying her family's legacy. "How do you do it?""Family trick," Leo said, pouring another cup as she nodded eagerly. He steered the conversation—her role, the pressure of being the company princess—probing for cracks. When she excused herself to the bathroom, citing the tea's effect, her purse lay unguarded on the cushion.Adrenaline surged. Leo, a hacker prodigy in college, hadn't lost his touch. He slipped her Samsung Galaxy from the purse, connecting it to his laptop. In minutes, he'd bypassed the lock, downloading texts, emails, social media logs. He zipped the purse shut just as the bathroom door clicked. Bella returned, her sway captivating, oblivious to his theft. They bantered about the company, her defenses lowered, and when she left, her car fading into the dusk, Leo's triumph burned bright.At his laptop, he sifted through her data. Her Instagram painted her as a brash 21-year-old heiress—flashy, untouchable—but her private messages revealed a calculating mind, plotting moves her father never saw. The contradiction gnawed. Was she playing him, using her father's interest in the Morrakar name for her own ends? He'd been burned before, but now he'd set the rules. A wicked smile spread, excitement pulsing. The martyr was dead.Morning came, and Leo shed his old self. He styled his black hair, ditched his contact lenses for striking blue eyes, and dressed sharp, his lean, muscular frame filling a tailored jacket. He roared to the office on his Ducati Hypermotard 698 Mono, a gift from his grandfather, ignoring the stares. Let them gawk.Colleagues whispered as he strode in, helmet under arm. Bella had texted—his group leader was sacked, officially for "poor quality," but Leo knew her influence, tied to his surname, had pulled strings. Morrakar's Vanguard, his new 16-member team, awaited: 13 women, many young and striking, a holdover from the old leader's tastes, and three men, kept for skill. Leo had helped most, and now he'd wield that leverage.His speech was steady, commanding. doesn't chase quotas," he said, eyes sweeping the room. "We deliver real intelligence. Fall short, and you're out." Gasps followed, then congratulations—some genuine, others laced with envy. Leo noted every reaction, his old kindness now a tool.In his new cabin, stripped bare by the previous leader, Leo organized his space with precision. Then he visited his team, starting with Carla, a seasoned analyst in her 40s, her tanned skin and poised beauty undimmed by years. Her reports were meticulous, her analysis razor-sharp. "Strong work," Leo said, leaning over her shoulder, close enough for her to catch his warmth. "Ever tried Nektar? It'll streamline this."Carla flushed, her composure slipping at his nearness. "Nektar?" she murmured, voice unsteady, her maturity no shield against the spark in his blue eyes.He guided her through the software, his hand brushing hers breast movement to movement as he pointed to the screen. "Game-changer," he said, voice low, breath grazing her ear. Her cheeks burned, her focus lost—not on the tool, but on him. Leo pulled back, a satisfied glint in his eyes. he slowly leaned towards her face and intated kiss.