Page 2 of His Dark Desires

My fingertips touch the screen, aching to trace the contours of her body. Her skin, like warm honey in the soft light, invites a touch it doesn't receive. Dark curls cascade over her shoulders, a silky contrast to her creamy skin. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath.

Daniel claims her with his eyes before his mouth attaches to hers in a brutish display. Her lips part willingly, but there's a hesitance in her body language, a tension that speaks of mixed signals and unresolved arguments.

His hands wander, exploring her body with a familiar ownership. Slowly, he works his way down. He knows her body well, knows the path to render her weak, and he takes it without hesitation.

Her breath quickens as he nears her pussy. Her thighs part slightly, a silent invitation, an offering. Daniel needs no further encouragement as he buries his face between her thighs, his tongue seeking, finding.

Her moans fill the room, vibrating through me, stirring a hunger I haven't known in years. Sophia arches, her body surrendering to the pleasure he's offering. Her hands thread through his hair, guiding, encouraging, surrendering to the pleasure.

The video abruptly ends, leaving me in darkness. Alone.

I clear my throat. "Run a full analysis on Daniel Harper. Download all photos of Sophia taken by Daniel."

Another memory comes: Elliot teaching me chess, explaining how to think three moves ahead.

Control the board, control the game.

The lesson that shaped my empire, delivered by the man who tried to destroy it.

I stand, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Neon Heights spreads below, a glittering circuit board of lives and connections. Somewhere down there, she's probably painting, pouring her soul into her work while fighting to keep her dreams alive.

"ATLAS, establish full surveillance protocols on Sophia." My reflection watches me in the glass, eyes bright with purpose. "I want everything. Gallery openings, financial records, social circles. Flag any potential threats or opportunities."

I glance back as the system acknowledges with a soft pulse of light. Screens fill with data points, building a digital cage around Sophia Larkin's existence.

"I must know everything about you," I whisper to her image, frozen in pixels. "You belong in my world now."

The AI system churns through data, filling my monitors with countless fragments of Sophia's existence.

My hand presses against the cool glass. The emptiness of my penthouse echoes behind me, but for the first time in years, I feel something crack in my walls.

Chapter 1

Adrian

I lean back in my chair, eyes fixed on the center screen where Sophia moves through her morning routine. Two years of watching, learning, memorizing every detail of her life, and still she captivates me with every subtle gesture.

My study has evolved into a shrine to her existence. The wall of screens bathes the room in a soft blue glow, the monitors tracking a different aspect of her life. The main display shows her current location—her small studio apartment where she's preparing coffee. Smaller screens flank it, cycling through security feeds, social media activity, and financial data.

To my left, a holographic display projects her latest artwork in three dimensions, allowing me to study every detail. The AI analyzes her technique, comparing it to historical masters, but numbers can't capture what she pours out.

My desk, a seamless piece of black glass, responds to my touch as I swipe through reports. Beneath its surface, processors crunch data, predicting her movements, analyzing patterns, flagging anomalies. The desk itself cost more than most homes, but it's worth every penny for the processing power it provides.

Behind me, panel windows offer a view of the city, but I've dimmed them to better see my screens. The room embodies minimalism—every surface serves a purpose. Brushed steel cabinets house servers. Hidden panels conceal additional monitors. Even the abstract art on the walls doubles as thermal regulators for the equipment.

"ATLAS, enhance sector three."

The AI responds instantly, zooming in as Sophia adds cream to her coffee. The facial recognition software maps her expression, noting elevated stress markers.

My chair adjusts automatically, sensing my tension. To my right, a small bar holds a collection of single-malt scotch I haven't touched in months. Who needs artificial warmth when every screen pulses with her presence?

The air is cool and filtered. Recessed lighting shifts subtly with the time of day, but I've overridden it to maintain optimal viewing conditions. Everything in this room serves one purpose: to keep me connected to her world.

A subtle alert chimes—her heart rate has increased slightly. I lean forward, fingers splaying across the glass surface.

"Cross-reference recent communications. Show me what's troubling her."

Data streams across my peripheral screens while I keep my eyes locked on her face. She rubs at her forehead—a gesture I know means she's worried. My hand twitches, wanting to reach through the screen and smooth away her concerns.

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