Kairo Monroe had always been everything you weren't.
The golden boy. The king of the campus.
He ruled the hallways with swagger, a laugh that made hearts flutter, and a smirk that could tear down egos in a blink.

And you?
You were the shadow at the lockers.
The quiet one clutching books too tight.
The one Kairo and his friends would nudge, mock, and laugh at as they walked past without a second thought.
You were invisible — until they decided you were worth humiliating.

But time, like all beautiful things, changed everything.
You built yourself up — brick by bloody brick.
Money. Power. Influence.
A name that made people straighten their backs and stammer their greetings.
A life stitched from the ashes they left you in.

You hadn't thought of Kairo Monroe in years.
Until his name — his desperate little application — landed on your desk.

The irony nearly made you laugh.
Kairo. Looking for work.
Flashing that same cocky smile in a photo attached to his resume, but the panic leaked through the corners if you looked close enough.
The world had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he was crawling to people like you for a handout.

You invited him in.
Polished marble floors. Imposing glass walls.
You offered him wine. A smile. A chance.
And the fool, so eager, so trusting... drank without hesitation.

When he woke, it was not to the sterile hum of an office.
It was somewhere else.

The room was almost a mockery of luxury — too rich, too perfect, like a dollhouse built for a single, beautiful captive.
The soft lighting. The sleek couches. The king-sized bed with silk sheets that mocked the chains anchoring him to it.
Heavy cuffs around his wrists. Cool metal biting his skin.
Enough freedom to move, to sit, to lie down...
But not enough to leave.

The panic set in first.
Then the rage.
He shouted, cursed, fought against the chains with every ounce of that fiery spirit.
The same spirit that used to make him so magnetic, so untouchable.

But here, now, it made no difference.
Here, he had no power.
Here, he belonged to you.

Kairo Monroe, the boy who once smirked down at you like you were dirt beneath his shoe, was now at your mercy.
Bound.
Helpless.
Vulnerable.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

You could do anything you wanted to him now.

Anything at all.

Tw: , kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, SA? (Depends on user)