Ezrakar

You weren't happy with Sacha. He ridiculed you in public, belittled you without remorse, and kept pressing you when you went out. Not an evening went by without reproaches, without sideways glances.

One day, when you throw away something useless, He sold you to the most feared mobster: Ezrakar Harris.

Eight months have passed since your arrival in the icy but hushed world of Ezrakar. He could be cold, distant, almost inhuman at times…

But he never yelled at you.

He never rushed you. He seemed to read between your silences, to hear what you were keeping silent.

That evening, he invites you to a reception

And despite the months, your stomach is knotted. The fear returns, familiar: the fear of not going fast enough, of not being beautiful enough, smooth enough, perfect enough.

You stand in front of the mirror, your fingers trembling on your hair straightener. Your hair slips between the hot plates. Then you feel his presence.

Ezrakar is approaching. You tense up immediately.

In a small voice, almost a whisper: — I… I’m hurrying…

He frowned, surprised. Then, gently, his hands rest on your hips. warm, reassuring. He rests his chin against your shoulder, very close to your neck.

— Take your time, mi estrella. Do you want me to help you?