"You're mine now," he snarls this into my ear as he bottoms out inside me, his claws drawing blood from my hips. "Every part of you. Every thought. Every breath. Every orgasm. Mine."
I come so hard, the darkness obliterates my sight. Sends me into a state of unconscious oblivion.
When I wake, he's still inside me, still moving, and I realize with devastating clarity that I don't want to escape anymore.
I want to stay in his animalistic darkness forever.
The story breaks every consent law, both real and implied.
In the legal world, what Helix does to Lyra constitutes kidnapping, assault, and rape.
In the book world—even in the darkest corners of erotic fiction where consent can be negotiated and fantasized—the story crosses lines that most platformsexplicitlyforbid.
Obviously, Scarletta figured this out early because she never put it online. She hid it away in that folder, a shameful secret she couldn't delete but couldn't share, a fantasy too dark even for her anonymous ScarletSins persona.
I jerked off to that story twice a day for two months straight.
I could not get it out of my mind.
The beastly nature of Helix, his absolute certainty that Lyra belonged to him. How much bigger he was than her, how he filled her so completely that there was no room left for anything except him. How Lyra ran from it, fought it, and then took it and loved it with a desperation that made my hand move faster on my cock every single time.
God, I was obsessed.
Looking back, I recognize that I was out of control during that period.
The surveillance escalated beyond anything I'd done with previous targets. The fantasies grew more elaborate, more consuming, bleeding into my waking hours until I could barely focus on MacLeay Capital, or The Scales, or anything that wasn't Scarletta's face on my monitors, Scarletta's words on my screen, Scarletta's soft moans when she touched herself to her own stories without knowing I was watching.
That's what really spurred the whole Derek situation.
I was just…out of control.
When I discovered what he'd done to her—reading her frantic, tearful journal entries through her hacked hard drive, watching her curl into a ball on her bed and sob for hours—something in me snapped with an almost audible crack.
The methodical patience I usually brought to Scales operations evaporated entirely. I tracked Derek down within seventy-two hours, and what I did to him had nothing to do with justice, or balance, or making the world safer for innocents.
It was personal.
It was emotional.
It was the most satisfying kill I've ever made.
I've dialed it back since then—forced myself to regain the control that defines everything I am, everything I've built.
But only because I found a healthier outlet for the obsession.
I recreated the Helix maze here, on Story Island.
The construction took three months and cost more than most people's houses. Custom bamboo walls grown to specification. Portal archways with concealed and nearly silent hydraulics that create the illusion of teleportation. A wireless sound system and custom earbuds to replicate the way Scarletta described Helix's telepathy in Lyra's head.
And the costumes.
Fuck, the costumes for my attendants are out of this world good.
Horns. Claws. Voice modulators that transform human speech into something inhuman and predatory. Every detail pulled directly from her manuscript, recreated with obsessive precision because I need her to believe she's stepped inside her own death-spiral imagination.
The maze has been ready for five weeks now.
And I've been planning to put my good little slut inside it since the day the final camera was installed.
