My Cold Boss’s Secret Screen

I kept laughing, but my eyes started to sting.

Cassius was the only one who immediately cared about how I felt.

I typed back: [No need. The guy is really powerful. I can't afford to offend him.]

He replied instantly: [No one is more powerful than me.]

I didn't dare reply to that.

After claiming the $52,000, I tossed my phone aside and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Two years. I'd known this dog for two years.

Two years ago. The dark web. A top-secret BDSM stream.

I had just turned twenty-two.

My parents' drug debts were spiraling out of control, and our old house had been mortgaged three times. The debt collectors started cornering me after work.

I worked at a gallery by day restoring paintings, and returned to a shitty apartment by night.

Desperate, I took every side gig I could find. Replicas, forging, appraisals.

Then a friend pulled me aside and whispered a secret.

"There's a circle on the dark web. Faceless streams. You can make a month's gallery salary in one night."

She lowered her voice. "But you have to know how to act."

"Act like what?"

"A Mistress," she smirked. "The guys with the real money on there are freaks. They want to be degraded, stepped on, owned."

"You're gorgeous, you've got long legs, and a cold voice. You were born for this."

I stayed quiet for three seconds.

"How do I sign up?"

My first night streaming, I wore fishnets, sat in a rented studio, wore a mask, and hid my face. The camera only showed my legs.

I made three grand on night one.

By week two, I had regulars.

By week three, his ID showed up.

He dropped ten grand on his first visit. I didn't even blink.

The second time, thirty grand.

The third time, fifty grand.

Only then did I lazily glance at the camera and speak coldly. "New here?"

"Yes."

The voice on the other end was deep, crisp, and reeked of restrained dominance.

My heart jumped. Rich. Hot voice. Obedient. A perfect target.

For the next three months, I purposely ignored his DMs. I went offline for five days straight.

Every time I vanished, he panic-wired me money.

[Mistress, please reply.]

[Mistress, is it not enough money?]

And every time it wasn't enough, an even bigger wire transfer would hit.

Until one day, he messaged me.

[Mistress, what do you want? I can give you anything.]

I stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keys.

My mother had just been issued a critical condition notice at the hospital. Loan sharks had splashed red paint on my front door.

I was living like a dog.

But the words I typed were as sharp as a knife.

[I want a dog of my own. One who calls me Mistress.]

[On call 24/7. Does whatever the fuck I tell him to.]

He was quiet for so long I figured he'd bolted. For a normal sugar daddy, it was an insane ask.

Then he replied with one word.

[Oh.]

I scoffed and got ready to block him.

A second later, another text came through.

[Do you need me to sell my body?]

[Wanna see my eight-pack?]

I froze. He upped the stakes himself.

I stared at the screen and slowly typed back.

[No face. No real names. Once you're mine, no touching other women. Or I block you instantly.]

He replied within a second.

[I promise.]

Then came a voice note. I tapped it.

His deep voice was suddenly husky and raw, like it was soaked in top-shelf whiskey.

"Mistress. As long as you take me... I'll agree to anything."

That night, I received my first six-figure wire transfer.

And a dog who was at my beck and call, absolutely devoted to me.

I used the money to pay my mother's hospital bills, buy my father's rehab meds, and clear three months of rent.

I never took the relationship seriously for a single second.

It was a transaction. He was the sugar daddy; I was the Domme. He paid for an outlet, and I provided it. Simple as that.

We promised: no face reveals, no real names, no meeting up.

I thought we'd stay like that forever. Everyone gets what they want.

I snapped out of the memory and looked at my screen.

The last message was Cassius saying: [No one is more powerful than me.]

Who would've thought?

This pathetic, groveling man on the dark web...

Was Cassius Falcone.

The underground king of the city.