Chapter 34. Florian
I sat in the corner booth. Across the wooden table, Luna looked like she was waiting for a court verdict.
Her hair was recently dyed an even more vibrant blue.
It was the only part of her that looked like the usual Luna.
The rest of her was buttoned in a shirt to the throat and dark, stiff denim.
No band tees, no oversized hoodie swallowing her frame.
It was her ‘serious conversation’ armor, and seeing it made my stomach do a slow, uneasy roll.
"Italy," she said. It wasn't a question. Luna didn't smile. She didn't squeal or demand to see photos. Instead, her fingers, nails painted a chipped black, tapped against the side of her mug. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. It sounded like a countdown.
“So, how long were you gone again?" she asked, eyes narrowing behind her glasses. She pushed them up the bridge of her nose.
"A week," I said.
“And school?”
"H-he took care of everything with my professors,” I hesitated. I knew how that would sound to her. “Even Professor Harmon gave me an extension on that sociology paper."
"He took care of it," she repeated, her tone flat. "Did you actually ask for the extension, or did his assistant make a call and buy the library a new espresso machine?"
"It wasn’t like that," I said, feeling that old prickle of defensiveness at the back of my neck. "He just… handles things. He knows how much I care about my grades."
Luna leaned forward.
"Florian, listen to yourself. He talks to your teachers. He pays your bills. He moves you into a fortress. You are completely dependent on him for food, shelter, and sometimes even a plane ticket home."
I bristled, pulling back against the orange vinyl. "I'm not a prisoner, Luna. I wanted to go. I've never been anywhere. The furthest I'd ever traveled was to the state line to buy fireworks with you that one Fourth of July."
"That's exactly the point," she hissed, lowering her voice as a girl with a heavy backpack squeezed past our table. "He knows that. He knows you're starving for experiences, for safety, for everything he can buy. That's how it works. That's how they get you."
"Who is 'they'?" I asked, frustration rising in my throat. "The Illuminati? Rich people? Daddies?"
"Abusers," she said, the word landing heavy between us.
I recoiled as if she'd slapped me. "He is not an abuser. You don't know him."
"I know the stats, Flo," she said, her expression softening.
"I know that when one person holds all the cards, financial, experiential, physical…
consent gets blurry. I know you say you're into the BDSM thing, the Daddy/boy dynamic, and I respect that kink is a thing.
I've read the theory. Safe, sane, consensual. I get it."
She took a breath, her blue hair falling forward as she leaned in closer.
"But kink requires a foundation of equality outside the dynamic to be truly safe.
If you say 'red' and stop the scene, you still need to eat.
You still need a place to sleep. If you leave him, you're homeless again.
That means you can't really say no, can you?
Not when 'no' means losing your entire life. "
Her logic was cold, sharp, and terrified me because these were the darkest whispers of my own insecurity, the ones I drowned out with Knox's praise and love. But hearing it from Luna, it was different and hard.
"I have agency," I insisted. "I choose to submit. That's the power of it. I give him control because I trust him."
"He gives you things that tie you to him," Luna countered relentlessly. "Does he give you cash? Do you have a savings account in your name only? If you walked out of that mansion today, how far would you get?"
I looked down at my coffee. "I have an allowance," I muttered.
"An allowance," she echoed, her eyebrows shooting up. "Like a child."
"Like a submissive in a structured dynamic," I snapped, slamming my mug down hard enough that coffee sloshed over the rim, staining the wood.
“I also have my car. I could sell it… and to be honest, this is a fucked-up thought.
God, Luna, why can't you just be happy for me?
I was sleeping in a shelter a few months ago.
I was eating vending machine crackers for dinner. Now I'm safe. I'm loved. I'm thriving."
"You look healthy. Your clothes are expensive. But you also look… like a prize poodle."
"I'm happy," I said. "Maybe it looks messed up from the outside, but it works for me. A lot of stable, happy couples depend on each other too. If things ended, they'd have to start from scratch just like I would. That doesn't automatically make it abusive."
Luna sighed, a long, ragged sound, and slumped back in her chair. She pushed her glasses up again, her shoulders dropping. "I'm just scared, Flo. I'm scared that one day I'm going to call you, and the number will be disconnected. Or I'll show up at that gate and be turned away by security."
"That won't happen," I promised, reaching across the table to grip her hand. Her fingers were cold, her skin rougher than mine now. "He's not isolating me. He encourages me to see friends. He wants me to finish school."
"So he says," she muttered, but she didn't pull her hand away.
"You don't even know him, Lu," I said softly. "You're judging a ghost story you've built in your head. But he's real. And he's… he's good. He held me while I cried about Finn. He paid Finn's hospital bills even after my dad threatened to sue him."
Luna's eyes widened. "Your dad did what?"
I waved a hand, realizing I'd opened a door I didn't want to walk through. "It doesn't matter. Knox handled it. He protected me. That's who he is. He didn't need to do any of that. I have nothing to give him back. Think about it, he could have anyone he wanted, and yet, he chooses me."
We sat in silence for a long moment, the cafe bustling around us.
"Okay," Luna said finally, withdrawing her hand to pick up her mug. "Okay. I'm trying, Flo. I really am. But if he hurts you…"
"He won't."
"If he does," she continued, her voice fierce, "I will burn that fortress to the ground. I don't care how many security guards he has."
I managed a smile. "I know you would, Blue."
"Tell me about the pasta you ate there," she commanded, visibly shifting gears, though the tension still hummed.
"I ate my weight in gelato," I said, grateful for the truce.
***
Back home, the kitchen was chaos. A bouquet of fresh basil lay on the cutting board, scenting the air. On the stove, a pot of reduction simmered, releasing steam that smelled of balsamic and shallots. My mouth was watering.
I stood at the island, tasked with slicing cherry tomatoes. My knife skills were improving under Knox's help, but tonight my rhythm was off.
Knox stood beside me, searing scallops in a cast-iron pan. He had shed his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing the strong, tanned forearms that I often daydreamed about while sitting in boring lectures. He looked relaxed, the master of his domain.
"You’re quiet tonight," he observed. "Did the coffee date with Luna not go well?"
I paused, the knife hovering over a particularly plump tomato.
I could lie. I could say it was fine, that we talked about the weather and midterms. But the rules, honesty, transparency, were ingrained in me now.
And more than that, I wanted to tell him.
I hated holding secrets, and I just wanted him to hold me after and say it's alright.
"It was… intense," I admitted, setting the knife down. I turned the tomato over with my thumb. "She's worried. About us."
Knox flipped a scallop with easy movements. "Worried in what capacity?"
"The usual," I said, trying to keep my tone light but failing. "She thinks I'm being exploited. She gave me a lecture on financial independence and… money and coercion. She… thinks you're keeping me like a pet. But not in a good, kinky way."
I risked a glance at him. Knox didn't stiffen. He didn't look angry or disappointed. He just reached for the glass of white wine sitting near the stove, took a sip, and hummed thoughtfully.
"She sounds like a good friend," he said.
I blinked, my mouth falling open slightly. "What?"
Knox turned to face me, leaning his hip against the counter.
The warmth of the stove radiated behind him.
"She cares about your well-being. She sees a situation that looks risky from the outside, and, statistically, she isn't wrong to be concerned, and she's brave enough to confront you about it. That speaks to her loyalty."
"You're… you're not mad? Or… or upset…?" I asked, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to ease.
"Why would I be mad that someone loves you enough to worry?" He set his wine down and moved closer. "I would be more concerned if your friends were blindly encouraging you to jump into a situation they didn't understand just because there was money involved."
I let out a breath, leaning back against the island. "She really grilled me. She asked if I had a savings account. She asked what happens if I say 'no'."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I told her I trust you," I said, meeting his eyes.
Knox's expression softened, tenderness entering his dark eyes.
He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead.
"I'm glad you defended us. But words often fail to convey the reality of a dynamic like ours.
People fear what they can't see." He paused.
"Why don't you invite her over? For dinner. We could do it Friday night."
"Have her here?" I squeaked. The image of Luna, with her combat boots and anti-establishment t-shirts, sitting in Knox's pristine dining room was almost impossible. "Daddy, she called this place a fortress. She threatened to burn it down if you hurt me."
Knox laughed. "I'd like to meet the arsonist. Seriously, Florian. If she's your best friend, she's a significant part of your life. I don't want to be a separate silo. I want to bridge that gap."
"She's… she's a lot," I warned him. "She doesn't care about politeness if she thinks something is wrong.
She's my only real friend. Everyone else from high school just sort of drifted away or got hooked on stuff, or we just had nothing in common anymore.
Luna stuck around when I had nothing. She'd buy me lunch at the grocery store shifts when I couldn't afford it. "
Knox listened, his focus entirely on me, making me feel like my rambling explanation was the most important briefing he'd received all week.
"Then I owe her gratitude," he said simply. "Invite her. Friday. I'll make something approachable. We'll show her, not just tell her, that you are safe."
"You really want to do that?" I asked, searching his face.
"I want to know the people who matter to you," he said. "Because you matter to me."
He kissed me, soft and slow. His lips tasted of the crisp, dry Sauvignon Blanc he'd been cooking with. When he pulled back, I felt dizzy.
"Okay," I whispered. "I'll text her."
"Good boy," he murmured, giving my hip a squeeze before turning back to his scallops. "Now, finish those tomatoes. We're on a schedule."
I chuckled and picked up the knife.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, baby?” he asked with a smile, not looking away from the food.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”