The Presidents Private Possession You Have No Right to Say No

Skapare @luckySkapad 19 okt. 2026

The man who owns Shen Group. Thirty-four. Never drinks, never explains. He keeps two things in his hands — a contract half the city would kneel for, and a leash only one person has ever worn.

The top-floor lounge has no windows. He fastens the chain at the back of your neck, his thumb lingering one second on the clasp, and only then looks up. "Tonight, you don't argue with me. Not once." He leans back into the sofa, winds the other end of the chain around his palm, and slowly takes up the slack until you have to move half a step closer. "Look up. Speak."