My phone buzzes. Not the phone I use to contact Madrigal. The other phone. The one that you don’t want to ever go off.

It’s never a call, only ever a text. That doesn’t mean I can ignore it. It just means I have a few minutes of plausible deniability.

I look over at Madrigal, still fast asleep.

Shit.

I fucked up last night. I slipped up. Bad. It felt like I was drunk, or worse. I was drunk on her. I let the pretense of us being on a real date justify my own emotions and feelings toward her coming out real and unshrouded. I told her exactly how I felt in a moment of passion.

I told her I loved her.

And she prompted it, didn’t she?

But that’s not allowed. It’s bad enough if she told me to say it. That’s an immediate breach of contract. The fact that I said it though is... it’s my ass. I’m finished.

I unlock the drawer with the phone and slide it open. I look at it like it’s a snake ready to bite me, but I swallow my fear and pick the damn thing up anyway.

I look at the screen.

“You have an appointment with the master at eight. Tonight.”

“Fuck,” I whisper.

With the master himself? That means... it means I need to book a flight. It means…

It could mean a number of things. The worst case is they recall me—forbid me from coming back to Madrigal, from so much as speaking to her.

I remember the feeling of my balls draining so deep into her. I felt the way her body moved, and I know her block is cleared. My sperm is probably doing work on her right now. The chances of her becoming pregnant are incredibly high.

What if…

I shake my head. There’s no way out of this. I have to come when the master calls me.

I look around with sudden shock. I don’t see any cameras or microphones, but…

Jesus.

I force myself to go stone-faced, and I realize it’s best to not even wake Madrigal. I’ll have to leave her like this, alone, with my seed still inside her. If I tell her that I might not be back, or so much as leave her a note, it could make things infinitely worse.

He could have me killed. Not legally, of course, but if he wanted it done, it would happen.

The real problem is Madrigal and any potential child. I try not to even think about that.

I tip-toe out of the bedroom, take a long hard look out the window, and then I call an Uber to take me to the airport.

Forgive me, Madrigal.

* * *

I arrive at the master’s house at a quarter to eight. I feel slightly jet-lagged from going coast-to-coast, but at least the time difference bought me more time.

Though it feels like he gave me the extra time just to make me stew. He gave me just enough time between his text and the meeting time that I had ample time to over-think the situation and every possible outcome.

It could be a regular check-up. It’s my first assignment, and he wants to see how I’m doing. It could be that. It’s unlikely though, considering he contacted me the morning after I totally fucked up.

I get out of the cab at his gate and ring the bell.

The gate opens after a few moments, and I walk down the long driveway as the sun sets behind me.

When I reach the door, his butler opens it without me having to knock.

“Mr. Dominick,” he says.

I nod to him. “Enrico.”

“You can wait in the drawing room, he’ll call you in. Would you like a drink?”

“No, I’m fine.”

I could use a stiff drink, but I don’t want the master to read into that. Getting a drink would mean I need a drink, and it could make me look suspicious to him. There’s a slim chance he’s not sure that I’m off the rails, and I don’t want to do anything that could lead him to the conclusion that I—or Madrigal—breached the contract.

I sit down in the drawing room, and Enrico walks off to do whatever the hell it is he does. The drawing room is overly elegant: decorated in antique wood furniture, all hand-carved, and dominated by an ornate grandfather clock that is likely worth more than most peoples’ houses.

I watch the clock out of the corner of my eye, the master steps in just before the clock strikes eight.

“Dominick,” he says, looking down at me.

He’s a tall, broad-shouldered man. He’s pushing sixty-years-old, but he’s in shape and he could easily pass for forty-five. His silver-grey hair is peppered with black, but his face is so strong-featured that the grey hair only makes him look more dashing and refined.

I stand up and extend my hand. He takes my hand and we both squeeze as hard as we can. Neither of us blinks even as we crush each other's’ hands. We let go, and he nods for me to follow.

He leads me to his office, and he gestures for me to sit down at a couch in the center of his office. There’s a small, ornately decorated wooden and gold-trimmed coffee table in front of me. The Master sits opposite me in a high-backed, throne-like chair.

He crosses his legs, strokes his grey stubble, and looks down his nose at me for a long time.

I know better than to risk speaking first.

After an excruciating period of time, he finally just says, “So tell me about your first assignment thus far.”

I saw this coming, but it was in my “worst-case scenario” mental folder. If he knows we’ve both breached contract, it’s best for me that he simply tells me that up front. I can immediately show remorse and ask for a second chance. I can at least ask for mercy on Madrigal’s behalf.

This open-ended “tell me about” is the master giving me rope to hang myself with.

I at least know better than to ask him to specify. I’ll have to give an answer and just navigate the minefield as I go.

“I feel it’s going well,” I say. “She was blocked tight when I first met her. It was bad enough that I considered walking away. She wasn’t being obedient at first, and I got the impression she would be unwilling to work with me and have the right attitude to get things done.”

He watches me with a blank expression. His eyes reveal nothing, and not a muscle on his face so much as twitches. Dammit.

“I presented her a difficult first task. I felt that if she turned it down, she wasn't serious and was wasting our time. She passed, obviously, or I wouldn’t be sitting here telling you things were going well. I pinpointed shame as a key aspect of her block, and I was able to clear it through a surprise voyeur session, as well as—”

“Stop,” he says, holding up a hand.

“Fast forward,” he says, a serious edge in his voice.

I swallow, and my Adam’s apple bulges conspicuously. “I saved myself for over a week, cleared the block, and put the week’s worth of sperm inside her.”

“You think she’s pregnant?” he asks.

I consider—briefly—lying to him. Saying I don’t really know. I decide it’s not worth risking a lie, so I simply nod to him.

“I see,” he says. “Since you’re in breach of contract, Dominick, I’ll hold you here until we get confirmation. If you’re wrong and she’s not pregnant, we’ll take the payment she’s given us and I’ll send you through re-education.”

I feel my heart pounding. My face burns red with rage.

“If she is pregnant,” he says. “I’ll bear down on her with the full fury of the contract.”

I clench my teeth, and my jaw juts out.

He shakes his head. “Dominick, you didn’t even ask what would happen to you if she’s pregnant? Are you so far gone you care only about her? Luckily, I value you greatly. You’ve shown incredible potential, and that heart of gold is just what we need. It’s not been restrained enough. You’ll have to be punished severely, but if we can get you to do what you did for Madrigal without losing it at the critical moment, you’ll be one of our most valuable employees—if not my successor.”

“Am I dismissed?” I ask.

He waves a hand. “Enrico will show you to your quarters.”