I stared at the glowing numbers on my phone screen, each digit etched into the clean, polished interface of the fantasy football app like a taunt aimed directly at me. The bright white text against the dark background felt sharper than usual, each pixel cutting into me with cruel precision. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat, the rhythmic thud drowning out the faint noise of the game playing on the TV in front of me.

My thumb hovered over the refresh button, trembling slightly as if hitting it again might summon some kind of miracle. But miracles, I was starting to realize, didn’t happen in fantasy football.

“Come on, Jefferson,” I hissed through clenched teeth, my voice barely louder than a whisper. My fingers dug into the sleek edges of my phone, knuckles white and joints locked with tension. “Just one more. One. Goddamn. Touchdown. Please.”

The plea felt hollow, desperate—like throwing a paper airplane into a hurricane and hoping it would land safely. Deep down, somewhere in the pit of my stomach where dread had taken up permanent residence, I already knew the truth. The fantasy scoreboard didn’t lie.

Justin Jefferson—my prized first-round pick, the guy I’d built my entire season around, the supposed “league-winner”—had been little more than a smudge on the stat sheet all game. Four measly catches. Thirty-two pitiful yards. Not a single touchdown. And now, with the game clock bleeding away the final minutes of the fourth quarter, he was standing on the sideline, helmet off, arms crossed, watching the backup players run out the clock.

I exhaled shakily, forcing myself to look away from the screen for just a moment. The TV flickered with the game’s broadcast—a close-up of Jefferson, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as he smirked and casually chatted with a teammate. He wasn’t coming back in. He wasn’t going to save me.

My season wasn’t just over; it had crash-landed in spectacular fashion. Not a slow decline. Not a respectable finish just outside playoff contention. No, this was a fiery, screaming nosedive straight into the bottom of the standings.

What stung the most was how much time I’d invested this year. Hours upon hours spent poring over spreadsheets, studying player rankings, analyzing matchups, and researching injury timelines. I’d listened to podcasts on my commute, consumed endless articles during lunch breaks, and even stayed up late tweaking my draft board. I’d walked into the draft room back in August with the confidence of a Wall Street broker closing a billion-dollar deal. My strategy had been airtight. I wasn’t just prepared—I was over-prepared. Bulletproof.

And yet... here I was. Dead last.

The app refreshed on its own, and the scoreboard flashed again. My opponent’s point total had barely changed; they’d stopped scoring hours ago because they didn’t need to anymore. Meanwhile, my score sat there, stale and pathetic, like a failed science experiment left out in the sun.

I rubbed my face with my free hand, the cold sweat on my forehead sticky against my palm. The numbers glared back at me, unyielding and undeniable.

I had failed.

The humiliation wasn’t just the losing—it was her. Delaney. My bratty, insufferable, smug sister-in-law who somehow turned every interaction into a grating power play. While I had poured hours into mock drafts, analyzed every waiver wire move, and obsessed over every injury report like my life depended on it, Delaney hadn’t even bothered to show up for the draft. She’d let the auto-draft algorithm select her team while she was probably sprawled out on my couch, filing her nails with one hand and scrolling through Instagram with the other, occasionally letting out a bored sigh just to remind everyone how little she cared.

“Football is such a barbaric sport,” she’d said repeatedly throughout the season, usually while lounging barefoot on my couch with her big, obnoxiously dirty feet propped up on my coffee table. Delaney had this ridiculous belief that shoes were somehow “unnatural” and “bad for your feet,” so she almost never wore them—no matter where she was or what she was doing. The result? Her feet were always filthy. Dust and grime clung to her soles, darkening them with every step she took outside.

It drove me insane seeing those dirty, unwashed feet casually resting on my furniture while she sneered down at me. Her toes would flex absently as she scrolled on her phone, leaving faint smudges of dirt behind on the polished wood.

“I don’t understand how grown men obsess over watching other grown men chase a ball. It’s so stupid,” she’d say with that infuriating smirk, her dirty soles practically staring me in the face, as if mocking me directly.

She said it all with that smug, condescending smirk—the one that made me grit my teeth every time. And despite her complete indifference and casual dismissal of the game, she was somehow now perched atop the league standings, comfortably in the championship match.

I tapped over to the championship scoreboard, and my stomach dropped. Delaney was crushing her opponent. It wasn’t even close. Unless some kind of miracle happened in the final minutes, Delaney—Delaney!—was going to win the league.

I slumped back on the couch, letting out a long breath.

If she won, and if I lost...

I didn’t even want to think about it.

The league rule was clear: the winner of the championship got to decide the punishment for the loser. It was tradition—an unspoken agreement among friends and family, built on years of good-natured ribbing. Usually, the punishments were harmless: embarrassing costumes, stupid social media posts, maybe a weekend of yard work for the winner.

But Delaney wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t about “good-natured ribbing.” She wasn’t about harmless jokes or silly stunts. No, Delaney was cruel. She had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, and she wielded both like weapons. There wasn’t a bone in her body that leaned toward mercy, especially not when it came to me. She hated me—or at least, she acted like she did. Every interaction was laced with venom, every smirk a reminder that she relished making me squirm.

And now she was on the verge of winning this stupid league.

Delaney had never come close to winning before—not once in all the years we’d been playing. Every other season, she was near the bottom, making terrible trades, forgetting to set her lineup, rolling her eyes whenever someone tried to explain football strategy to her. She’d even auto-drafted her team this year, letting a damn algorithm do all the work while she sat there twirling her hair and complaining about how “barbaric” football was.

But this year—the one year I came in last—she was somehow crushing it. It was absolute bullshit.

And now, as I sat there staring at my screen, I could practically feel her plotting already. I knew her. She wasn’t just thinking about punishing me; she was thinking about breaking me. She’d be sitting there, smirking to herself, probably barefoot on her couch, tapping one of her perfectly manicured toes against the remote as she dreamt up something twisted.

She wasn’t going to settle for something harmless or funny. No, Delaney was going to savor this. She was going to make sure my punishment was personal.

I could already see it in her cruel blue eyes, that delighted sparkle she got when she knew she had someone cornered.

My chest tightened, and I quickly checked my matchup again. No change. Jefferson was still sitting at four catches. The game clock was ticking down.

I flipped back to the championship screen. Delaney’s lead was only growing.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, running a hand down my face.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t how this season was supposed to end.

But as the final seconds ticked away on both games, it hit me like a freight train: I wasn’t just going to lose.

Delaney was going to win.

And soon, my bitchy, domineering sister-in-law was going to have free reign to decide my punishment.

And knowing Delaney...

It was going to be bad.

Really, really bad.

I set the phone down and buried my face in my hands, trying to suppress the sinking feeling in my stomach. The season wasn’t officially over yet—but it might as well have been.

Because this wasn’t just about football anymore.

The road stretched out in front of us, endless and gray under the overcast sky. Raindrops scattered on the windshield like tiny glass beads, and the hum of the tires on the wet asphalt filled the silence in the car. Alexis was at the wheel, one hand resting lightly at twelve o’clock, her eyes focused on the road ahead.

I stared out the window, watching the world blur by, but my mind wasn’t on the passing scenery. It wasn’t even on Alexis, despite how effortlessly beautiful she looked in the soft morning light, her blonde hair cascading gently over her shoulders.

No, my mind was trapped in a loop—one singular, consuming thought spinning on repeat.

What is she going to do to me?

Delaney had decided—out of the blue, as Alexis had said—to host tonight’s family dinner. She didn’t cook, she didn’t clean, and she didn’t particularly care for playing hostess. The only reason she’d taken the reins for tonight was because she wanted an audience when she revealed my punishment.

And God help me, she was going to savor every second of it.

“You’ve been quiet,” Alexis said softly, breaking the silence.

I didn’t respond immediately. I couldn’t. The knot in my stomach was so tight it felt like it might cut off my air supply.

“Chase,” she said again, glancing over briefly before focusing back on the road. “Are you really that nervous about tonight?”

I let out a slow breath and leaned my head against the window. “You don’t get it, Lex. This isn’t just about losing a bet. This is Delaney we’re talking about.”

Alexis sighed, her fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “I know she can be... intense sometimes. But it’s just a punishment for coming in last place. It can’t be that bad.”

I turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. “Can’t be that bad? Alexis, we’re talking about a woman who once made me clean her muddy shoes with a toothbrush because I accidentally parked too close to her car. And she wasn’t even in a position of power then. Now she’s got the whole family backing her because of league rules.”

Alexis opened her mouth as if to respond but stopped herself.

I sighed, rubbing my face. “It’s not going to be something simple. Like, she’s not going to make me wear a silly costume to the mall or wash her car in a Speedo or something dumb like that.”

My mind started conjuring potential scenarios.

• Maybe she’d make me serve her drinks for the evening in some kind of ridiculous butler outfit.

• Maybe she’d make me clean her entire house, top to bottom, while she lounged around and barked orders at me.

But even as those ideas formed, I could already hear her laugh in my head, that sharp, biting sound that always made my skin crawl. No, those were too mild. Too... normal.

Delaney wouldn’t settle for something like that.

No, whatever she had planned was going to be far more personal. Far more targeted.

My stomach twisted again as the dread set in, cold and heavy.

Alexis glanced over at me again and then sighed. “Look, Chase… I—I know what the punishment is.”

My head snapped toward her so fast my neck cracked. “You know?!”

She winced slightly, keeping her eyes on the road. “Delaney told me yesterday. She wanted to run it by me first, make sure I was okay with it before she went through with it.”

“And... you cleared it?” My voice cracked slightly at the end, my throat dry.

Alexis hesitated, her grip on the wheel tightening. “Yeah… I cleared it.”

That single sentence hit me like a freight train. Alexis wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t sadistic. If she had cleared whatever nightmare Delaney was cooking up, then it couldn’t be that bad… right?

But no. Alexis was also kind. Gentle. Sweet. She’d been able to stomach Delaney’s plan not because it wasn’t bad—but because Alexis didn’t have that same cruel edge to fully see how bad it was going to be for me.

“Lex,” I said softly, trying not to let the panic creep into my voice. “You’ve got to tell me. Please. Just—just give me something. A hint. Anything.”

She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t, Chase. Delaney made me promise I wouldn’t say a word. She wants to be the one to tell you.”

I slumped back in my seat, staring at the ceiling of the car as if it held answers to my predicament.

I could already see it: Delaney sitting at the head of the dinner table, a wine glass in one hand, her feet kicked up on a chair with all the casual arrogance of a queen on her throne. She’d draw out the suspense, make sure everyone was watching before she finally dropped the hammer.

And I would just sit there, powerless, waiting for the sword to fall.

“Can you at least tell me one thing?” I asked, my voice low. “Is it... humiliating?”

Alexis hesitated. That half-second of hesitation told me everything.

I closed my eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

The rest of the drive was silent. Alexis didn’t press me to talk, and I couldn’t even begin to form words. The weight of anticipation sat heavy on my chest, suffocating.

By the time we pulled up to Delaney’s house, the sun was setting behind the clouds, casting everything in a dull orange glow.

The front door was already open, and I could see Delaney through the window, glass of wine in hand, her smirk practically glowing in the dim light.

The dining room buzzed with conversation and the clinking of silverware against porcelain plates. Warm light from the chandelier above cast a golden hue over the table, where everyone seemed relaxed, cheerful, and completely at ease. Everyone except me.

I sat frozen in my chair, my plate barely touched, as I pushed a few green beans around with my fork. My stomach was tied in knots, each bite of food feeling like it would turn to cement in my throat. Across the table, Grace laughed softly at something Sam had said, her elegant features illuminated by the flickering candlelight. Alexis sat beside me, occasionally glancing over with a worried look, but she didn’t say anything.

But none of them mattered. Not really. Because at the head of the table, lounging in her chair with casual authority, was her.

Delaney.

Her brunette hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, accentuating the sharp angles of her face and drawing attention to those icy blue eyes. She was wearing a sunflower romper, the top half sleeveless and snug against her toned shoulders. Her bare arms rested lazily on the armrests of her chair, one hand holding her wine glass while her other tapped an idle rhythm against the polished wood.

But it wasn’t the outfit or her posture that held me captive—it was the look in her eyes.

That smirk. That cruel, knowing smirk.

Every time our eyes met, even for a fraction of a second, it felt like she was staring directly into my soul, dissecting me with that piercing gaze. She’d arch one perfectly plucked eyebrow and tilt her wine glass slightly, like she was already toasting to whatever torment she had planned for me.

And I couldn’t look away fast enough.

I stabbed my green beans again, not really aiming for anything, just needing something to do with my hands. I could hear the conversation around me—Grace talking about some charity event she was planning, Sam sharing a story about his latest trip out of town—but it all felt distant, muffled, like I was underwater.

The only thing clear in my world was Delaney’s smirk.

“You’re quiet tonight, Chase.”

Her voice cut through the chatter like a razor blade, and I froze mid-motion, my fork hovering above my plate. Every head at the table turned toward me.

Delaney tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening just enough to make my stomach churn. “You’re not usually one to pass up dinner. Is everything alright?”

Her voice was dripping with mock concern, her eyes glinting with amusement as she stared me down.

I swallowed hard, forcing a weak smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… not that hungry, I guess.”

“Not hungry?” Delaney said, feigning surprise as she leaned back in her chair. “That doesn’t sound like the confident Chase I know.”

Alexis spoke up softly, placing her hand on my arm. “He’s just a little tired, Delaney. Long day, you know how it is.”

Delaney’s smirk didn’t waver as she swirled her wine glass, her eyes never leaving mine. “Oh, I’m sure he’s just dreading something. Isn’t that right, Chase?”

My mouth went dry, and I could feel every pair of eyes at the table on me. Grace and Sam exchanged confused glances, and Alexis gave Delaney a quick look of warning, but it did nothing to deter her.

“Don’t worry,” Delaney said lightly, her smile sharp as glass. “We’ll be getting to the main event soon enough. No need to rush through dinner.”

She took a long sip from her wine glass, her lips curling around the rim, her eyes locked on mine the entire time.

I gripped my fork so tightly my knuckles turned white.

There was no escape from this.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t talk. I could barely breathe.

Delaney knew exactly what she was doing, and she was savoring every second of it.

The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice—at least, not in the way I did. Grace and Sam had gone back to their conversation, and Alexis was focused on her plate, avoiding my gaze entirely.

But Delaney… she never looked away.

Every glance, every smirk, every sip of wine—it all felt like she was tightening a noose around my neck.

My mind raced with possibilities, trying to predict what she had in store for me. Would it be something public? Something private? Would it be humiliating? Would it be… permanent?

Every idea that crossed my mind felt too mild, too soft, too reasonable.

No, whatever Delaney had planned was going to be worse. So much worse.

I forced myself to take a sip of water, my hands trembling as I set the glass back down.

The sound of clinking silverware and idle conversation hammered against my eardrums like an unrelenting drumbeat. Every soft laugh, every scrape of a fork against porcelain felt amplified, sharp, and cruel. It was like nails on a chalkboard, each sound scratching deeper into my already frayed nerves. The warm glow of the chandelier above the dining table felt suffocating, the flicker of candlelight casting faint shadows across faces that seemed blissfully unaware of the silent war raging inside me.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Every second felt stretched thin, pulled taut like a wire about to snap. At the head of the table, lounging back in her chair like she was holding court, Delaney swirled her wine glass lazily. Her ice-blue eyes flicked toward me every so often, sharp and predatory, her smirk carving lines of smug amusement across her face. She wasn’t just enjoying my discomfort—she was reveling in it, sipping her wine with the casual arrogance of someone who already knew the outcome of the game.

Her brunette hair was tied back into a ponytail, exposing the delicate curve of her neck and the sharp angles of her jaw. The sunflower romper she wore clung to her frame, its vibrant yellow completely at odds with the cruel intent glinting in her eyes.

She knew. She knew I was unraveling, and she was savoring every damn second of it.

The knot in my stomach tightened until it felt like barbed wire had coiled itself around my insides. My food sat untouched, a congealing mess of vegetables and meat on my plate, but eating was the furthest thing from my mind. My fork twitched in my grip as I stabbed at a green bean for the hundredth time, pretending like I could just fade into the background.

But I couldn’t. Not with her watching me.

Finally, something inside me snapped.

The fork slipped from my fingers and clattered against the plate with a sharp clink that cut through the din of conversation like a gunshot. I pushed my chair back slightly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor with a groan that seemed impossibly loud.

Everyone turned to look at me.

Grace froze mid-sentence, her wine glass halfway to her lips. Sam’s fork hung suspended in the air, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Alexis flinched beside me, her hand instinctively reaching out to touch my arm in a silent plea for calm.

But I couldn’t stop.

I turned my gaze directly toward Delaney. My chest felt tight, my breaths shallow and rapid as my frustration boiled over into my voice.

“Delaney,” I said, louder than I’d intended, my voice trembling as I tried to hold steady under her icy stare. “Can we just… can we please get this over with? You’ve been smirking at me all night, and I can’t sit here pretending to eat while you—while you toy with me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

The dining room fell utterly silent. The ambient hum of conversation, the faint clink of glasses—everything just… stopped.

Grace’s perfectly manicured eyebrows lifted slightly, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Sam glanced nervously between me and Delaney, as though trying to gauge whether this was about to turn into something ugly.

Alexis let out a soft sigh beside me, her fingers tightening slightly around my forearm. “Chase, please…” she murmured under her breath, but her voice barely registered.

Because Delaney…

Delaney just grinned.

The corner of her mouth curled upward into a slow, deliberate smile as she leaned back in her chair. Her wine glass dangled lightly from her slender fingers, the deep red liquid swirling gently as she tilted it just so.

Her eyes never left mine.

Her smirk spread wider, like a blade sliding out of its sheath, glinting cold and sharp in the candlelight.

“Oh my God, Chase,” she said, her voice dripping with mock amusement. “Are you seriously this scared? Look at you—you’re shaking.”

I felt heat rise to my face as her words sliced through me.

“Did you really think I was going to let you sit there and stew all night without enjoying it first? Come on, this is the fun part!” She let out a soft, cruel laugh and leaned forward slightly, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hand, her wine glass still clutched casually between her fingers.

“Honestly, you’re making it even better by being so nervous. It’s adorable.”

Her grin widened, and she tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, her eyes still locked onto mine like a predator sizing up its prey.

The others shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, and Alexis gave me a pleading look that practically begged me to let it drop.

But I couldn’t.

Not when Delaney was sitting there, staring at me like this was all some grand joke and I was the punchline.

I could feel the sweat beading on the back of my neck, my pulse pounding in my ears as the weight of her gaze pressed down on me.

Delaney’s smirk remained unshaken as she brought her wine glass up to her lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down on the table with a faint clink.

She leaned back again, her fingers tapping lightly against the stem of the glass, her smirk never fading.

“But you’re right, Chase. Why drag this out, hmm?” she said sweetly, her voice lilting like she was talking to a child. “If you’re so desperate to know… I suppose I can give you a little preview.”

My stomach dropped.

Her smirk sharpened, her icy blue eyes flashing with wicked delight.

I could feel it in the air—the shift in the atmosphere, the anticipation building like a stormcloud ready to burst.

Delaney’s smirk sharpened into something almost predatory as she reached down, her slender fingers disappearing into the pocket of her sunflower romper. With a practiced ease, she retrieved a small, rectangular business card and held it delicately between her thumb and index finger, the glossy surface catching the warm glow of the chandelier above.

For a moment, she held it there, suspended in the air like a dealer about to flip a card in a high-stakes poker game. Her eyes—those piercing, icy blue eyes—locked onto mine, her smirk twitching into something crueler, sharper.

Then, with a flick of her wrist and an almost theatrical flourish, she tossed the card across the table. It spun mid-air, flipping twice before landing silently in front of my plate.

It was white and glossy, the kind of card you’d expect to see handed over in a corporate boardroom—clean, professional, almost sterile. But the bold black text emblazoned across the center stopped me cold:

subbyloser.com

The font was thick and blocky, impossible to ignore, and below it was a cartoon image that made my stomach turn.

It was a tiny, bug-eyed man wearing nothing but a leash and collar, his exaggerated, horrified expression frozen in place as a towering, curvy cartoon woman in skin-tight dominatrix gear tugged him forward with an amused smile. Her cartoonish heels loomed ominously next to his shrunken figure, and the leash stretched taut in her gloved hand.

The image was absurd, almost comical in its exaggerated style, but there was something deeply unsettling about it. The gleam in the cartoon woman’s eyes, the helplessness etched into the tiny man’s face—it hit far too close to home.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as I reached out and gingerly pinched the edges of the card between my thumb and forefinger, holding it away from me like it might burst into flames or sink its teeth into my skin.

“What… what the hell is this?” I croaked, my voice cracking as I stared at the bold letters and mocking cartoon.

Delaney leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she folded her hands under her chin. The light from above caught the sharp angles of her face, and her smile stretched wide, almost splitting her face in two.

Her blue eyes locked onto mine, cold and unblinking, as if she were savoring every delicious second of my confusion and dread.

“Oh, Chase,” Delaney purred, her lips curling into a wicked smirk as she leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped on her palm. Her blue eyes gleamed with predatory delight. “Let me spell it out for you since you look so fucking clueless right now. There’s this service, you see—a very special little corner of the internet tailored for men like you. Pathetic, spineless, subby little losers who get off on handing over every last shred of control to a woman who knows how to use it.”

Her words dripped with venom, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood. My stomach knotted as her grin widened.

“These guys—they’re not just submissive, Chase. They’re total fucking doormats. Losers with no pride, no backbone, who actually pay money to be stripped down, shrunk, and handed over to a Dom who’ll do… well, whatever the fuck she wants with them.”

She paused, savoring the moment, her manicured nails tapping slowly against her wine glass. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“And the best part?” she continued, her voice dropping into a mocking sing-song tone. “The Dom gets a remote control. A cute little toy with all these fun buttons. Oh, Chase, you wouldn’t believe the shit you can do with this thing.”

She started counting on her slender fingers, her grin sharp enough to slice through steel.

“They can shrink you down to the size of a fucking bug or blow you back up whenever they feel like it. They can crank your senses up to eleven, make you feel every goddamn breath of air like a hurricane, every little pinch or tap like you’ve been hit by a truck. Or they can just—click!—turn them off, leave you deaf, blind, numb… just a little doll for them to play with.”

She laughed sharply, the sound slicing through the silence like broken glass.

“And your durability? Oh, honey, they can make you indestructible. Go ahead, drop you from a rooftop, throw you in a blender, or—my favorite—just squish you underfoot.” She mimed stomping something under her hand, her smile turning wicked. “And if they do break you? Well, no problem! Just hit the reset button and poof—you’re back in one piece, ready for round two.”

Her eyes were locked onto mine, unblinking, unrelenting.

“Oh, and here’s the kicker,” she said, her voice softening to a condescending purr. “They can even fuck with your libido. Like flipping a fucking light switch—on, off, on again. Make you desperate, make you beg, and then leave you hanging until you’re ready to claw your own skin off. Honestly, Chase, it’s adorable how far men like you will sink when they’re… motivated.”

The blood drained from my face, and my hands shook slightly as they gripped the edges of the table.

“And if all that wasn’t enough,” Delaney continued, her voice rising with mock enthusiasm, “they can even bring you back from the dead. Yeah, that’s right, Chase! In case some accident happens—oops!” She made a squishing sound with her mouth, miming an exaggerated stomp. “No worries, because one press of a button, and you’re back! Good as new. Isn’t technology amazing?”

Her cruel laughter rang in my ears, bouncing around in my skull like an echo I couldn’t escape.

“No… no way,” I muttered, shaking my head as icy dread crawled through my veins. “That’s not… that’s not real. That’s impossible.”

But the way she looked at me—the way her smirk stretched across her face like she was savoring every second of my horror—I knew, deep down, that it was real.

Delaney’s grin sharpened into something almost predatory, her teeth glinting like a wolf about to devour its prey. “Oh, it’s very real, Chase,” she purred, her voice dripping with venomous delight. “And here’s the best part—your punishment, the one I’ve been itching to announce all night? You’re going to sign up for this service. Oh, and spoiler alert? You’re going to hate every single fucking second of it.”

My stomach plummeted, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

“No…” I muttered, barely able to get the word out. My throat felt like sandpaper, my chest tight with panic.

“Yes,” she shot back, her tone gleefully merciless, her grin unwavering. “You’re damn right you are. You’re going to sign up, and you’re going to be mine. For the next eight months—eight fucking months—until next year’s draft, you’re going to be my tiny, pathetic little slave. You’ll follow my rules, do exactly what I tell you, and if you think for one goddamn second I’m going to go easy on you, then you’re even dumber than I thought.”

Her words hit me like a freight train, each one sinking deeper into my gut. My hands trembled as I struggled to comprehend the sheer magnitude of what she was saying.

“Alexis…” I croaked, turning to my wife, my last hope, my lifeline. “You—you agreed to this? You let her—”

Alexis hesitated, her face pale as she stared down at the table. Her voice wavered, barely audible. “It’s… it’s the league rules, Chase. You can’t back out. Not now. It’s not just because it’s Delaney. You have to go through with it.”

My stomach twisted into a knot, the weight of betrayal crashing down on me.

Delaney let out a laugh—a sharp, cruel sound that cut through the air like a whip. “Oh, wow. Listen to her try to sugarcoat it for you.” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her eyes blazing with sadistic glee. “Let’s get one thing straight, Chase. This isn’t some harmless little joke. This isn’t some bullshit where you wear a funny outfit or post something embarrassing online. This is going to be hell for you, and I am going to enjoy every second of it.”

Her laugh turned darker, more sinister, as she raised her wine glass in a mocking toast. “Here’s to eight months of pure fucking misery for you, Chase. Cheers.”

The air in the room grew thick, suffocating, as I stared at her, frozen in my seat. Her words wrapped around my throat like a noose, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

All I could hear was her laughter and the faint sound of Alexis whispering, “I’m sorry.” But even that was drowned out by the cruel, unforgiving reality that Delaney’s punishment was going to be far worse than anything I’d ever imagined.