Hank surfaced slowly from the depths of sleep, his senses gradually awakening not to the familiar quiet of his expansive apartment, but to the incredibly enticing aroma of sizzling bacon and rich, dark-roast coffee. His stomach gave an immediate, demanding rumble, a stark reminder that his body hadn’t processed a real meal in what felt like days… the aftermath of being drugged and held captive had left him operating purely on adrenaline and nervous energy. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the thin curtains of the unfamiliar bedroom. He sat up, the narrowness of the twin bed a distinct contrast to the king-sized luxury he was becoming accustomed to. Memories of the previous night flooded back… Lisa, fierce and passionate, claiming him with a surprising intensity, her earlier shyness melting away in the heat of their encounter. He could still almost feel the imprint of her body against his, the taste of her on his lips. A low hum, melodic and cheerful, drifted in from the other room. Lisa, cooking breakfast. Hank smirked, leaning back against the simple headboard. The apartment walls were undeniably thin; he had a vivid recollection of the rhythmic creak of the bedsprings and the muffled sounds of their shared pleasure echoing in the small space. He chuckled softly, knowing full well the neighbors likely had a fairly comprehensive audio recording of exactly how thoroughly he’d claimed Lisa the night before.
His gaze fell upon a neat pile of clothes folded carefully on the small wooden chair beside the bed. Fresh jeans, a clean black t-shirt, new boxer shorts. He cocked his head, confused. These weren't the clothes he'd arrived in, the ones still likely carrying the grime of his kidnapping ordeal. "Where the hell did she get that?" he wondered aloud, picking up the t-shirt. He recognized the brand immediately… a high-quality label Constance favored. He smirked again, shaking his head slightly. Of course. Constance’s network, her quiet, efficient way of taking care of things, extended even here.
He glanced at his phone lying on the nightstand. The screen glowed 9:58 AM. Monday. Shit. He sighed, the reality of his responsibilities crashing down. He should have been at the office hours ago. Helena would have arrived by now, likely feeling anxious and adrift on her first day. Corleen, the formidable investment shark, would be expecting her new Director. And Mona… his newly adopted daughter, was starting her first day of 'work,' ready to tackle the world. He swung his legs out of bed and quickly got dressed. The new clothes fit perfectly, a testament to Constance’s uncanny ability to know his size and style.
He exited the bedroom, the delicious smell of breakfast intensifying. He found Lisa in the small kitchenette, humming happily as she expertly flipped bacon in a sizzling pan, dancing lightly on the balls of her feet to a tune only she could hear. She wore simple leggings and a larger than normal t-shirt, the fabric clinging to her petite frame in a way that sent a fresh jolt of desire through him. Hank walked silently up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the clean scent of her hair mingled with the aroma of coffee, and pressed a soft kiss just below her ear. “Good morning,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble.
She leaned back against him with a soft sigh, tilting her head slightly. “Morning,” she whispered back, her voice still carrying a hint of sleepiness and contentment.
“So,” he asked, his lips brushing her skin, “where did this outfit magically appear from?” He gestured down at his clothes.
Lisa smiled, turning slightly in his embrace. “Constance was here a few hours ago,” she explained, her dark eyes sparkling. “Dropped them off. Figured you wouldn’t exactly want to wear the clothes you’d been kidnapped and likely bled in.”
Hank kissed her neck again, harder this time, a wave of profound gratitude washing over him. “I have the absolute best girls in the world,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He spotted the plate of perfectly cooked bacon cooling on the counter and deftly stole a crisp piece, popping it into his mouth.
“Hey!” Lisa scolded playfully, swatting lightly at his hand, though her eyes danced with amusement. “You wait until we sit down.”
He chuckled and released her, moving to sit at the small dining table tucked into the corner of the living area. She poured him a steaming mug of coffee and placed it before him. “Gloria texted me this morning,” she said, anticipating his question. “Black, no sugar.” Hank nodded, deeply appreciating the seamless communication between his women, the way they already seemed to anticipate his needs. Lisa moved to sit down in the chair opposite him, but Hank reached out, grabbing her gently by the waist and pulling her down onto his lap instead. He kissed her soundly, savoring the taste of coffee and lingering passion.
“So,” he asked softly, his arms circling her waist, holding her close, “after last night… you planning on moving in with the rest of us?”
Lisa looked into his eyes, her dark gaze searching his, a flicker of vulnerability beneath the surface. “You really mean it, Hank?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “You want me there? With… everyone?”
He kissed her again, tenderly this time. “Oh yeah, I do,” he confirmed, his voice firm but gentle. “I want you close, Lisa. All the time.”
She laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I like that,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. A small sigh escaped her lips. “My parents might not like it,” she admitted quietly. “They’re very traditional. The idea of… this…”
Hank looked into her eyes again, holding her gaze. “And if they don’t approve, Lisa? What then?” he asked, needing to know her resolve.
She lifted her head, a fierce determination hardening her delicate features. She smirked, a flash of rebellious fire in her eyes. “Then,” she whispered conspiratorially, leaning in close, “they can stay in Asia.”
---
The smooth chime of the elevator announced Hank’s arrival on the sixth floor precisely as the clock on the far wall displayed 12:00 PM. He stepped out, his gaze immediately sweeping across the open-plan office space. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to the near-empty quiet of his early morning arrival. Now, the floor buzzed with a focused energy. Keyboards clicked rhythmically, hushed phone conversations murmured from various cubicles, and the low hum of computers filled the air. A tangible sense of productivity had replaced the lax attitude he’d observed just days before. He allowed himself a small, internal nod of satisfaction; the changes were taking hold.
His eyes instinctively sought out the corner near his office. There, seated side-by-side at a shared workstation, were Mona and Violet. Mona, despite her youth, was leaning intently towards the laptop screen before her, her brow furrowed in concentration, asking a question. Violet, positioned beside her, pointed patiently at something on the monitor, her expression calm and encouraging as she explained a complex investment concept. Hank felt a surge of pride watching them… Mona, his brilliant adopted daughter, already diving headfirst into this new world, and Violet, stepping confidently into her mentorship role, her inherent talent finally being recognized and utilized. He saw Violet glance up briefly, catch his eye, and offer a quick, warm smile before returning her focus to Mona.
Just then, Gloria pushed back from her desk positioned strategically outside Hank's office door. She stood, smoothing down her impeccably neat navy knit dress, and walked towards him, her movement fluid and purposeful. "Afternoon, boss," she greeted, her voice smooth and professional, but her lips were curved into a subtle, knowing smirk. Her dark eyes held a mischievous twinkle; she had definitely noticed Lisa Yu hadn't returned to the office this morning after leaving the casino with Hank the previous night.
Hank met her smirk with one of his own, appreciating her sharp observation and the playful challenge in her gaze. "Coffee?" Gloria asked, gesturing towards the small breakroom nearby, deliberately playing innocent despite knowing full well, thanks to Lisa's earlier text, exactly how he took his coffee.
Hank chuckled softly, a low, amused sound. He decided to deflect playfully. "Water would be great, actually, Gloria. Thank you," he requested, his voice equally smooth. He started walking towards his newly furnished office, pausing at the doorway. "Oh, and Gloria," he added, turning back slightly, his tone shifting to something more significant, "when you bring the water, could you come in for a moment? We need to talk."
Gloria’s smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of professional alertness mixed with, perhaps, a touch of personal curiosity. She nodded crisply. "Of course, Hank," she replied, the use of his first name feeling natural now in their evolving dynamic. She turned and headed towards the breakroom, her efficient steps carrying her quickly out of sight, leaving Hank standing at the threshold of his office, the anticipation of their impending conversation mingling with the quiet satisfaction of a floor finally beginning to operate under his command.
---
Ten minutes, which felt like an agonizing eternity to Gloria, ticked by after she’d gotten Hank’s requested water. She hadn't gone straight back to him with it. Instead, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach, she had detoured quickly to Constance’s office next to his. She needed reassurance. What could the new Director possibly want to talk to her about that required a closed door? Constance had simply smiled, that enigmatic warmth in her eyes, and told her, "Just be yourself, Gloria. Hank isn't mad at you, not in the slightest. He just needs to put something straight between you two." The words, meant to soothe, only partially eased Gloria's apprehension. Finally, taking a deep, steadying breath, she walked back to Hank’s office, her heart pounding a nervous rhythm against her ribs. She hesitated at the door for a full minute, smoothing down her navy dress, composing herself, before rapping softly on the wood.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Come in,” Hank’s voice responded, calm and even. Gloria pushed the door open, stepped inside, and deliberately closed it behind her, the soft click echoing slightly in the spacious office, sealing them in a sudden, almost uncomfortable intimacy. Hank sat behind his large desk, leaning back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Mr. Avery… Hank,” she began, her voice lower than usual, still grappling with the shift in formality he encouraged, “you wanted to talk?”
“Please sit, Gloria,” Hank said, gesturing towards the plush visitor chair opposite him. She sank into it, her hands automatically clasping in her lap. He watched her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Gloria,” he started, his tone professional yet carrying a weight that made her stomach clench, “I am very pleased with everything you do for me, for this office. Your efficiency, your initiative… it’s exceptional.” He paused, letting the praise land before delivering the counterpoint. “But… I think there is a problem.”
Gloria’s breath hitched. Her mind raced. What had she done wrong? Was it the coffee? Did she miss a memo? “Sir… Hank,” she corrected herself quickly, leaning forward slightly, her earlier composure dissolving into anxious urgency. “Whatever it is, whatever you need, I will change, I promise. Please, I… I really like my position here.” Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly.
Hank offered a small, reassuring smirk, noticing her distress. “Relax, Gloria. The problem is not your work. Your work is fantastic.”
She blinked, confused. “Then… what is it? What can I do?” she asked, genuinely bewildered.
Hank leaned forward slightly, his gaze softening but remaining direct. “Be honest with me, Gloria,” he said quietly.
“Mr. Avery… Hank… I have never lied to you,” she protested, confusion mounting.
He nodded slowly. “That is true, you haven’t. But you are withholding something important from me,” he stated gently. She looked utterly lost now, her brow furrowed.
“Gloria…” Hank leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. “Your feelings. You have to be honest about them. With me… and more importantly, with yourself.”
A sharp gasp escaped Gloria’s lips, and a wave of heat flooded her cheeks, staining them crimson. Her eyes widened, darting away from his intense gaze. “But…” she whispered, the protest dying on her lips.
“No buts,” Hank interrupted softly but firmly. “It’s okay, Gloria. Constance knows. Violet knows. Hell,” he added, his lips twitching with amusement, “even Lisa Yu, after only a few days, probably knows.” He saw Bonnie, Violet’s cousin, glance up from her desk outside, catching Gloria’s eye through the glass wall partition. Hank smiled slightly. “And Bonnie definitely knows.”
Gloria risked a glance towards Bonnie. The younger woman offered a small, almost imperceptible nod of encouragement, a shy smile touching her lips before she quickly looked back down at her screen, her own cheeks faintly pink. Gloria couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her, a release of nervous tension. “How did you… how did you know?” she whispered, finally meeting Hank’s gaze again, her own eyes filled with a mixture of embarrassment and reluctant curiosity.
“It’s not just you, Gloria,” Hank said gently. “Bonnie feels the same way.” He saw the truth land in Gloria’s eyes, the realization that her carefully guarded secret wasn’t so secret after all. She looked at him then, a new question forming, the implications of his complex life settling over her. “How many… how many will we be?” she asked, the question barely a breath.
Hank smirked, leaning back again, the intensity lessening slightly. “Honestly? Constance and I were counting last week… maybe fifteen, eventually,” he admitted casually. Gloria gasped again, the number staggering. She knew some of the others… Doria, Kamilla, Michelle, Tiffany, Julie, Courtney, Sandra, Violet, Constance herself… but fifteen?
Hank held up a hand gently. “Listen, Gloria. Be honest… not just with me, but with yourself about what you truly want. Figure it out. And then come back to me when you are ready for that conversation, ready for that choice.” He turned slightly, opening his laptop again, pulling up his email queue, deliberately giving her space, signifying the end of this specific, intense discussion, but not dismissing her.
Gloria stood slowly, her legs feeling a little unsteady. She walked towards the door, then paused, her hand hovering over the handle. She turned back. “Hank…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. He looked up from his screen, his gaze instantly focused, attentive. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she had to know. “Are you… are you wanting it? Me?” she whispered, the question hanging vulnerably in the air.
Hank smiled then, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent a jolt straight through her. The warmth in his eyes was undeniable, the barely concealed desire unmistakable. “Gloria,” he said, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated deep in her chest, “you have absolutely no idea how much.”
She felt her knees go weak, her breath catching in her throat. He did want her. The confirmation, delivered with such quiet intensity, was overwhelming. A slow, tremulous smile spread across her face. She nodded once, unable to speak, then turned quickly and left the office, closing the door softly behind her, her mind reeling, her heart soaring with a terrifying, exhilarating hope.
---
Within the hidden sanctuary, nestled deep beneath the roots of an ancient, impossibly large tree just beyond the San Diego sprawl, the air hummed with a soft, resonant magic. Light filtered down through the interwoven roots above, casting dappled, shifting patterns on the smooth, earth-toned walls of the hollowed-out cave. Maerisa sat perched gracefully on a large, moss-covered tree stump that served as natural furniture, her violet eyes studying the two young women before her with a mixture of ancient wisdom and gentle assessment. Nearby, Shimi, Ami’s younger sister, slept deeply on a bed of soft leaves, exhaustion finally claiming her after their ordeal.
"So now," Maerisa began, her voice a melodic whisper that seemed to harmonize with the cave's quiet energy, "you understand more. You know the truth about Hank, about his destiny. You have glimpsed the world as it truly is… the hidden world of fairies, trolls, gnomes, the realm he is destined to rule as king." She looked pointedly at the ebony girl, whose striking beauty seemed almost defiant even in her worn, borrowed clothes. "Hank does not yet know your names, though he remembers your faces from that night at the casino. I would like him to know who you are, truly. Please, tell me," Maerisa requested, her tone gentle but firm.
The ebony girl offered a wry smirk, a spark of resilience flashing in her dark eyes. "How far back do you want me to go?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her voice. "In my old country, Ghana, my given name was Baako. It means 'First Born'," she explained, a flicker of pride in her heritage momentarily eclipsing the trauma. "When I was brought here, forced to change my identity, I chose Nellie for myself. But those men… the ones you saved us from," her voice hardened, "they called me Diamond. Like I was just… a thing to be owned."
Maerisa nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. "Baako holds the strength of your ancestors. Nellie holds the identity you forged for yourself. Diamond holds the pain inflicted upon you," she observed softly. "It is you, ultimately, who must choose which name defines you now. But I can tell you," she added, her violet eyes meeting Nellie's with a quiet certainty, "Hank will not like Diamond. He sees the person, not the possession."
Nellie considered this, her gaze distant for a moment. She nodded slowly. "I think… I think I like Nellie," she whispered, the name feeling like a reclamation, a step back towards herself. Maerisa smiled and nodded her approval, then turned her attention to the younger Asian girl, Ami, Shimi’s older sister, who huddled beside Nellie, her expression fragile.
"Your sister is Shimi," Maerisa stated gently. Ami nodded, her eyes downcast. "And you? What name do you carry?" Maerisa asked, her voice soft, inviting.
Ami hesitated, twisting her fingers nervously in her lap. "I am Ami… my given name," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "But my family… they told me to change my name. They said I brought shame upon them."
Maerisa leaned forward slightly, her expression softening with empathy. "What did you do, little one, to bring such shame?" she asked gently.
Ami shook her head, tears welling in her dark eyes. "Nothing," she choked out, the word thick with years of pain. "I did nothing wrong. I… I refused to marry an old man. He was powerful, wealthy… and he wanted me. I was only fourteen." Her voice cracked. "When I said no, he threatened my family. He said he would ruin them. Then… then my sister Shimi was born. And he declared she would be his bride, when she came of age. I couldn't let that happen." Her small body shook with remembered terror. "So, I took her. I took my baby sister, and I ran. We travelled for weeks, hiding, starving… until we were found. Not saved… found by men who saw us only as commodities. We were picked up and sold… sold to the monsters you rescued us from." She finally looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Nellie was already there when we arrived."
Nellie looked at Ami in shock, placing a comforting arm around her thin shoulders. "Your family… have you spoken to them since?" Nellie whispered, her own voice thick with disbelief.
Ami shook her head, a single tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "They have cut all ties," she whispered brokenly. "I managed to call them once, after… after the police rescued the other girls from the warehouse. But as soon as my father heard my voice, he hung up. I am… dead to them."
Maerisa reached out, placing a cool, comforting hand on Ami's trembling arm. "You are not dead, little one," she whispered fiercely. "You are a survivor. You saved your sister. And Hank… Hank will protect you both now. You are under his care."
Nellie looked sharply at Maerisa, her earlier defiance returning. "So, what? We have to fuck him now? Is that the price for his protection?" she asked bluntly, suspicion hardening her gaze.
Maerisa shook her head gently, her expression patient. "No, Nellie. Intimacy with Hank is never a requirement. It is always a choice. But know this: if your heart draws you to him, if you choose to accept his feelings for you… he will likely ask you to marry him. You would become his wives, his queens, alongside the other women who have already chosen this path."
Nellie frowned, processing this. "Others?" she asked.
Maerisa nodded. "Yes. Hank, as you now know, is the destined elven king. Ancient prophecy dictates he will have many wives, both human and elven. You could be queens among us, sharing his life, his power, his future. But again," Maerisa emphasized, her gaze sweeping between Nellie and Ami, "it is always, unequivocally, your choice."
Nellie smirked, a flicker of her earlier rebellious spirit returning. "Being a queen sounds… binding," she said thoughtfully. "I think I'd rather just let him fuck me when the mood strikes. I will not be bound to anyone, not even a king."
Maerisa smiled, a hint of sadness touching her ancient eyes. "As I said, Nellie. Your choice is yours alone to make." Just then, the air shimmered near the cave entrance, and Nienna stepped through, her presence calm and purposeful. She smiled warmly at Nellie. "Come with me," Nienna said gently, extending a hand.
Nellie hesitated for only a second, glancing back at Ami, then nodded and stood up, taking Nienna’s offered hand. "You tell Hank… tell him to let me know when he wishes to talk to me," Nellie said to Maerisa, a final flicker of challenge in her eyes.
Maerisa simply nodded, her expression unreadable, watching as Nienna led Nellie towards another shimmering portal. Maerisa knew, with a certainty that ached slightly in her ancient heart, that in just a few minutes Nellie would find herself inexplicably waking up in a comfortable bed in a New York shelter, her memories of elves, magic, and the extraordinary truth about Hank Avery completely, irrevocably, erased. Her choice, made freely, had sealed her fate outside their circle.
