My Mafia Dominant Is Back

"Bend over."

The man's voice echoed behind her, magnetic and irresistible.

Lyla Sinclair trembled, feeling the coarse texture of the small leather whip grazing across her hips, again and again, each stroke both a threat and a tease.

She instinctively leaned forward, her hands pressed against the couch. Her underwear and skirt had somehow been removed, leaving her in a shameful, exposed position.

The man's broad hand caressed her buttocks, gently patting her as if calming a prized mare, a mix of punishment and reward.

In this intoxicating caress, Lyla gradually abandoned her shame. Summoning her courage, she leaned back and, with a trembling voice, said, "Let me see you."

The next second, the whip landed hard on her skin, making her gasp in pain.

"Watch your tone," the man said coolly, "What should you call me?"

The pain sharpened her mind. Lyla knew the rules of this game well-she should address him as Master. But her innate pride and shame kept her from uttering the word.

The whip lingered on her skin, tracing the fresh welt, the slight sting making her skin tighten.

"My patience is limited," the man spoke again. "Do you want me to s*pank you in front of all your students?"

Lyla's body tensed, the intense shame making her bolt upright, shouting, "No!"

The alarm clock rang mercilessly, waking Lyla from her nightmare.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't a nightmare, but rather an extension of her innermost desires. As a psychology-majored master and now a lecturer at Westhaven College, Lyla was well aware of this.

That man, buried deep in her heart, was a secret she felt ashamed of-a man who only appeared in her dreams, yet had become her most unmentionable obsession over the past three years.

She picked up her phone to silence the alarm, and suddenly a message popped up on the screen, "Are you on your way? I brought you breakfast." It was from Lucas.

"Crap." Lyla muttered, realizing she'd almost forgotten about an important department meeting at the college today.

A mysterious benefactor had donated a building to Westhaven College's Psychology Department, and today was the day to finalize the design plans. The Dean of Psychology Department encouraged all faculty to attend and share their opinions.

As an unassuming lecturer, Lyla wouldn't normally attend such meetings, since her opinions didn't carry much weight. But she was determined to apply for an assistant professorship and wanted to make an impression on the Dean and the review committee, so she had RSVP'd for the meeting.

Dragging her aching body out of bed, she quickly fixed her hair and makeup before heading out.

The Monday morning rush hour was a disaster, and by the time Lyla arrived at the meeting, the contractor's presentation had already gone through three slides.

Thankfully, the meeting was open, with around a dozen people in attendance. Lyla slipped in through the back door, found a seat, and sat down. The man next to her slid a cup of coffee and a paper bag with a croissant toward her.

"I knew you'd be late, so I grabbed a seat at the back," Lucas whispered with a gentle smile.

Lyla smiled awkwardly. She wanted to refuse, but the allure of the first coffee of the day was too great, and she wasn't sure she could get through the meeting without it. So she took the cup and took a big sip. "Thanks, I'll pay you back for breakfast later."

"Just take me to a movie," Lucas whispered, leaning in closer.

Lyla smiled again but didn't respond, focusing on her croissant instead.

She knew Lucas liked her.

As the youngest assistant professor in Psychology Department, Lucas had a stellar reputation in both academic and professional circles. Besides his academic talents, he was incredibly handsome, with striking red hair, a legacy of his Irish heritage, and a gentle demeanor.

He was a true gentleman, always respecting Lyla's wishes and maintaining a careful distance. He brought her medicine when she was sick, brought her breakfast when she was late, and was a great help with her application for assistant professor."

But Lyla always felt something was missing between them. Even though they had done most things that couples do, aside from sleeping together, their relationship remained in the limbo between friends and colleagues.

Gentleness. That was it! Gentleness.

Despite the shame Lyla felt for her dream self, she had to admit that a gentleman held no attraction for her.

In the most naïve and yearning years of her life, a man with his whip and rope had barged into her heart with conquest and desire, in a way she had never expected, and had since remained there.

The sound of applause brought Lyla back to reality. The presentation seemed to be wrapping up.

The presenter, sent by the contractor, made an exaggerated gesture to halt the applause. With a mysterious smile, he pointed to the remote in his hand. "Finally, the mysterious benefactor wishes to reveal the name of the building at the end of this meeting. He wants it to be named -- 'Nicola Selene.'"

He pressed the remote, and the name Nicola Selene appeared on the screen.

In that instant, Lyla's hand froze around her coffee cup, a storm brewing inside her.

The faculty in the room began murmuring, all speculating about who Nicola Selene could be.

"There's no information about her online."

"Sounds like a screen name."

"This building is worth a hundred million-what kind of significant person would warrant such an expense?"

Lyla could no longer hear any of the voices around her. Her world had gone silent, as if she could only hear the sound of a whip cutting through the air.

No one would know who Nicola Selene was, because that name belonged to Lyla Sinclair. It was tied to the shameful and indulgent secret she kept buried deep inside.

After the meeting, Lyla ignored Lucas calling after her, leaving her bag behind as she rushed toward the presenter.

"Who's the benefactor? Can you tell me?" she asked, with an urgent voice .

The presenter looked her up and down, seeing her as an insignificant faculty member, and replied impatiently, "I told you, it's a mysterious benefactor. Even I don't know who he is."

"Then who contacted you? Someone as wealthy as him must have assistants or secretaries. Do you have their contact information?"

"Sorry, ma'am, I can't help you." The presenter quickly packed up his laptop, turning to leave the room as if to escape.

But Lyla wasn't about to give up. She knew the college's' donation office would have a way to contact him. No matter what it took, she had to find out who this person was and why he had disappeared so suddenly all those years ago.

Just as she stepped out of the building, the Dean called out to her.

"Lyla," he said, looking at her with a peculiar expression before pulling out a sticky note from his pocket. "This morning, I got a call from the benefactor's office. They said that if no one inquired about his identity after the donation plan was finalized, his identity would remain a secret forever."

Lyla's heart started pounding wildly, and she interrupted him, asking urgently, "What if someone asks and won't stop until she gets an answer?"

The Dean''s expression grew even stranger, as if he had stumbled upon a juicy piece of gossip.

"He said that if a woman inquires and is the type who won't rest until she gets an answer, she shall have this number."

With a hint of a smile, he handed the sticky note to Lyla. She snatched it, not even looking at it before clutching it tightly in her hand, as if she were holding onto a shameful secret. A blush spread from her cheeks to her neck.

"Thanks," she muttered, ignoring the Dean's gaze as she rushed to her office.

It wasn't until she leaned against the leather chair in her office that she let out a breath, trying to steady her racing heart. After regaining some composure, she opened her hand.

The paper was crumpled from her grip, but on it was a string of unfamiliar numbers.

With trembling fingers, she dialed the number on her phone.

"Hello, who is this?"

A familiar voice came through the phone, but Lyla froze, a sharp pang of disappointment in her chest. She didn't speak, the phone growing warm in her hand.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end repeated. "Ms. Sinclair?"

"Yes, it's me." Lyla snapped out of her daze, taking a deep breath. "Has he... come back?"

"Yes, Ms. Sinclair, he has returned."

Even though she had braced herself for this moment, Lyla couldn't stop the tears that silently filled her eyes.

Her mind drifted back to that night three years ago.