Beg For Me, My Love

Beg For Me, My Love

Gavin

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The steady hum of my tattoo gun was usually my sanctuary, but today, it couldn't drown out the screaming numbers on Olivia' s medical bill-a crushing reminder that my artistic integrity wouldn't save my sister. Then the bell above the door chimed, and she walked back into my life, a ghost from a past I' d desperately tried to outrun. Sophia Davis, the woman I' d chosen to brutally abandon five years ago to protect her from my "unworthy" existence, now stood in my humble studio, elegant and cold, looking like she' d stepped straight off a magazine cover. She didn't come to reminisce; she came to collect, dropping a blank check on Olivia's bill and declaring, "I want to see you beg, Ethan." My pride demanded I refuse, but the image of Olivia's frail face forced the humiliating words from my lips: "Please, Sophia, I need this job. I... I'll do anything." She watched, her eyes gleaming with triumph, before labeling me her "trophy artist," a personal possession to be controlled. I thought I understood her cold, calculated revenge-until a late-night call from her best friend led me to Sophia, drunk and vulnerable, muttering, "Get Ethan. He's my dog. He has to come when I call." As I carried her home, the ice queen slipped, hinting at a pain just as deep as mine, and a lingering desire to see me.

Introduction

The steady hum of my tattoo gun was usually my sanctuary, but today, it couldn't drown out the screaming numbers on Olivia' s medical bill-a crushing reminder that my artistic integrity wouldn't save my sister.

Then the bell above the door chimed, and she walked back into my life, a ghost from a past I' d desperately tried to outrun.

Sophia Davis, the woman I' d chosen to brutally abandon five years ago to protect her from my "unworthy" existence, now stood in my humble studio, elegant and cold, looking like she' d stepped straight off a magazine cover.

She didn't come to reminisce; she came to collect, dropping a blank check on Olivia's bill and declaring, "I want to see you beg, Ethan."

My pride demanded I refuse, but the image of Olivia's frail face forced the humiliating words from my lips: "Please, Sophia, I need this job. I... I'll do anything."

She watched, her eyes gleaming with triumph, before labeling me her "trophy artist," a personal possession to be controlled.

I thought I understood her cold, calculated revenge-until a late-night call from her best friend led me to Sophia, drunk and vulnerable, muttering, "Get Ethan. He's my dog. He has to come when I call."

As I carried her home, the ice queen slipped, hinting at a pain just as deep as mine, and a lingering desire to see me.

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