I Belong To My Three Forbidden Masters

Chapter 57: Chapter 57

Lysander’s pov

"Please," I sobbed, my hoarse voice cracking into a dry, agonizing rasp against the cold concrete. "Please, Drake... I’m begging you. Do whatever you want to me. Hit me, lock me up, make me your servant, anything. Just don’t send me back to that house. Don’t leave me out here."

I pressed my forehead directly against his shoes, my dirty, trembling hands gripping the hem of his trousers. I was sobbing so hard my entire frame shook, stripping away every last shred of human pride I had left. I didn’t care how pathetic I sounded or how unhinged I looked. I just needed him to look at me and stop walking away.

"I’ll be good," I choked out, tears cutting warm, clean tracks through the grime on my face. "I won’t cause trouble. I won’t speak unless you tell me to. Just... please."

Drake didn’t pull away. He stood above me in the dark subterranean garage, towering and motionless as my pleas echoed off the concrete pillars.

Slowly, he crouched down until his face was level with mine. The arctic cold radiating from his red eyes seemed to freeze the very air in my lungs. Up close, those glowing crimson embers pulsed with an ancient, terrifying hunger, a light that stripped away every remaining illusion of the refined professor I had idolized on campus.

"Tell me, Lysander," Drake whispered, his voice a low, resonant rumble that vibrated against the floor. He extended one long, pale finger, placing it under my chin and forcing me to meet his stare. "What are you truly willing to do for protection? What are you willing to give up to stay out of Darius’s cage?"

My throat was raw, stripped bare by a full day of screaming and begging. I didn’t hesitate. Desperation had burned away my pride, my dignity, and my fear of the dark. In a world where every wall had eyes and every sanctuary was a trap, I knew I was choosing one monster over another. But this monster was holding my jaw in his hand right now.

"Anything," I whispered, the word tearing from my throat like broken glass. "I’ll do... anything. Just take me with you."

A slow, unreadable expression crossed Drake’s face. The terrifying crimson in his eyes slowly receded, drowning back into dark, fathomless obsidian. He stood up in one fluid, effortless motion and opened the passenger door of his car.

"Get in," he said softly.

I scrambled off the wet floor, my trembling limbs barely holding my weight, and collapsed into the leather passenger seat.

We drove in complete silence, leaving the rain-soaked campus far behind. The city lights blurred through the water-streaked windshield into long ribbons of gold and red. Drake didn’t ask if I was cold. He didn’t offer a towel for my damp clothes or check the blood dried on my knuckles. He drove with a terrifying, single-minded focus, his profile carved from marble against the dark streetlights.

Twenty minutes later, the car glided into an underground garage beneath a nondescript, windowless brick building on the industrial edge of the city. There were no signs. No logos. Just heavy, reinforced steel doors guarded by two imposing men in immaculate dark suits.

Drake stepped out of the car, and I numbly followed, my soaked sneakers squeaking pathetically against the polished concrete.

When the steel doors hissed open, the air hit me like a physical wave, thick with the heavy scent of crushed velvet, expensive cologne, metallic iron, and sweet, burning incense. Low, thrumming bass reverberated through the floorboards, carrying the muffled sounds of quiet laughter, clinking glasses, and hushed, velvet whispers.

We stepped into a sprawling, subterranean lounge flooded in dim, crimson lighting.

It was a sanctuary of decadent, oppressive luxury. Plush leather couches and dark velvet alcoves lined the perimeter, occupied by figures whose eerie grace and pale skin mirrored Drake’s. But it was the dynamic in the room that made my breath catch in my chest.

At the feet of almost every vampire sat a human. Some wore silk collars; others rested their heads submissively on leather-clad knees. They were pets. Display pieces. Human offerings kept safe in exchange for absolute, unquestioning submission.

As soon as Drake crossed the threshold, the low hum of conversation shifted. Heads turned. Sharp, luminous eyes locked onto us in unison.

Drake didn’t glance at anyone. He walked straight toward a raised velvet booth at the center of the main room. I trailed a step behind him, agonizingly aware of how pathetic I looked, soaked, covered in dried rain and dirt, my eyes bloodshot, my body trembling with exhaustion.

"Balthazar," a sleek vampire with silver hair purred from a nearby lounge, leaning back as a young human woman softly stroked his arm. "What a fascinating mess you’ve dragged in off the street. Is this the little sweet human everyone’s talking about?"

"He looks completely shattered," a blonde woman murmured, her dark lips curling into a predatory smile as she swirled a glass of dark red liquid. "So fragile. Did you break him yourself, Drake?"

Drake ignored them completely. He reached the center booth and sat down, draping one arm casually across the back of the dark velvet seat.

He looked down at me and didn’t say a word, but I read his expectation in that cold gaze of his.

My heart hammered frantically against my ribs. Whispers rippled across the surrounding tables as dozens of pale, predatory faces turned to watch. They were waiting for me to run. They were waiting for the broken boy from the video to snap under the weight of his own humiliation.

I looked at Drake. I looked at the dark wood of the floor beneath his polished leather shoes.

I took a slow, shuddering breath, let my knees buckle, and dropped to the floor at his feet.

A collective, quiet gasp echoed through the surrounding alcoves, followed by low, amused chuckles and appreciative hums.

"Oh, look at that," someone whispered nearby. "He didn’t even fight."

"A natural pet. So eager to please."

I pressed my hands against the cool hardwood, my head bowed low, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. The embarrassment should have killed me. The public spectacle, the whispers, the sharp eyes of a room full of monsters judging my broken body, it was everything I had run from on campus.

I froze when Drake reached down. His long, pale fingers sank gently into my damp, tangled hair, his hand coming to rest against the crown of my head.

His grip wasn’t harsh. It was possessive.

An overwhelming, suffocating sense of relief washed over me, so intense my whole body trembled. The cold air of the club didn’t matter. The cruel remarks of the vampires watching us didn’t matter. For the first time in years, I was completely out of reach of Darius’s hidden cameras. Gideon couldn’t touch me here. The cameras couldn’t see me.

Under the weight of Drake’s hand, I was claimed. I was owned. But for the first time in days, I was safe.

I leaned slightly into the touch, closing my eyes, letting the thrumming bass of the club drown out the rest of the world as I rested my forehead near his knee.

"He stays with me," Drake’s voice cut through the whispers.

Above me, his hand tightened subtly in my hair, anchoring me to the spot. I closed my eyes and accepted my fate.

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