Crossing Lines Chapter 65

**Aiden**

The silence after the door slammed was deafening. Not just in the house—in me. It rattled around my chest, echoing like a gunshot, leaving nothing but the hollow ringing. For a long time, I just stood there staring at the door, half expecting Noah to come storming back in, cursing me out, fighting me, anything. But he didn’t.

And I’d told him to go.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck had I done?

I stumbled into my office, half-blind with rage at myself, dragging out the bottle I kept stashed for nights like this. Nights when the weight of my own fuckups pressed so heavy I couldn’t breathe sober. I poured until the glass overflowed. Didn’t wipe it. Didn’t care. Just let it scorch all the way down, like punishment I knew I deserved.

My desk was littered with ghosts waiting their turn. I’d kept them here like trophies of failure, proof I’d destroyed everything I touched. My hand found the first album, the one I should’ve burned years ago.

Jamie.

My kid brother grinning under a helmet too big for his head, his arm slung around my shoulders after practice like I’d hung the moon. God, he used to look at me like I was invincible. Before I shattered that illusion. Before I ruined his future along with mine.

I traced his face with a rough finger, the photo edges worn from all the times I came here to bleed on them. A tear slipped free before I noticed, splattering his smile.

I turned pages—victories, little league games, trophies. Then the last photo: Jamie older, his smile faded, his body slumped in that goddamn chair. My chest clenched so tight it stole the air out of me.

Another drink. Harder this time.

The next album cut even deeper. My glory days. All shine and trophies, me strutting like a cocky bastard at twenty. Smug, untouchable. I wanted to punch the asshole staring back at me from those photos. He had no idea the fall was coming—the scandal, the accident, the collapse. I shoved the album aside like it was poison.

But the smaller one waited. Meaner. Micah.

That nearly gutted me.

His face lit up every page—smiling, kneeling, laughing with his head thrown back at some party, arms tight around me like I was worth something. Sunshine, light, joy. He’d trusted me with everything, and I’d let him slip through my fingers like he was nothing.

“I couldn’t even keep *him*!” I growled, my voice breaking. Rage ripped through me as I hurled the album across the room. It hit the wall with a slap, pages spilling out like open wounds.

My chest heaved. I buried my face in my hands, elbows digging into my knees, shoulders buckling under the weight.

And still—still—my thoughts went to Noah.

Fuck. Noah.

That stubborn, relentless kid. Bright eyes, sharp tongue, a laugh that had no business worming its way past my defenses. He’d pushed past every wall, every rule, every line, right into the one place I’d sworn off forever. My heart.

And what had I given him? Everything but the one thing he wanted most. I’d teased him with it, dangled it just close enough for him to believe… and then I’d shoved him out into the night like he was a disposable mistake.

Now I had nothing. No career. No brother. No Micah.

And no Noah.

The burn in my throat wasn’t just from the liquor anymore. It was grief. Regret. Self-hatred so thick it hollowed me out from the inside.

I poured another drink with shaking hands and downed it, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever would be.

I shoved the bottle aside and dragged my laptop closer, ready to make yet another bad choice, because why stop now when I could clearly fuck up on a much larger scale?

The screen’s glow stabbed my eyes. My fingers hesitated over the keyboard. I hadn’t done this in weeks. Not since Noah. Not since I let him inside places even *Mr. A* never touched.

But if I couldn’t survive as Aiden anymore, maybe I could still survive as *him*.

My password typed itself from memory, and just like that, I was back inside. The dashboard of my Mr. A profile lit up—a world that had once been mine. A place where I wasn’t a washed-up coach or a failed brother, where no one gave a damn about scandals or broken careers. Here, I was someone. Respected. Desired. Feared.

The group chat blinked alive. “Where the hell’ve you been, Sir?” one of the regulars typed. Another begged for advice, another dropped a clip asking for critique.

For the first time all night, my chest didn’t feel hollow.

I hit record before I could think twice, my voice gravelly from liquor and regret. “I see standards have slipped while I was gone,” I said, cool and sharp like a blade. “That last scene? Sloppy. Don’t ever waste my time with half-assed rope work again. You want my approval? Earn it.”

I dropped the file into the chat. The replies came fast—deference, eagerness, praise. God help me, I let it fill me. For a moment, I was *him* again. Mr. A. Not the man who had just kicked Noah out of his house like a coward, but the man people looked to for strength.

I answered a few more questions, pushed a few boundaries just to feel alive, and when the rush started to fade, I did what I knew I shouldn’t. I switched tabs.

My personal folder.

Micah’s face filled the screen, all bright eyes and obedience. Clips of training, with that sweet devotion burning in his gaze. Then other recordings—short scenes at events, parties, strangers who never mattered. Flashes of control, of release, of the man I used to be when I thought I could separate it all.

And then I saw it.

A recent notification. Curiosity sparked as I clicked it open.

The message wasn’t like the others. An official seal I recognized. No eager submissive begging for crumbs of my attention. No group invite to some half-assed munch. This one had weight. The kind of thing whispered about in the right circles, the kind of name that turned heads in hushed tones.

“Mr. A—

Word of your reputation has reached us, even through your silence. We rarely extend invitations, but exceptions are made for those who’ve proven themselves worthy. The Dominion is an exclusive society, a private club where the standards are unmatched, the discipline refined, the members carefully chosen. It is a place where true power and devotion are recognized and celebrated.

We would be honored to have you join us. If you accept, arrangements will be made discreetly. We believe you would find not only challenge here, but a home.”

*The Dominion.*

My breath stilled.

I’d heard of it. Everyone in the scene had. The holy grail of clubs, whispered about at events like some untouchable kingdom. No ads. No open doors. Just rumor and envy. A place only the best were ever invited into. A place that could make—or break—you.

And they wanted *me*.

My pulse thundered as I read the message again, the word “home” cutting like a knife. A home. Christ. I didn’t even have one of those anymore. 

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, a war raging in my chest before I reached for my phone instead, about to drunk-message my latest mistake.

“We need to talk.”