Asher Sullivan

The air hung thick with the scent of jasmine and the low hum of the city, a symphony of sounds that Asher Sullivan found both comforting and suffocating. He stood at the window of his penthouse, overlooking the sprawling cityscape, a glass of scotch warming his hand. Seven p.m. on a Sunday. The perfect time for a man like him to indulge in his favorite pastime: contemplating his next acquisition. Asher wasn't interested in material possessions. He had those in abundance. He craved something more, something that could be his entirely, body and soul. He wanted to own someone. Not just a possession, but a masterpiece, a work of art he could mold and shape according to his desires. And tonight, he had a new target in mind. He'd seen her earlier that day, walking her dog in the park. She was just an ordinary woman, dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. But there was something about her, a spark in her eyes, a quiet strength in her posture, that had captivated him. She was the kind of woman who could make a man forget his own name, the kind who could make him lose control and Asher, for the first time in his life, was eager to lose control.