Mad (or at least ethically questionable) scientists call at all hours of the night!  

In chapter 5, James is tempted by a location or entity referred to as “Hartwell”, but that name isn’t mentioned elsewhere that I can see.
That and a few other things made me think it could use another editing pass.

Chapter 5: Infrastructure
“So,” Chen said, her voice calm and all-business even though she was sitting there naked except for the sheet bunched around her waist. “Which one grabs you most? Rashid’s setup in Dubai? One of the off-grid labs I know? Or should I start looping in multiple buyers, get them bidding against each other?”
James let Chen finish laying out the options—Dubai’s locked-down lab, the offshore facilities, the potential bidding war—without interrupting. She spoke with that same crisp efficiency she’d always had, like she was pitching a client on investment tiers instead of handing him the keys to an invisible empire. But every path she described came with strings: supervision, relocation, shared control.
He shook his head once, small but firm.
“None of those,” he said. “Dubai’s too far, too contained. The labs overseas mean I’d be working in someone else’s sandbox. And multiple buyers sound good on paper, but it just creates more people who think they own a piece of this. I need something local. Close enough to drive to. No board seats, no foreign oversight, no equity grabs. Just funding and a space I control.”
“You're right,” she said, fingers moving across the keyboard. “Three options. First: a shuttered pharmaceutical facility in Millbrook Pennsylvania. About four hundred thousand through a shell company. Two weeks to make it operational.
Second: a chemist in Baltimore—Marco Delgado. Independent testing lab, grey-market contracts. Fifty thousand for three months, but he’d see everything you’re doing.
Third: fastest but risky. A veterinary research facility in the suburbs. Minimal security, fully equipped. Break in after hours, synthesize what you need, leave before morning.”
James let the options hang in the air for a long moment, eyes moving between the laptop screen and Chen’s expectant face. Hartwell tempted him—the speed, the immediate access to heavy equipment, the chance to turn out dozens of doses before anyone at Building 7 noticed the missing inventory. But every scenario he ran ended the same way: repeated felony entries, guards who might eventually notice a pattern, security footage that could be subpoenaed later, a primate facility whose logs were audited more carefully than most people assumed. One slip, one delayed exit, one curious night-shift tech and the whole thing unraveled.
Delgado was worse. A witness with a name and a face who could point directly back to whatever he produced. James had watched enough collaborators turn cooperative the moment a badge appeared.
Pennsylvania was slower, but it was clean—isolated, owned, and invisible once the keys were his.
Speed was important. Autonomy was everything.
“Pennsylvania,” he said.
She stood without hurry, crossed to the window, and rested one palm against the cool glass. “Half a million committed tonight. The executor’s been sitting on that property for nineteen months—empty, bleeding taxes, no serious offers. Cash wired through Helix Solutions tomorrow morning will make him move like his life depends on it. Keys by Friday, inspector on-site Saturday, power back Monday. Three weeks until the first batch runs clean in a space that answers only to you.”
She turned back to him, arms folded loosely under her breasts, the black thermal clinging to the lines of her body. “I’ll handle the layering. Helix is already layered—Delaware LLC under a Cayman trust under a Luxembourg holding. Anyone digging the paperwork will hit dead ends for months.”
She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of her earlier perfume mixed with the clean sweat of the day. “I’ll map the network in the background. Quietly. No outreach, no names floated, just dossiers pulled from memory and encrypted files. I’ll rank them—strategic value, routine predictability, how easily they could disappear into your orbit once the doses are ready. You’ll have a shortlist when the lab is live. No rush.”
Chen leaned back in the chair, the silk robe slipping further from her shoulders as she regarded James with that calm, analytical gaze that had once intimidated boardrooms and now served only his interests. She tilted her head slightly, eyes never leaving his. “What do you want to do, James? Dose strategically—key players in regulatory agencies, a few discreet investors, someone inside the old DARPA network who might still have access to your personnel file? Or do we keep them locked away, untouched, until the lab is breathing and we can afford to be reckless?” Her fingers rested lightly on the edge of the laptop, waiting, ready to pivot in whatever direction he chose, the question hanging between them like the first real test of how far he intended to take this power.
James considered the question for a long moment. “We dose the core staff first,” he said. “Holder, Reeve, Kowalski. Three pills to lock down the lab. The rest stay locked until production is live. No reckless expansion until we have supply we control.”
“For tonight…” he continued, “My first, Chloe, is already shopping at my request. She’s going to bring a variety of lingerie. While we wait on her, let’s talk about staff for the Pennsylvania facility.”
Chen closed the document with a soft click, saving it under a nondescript filename—“PA Staffing Notes”—and encrypted the file with a single keystroke. She turned the laptop toward James so he could read the three names she’d just typed, each followed by a bullet-point summary of vulnerabilities, current employment, estimated salary needs, and the most plausible pretext for an initial meeting.
“Holder, Reeve, Kowalski,” she repeated, voice low and deliberate. “Three people. Three doses. Twenty-five pills left afterward. That’s still enough runway for selective high-value targets while we ramp production. Once they’re in, the lab becomes a closed system—self-sustaining, loyal by design. No leaks, no second thoughts, no HR complaints.”
James scanned the list. Paul Holder’s photo was already attached—a grainy headshot pulled from a CRO staff directory: thinning hair, tired eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, the look of someone who’d once dreamed bigger than routine HPLC runs for energy drinks. Amanda Reeve’s profile picture came from a conference badge scan: sharp features, dark hair in a tight bun, the faint smile of someone who took pride in catching errors no one else noticed. Raymond Kowalski’s image was older, Army-issue, cropped from a unit photo: square jaw, buzz cut, the thousand-yard stare that never quite left some people.
“Vulnerable,” James said, echoing her earlier word. “But accessible.”
“Exactly.” Chen leaned forward, elbows on the glass desk, robe slipping further open without apparent concern. “The beauty is in the pitch. Tell him this is a private R&D project, cutting-edge neurochemistry, six figures plus equity. He’ll bite before the first drink of the meeting.”
She tapped Reeve’s name. “Amanda’s easier. Money talks loudest. Triple salary, cash bonuses for milestones, no questions about the end product. She’s already living lean—shared apartment in Center City, takes the bus to save on parking. Three times her current pay is life-changing. She’ll rationalize anything once the dose hits.”
Kowalski’s entry got a longer pause. “Raymond is the wildcard. Ex-Army logistics means he knows how to move sensitive material without leaving traces—perfect for precursors and waste disposal. The daughter’s medical bills are the lever. Cystic fibrosis treatments run six figures a year even with insurance. Offer to cover it all, upfront, through a ‘medical trust’ we set up. He’ll meet for that alone. Once he’s dosed, he’ll guard the facility like his daughter is inside it.”
James felt the familiar calculus shift again: risk of exposure versus speed of scaling. Three pills now for a fully staffed, invisible operation in three weeks. Or hoard them and try to run the lab solo or with contractors who might ask questions later. The math was obvious.
“Set the meetings,” he said. “Stagger them. Holder first—he’s the easiest to replace if something goes wrong. Then Reeve. Kowalski last—he’s the one who’ll notice if the others are already… aligned.”
Chen nodded, already opening her calendar. “I’ll use Helix Solutions email for the outreach. Generic consulting offer: ‘Confidential project requiring your specific expertise. NDA required prior to details. Compensation commensurate with risk.’ They’ll sign just to see the numbers. I can have Holder in a room with us by next Tuesday. Reeve the following Thursday. Kowalski—I’ll need a week to build rapport through a mutual contact, but I can get him to a neutral site by the end of the month.”
She paused. “Location for the meetings?”
James kept his voice steady, casual—as if they were hashing out logistics over drinks. “We can run the interviews right at Chloe’s café. She’ll handle dosing them—no one’s going to think twice about a barista making coffee.”
Chen’s fingers froze above the keys for half a second. A faint shadow crossed her face, not exactly doubt, more like the echo of what doubt used to feel like before it got smoothed away. Then her expression cleared, calm as ever. “The café’s actually perfect,” she said, nodding slowly. “It’s public, so they won’t get twitchy about the venue, but it’s small enough we can keep everything contained. Chloe can prep the drinks ahead of time, make sure the right cup goes to the right person.”
She pulled up her contacts and started scrolling. “I’ll start with Holder—he’s the low-hanging fruit. I’ll email him saying I’m helping a small biotech outfit find a lead synthesis chemist, see if he’s open to hearing more. Casual coffee chat with my business partner to talk details. He’ll bite fast. Guy’s been grinding out boring contract work for years. The chance to do real chemistry will hook him before he finishes his first sip.”
James tilted his head. “What about Reeve?”
Chen opened a fresh email window. “Different angle, same bait. I’ll lead with the money—that’s her trigger. Something like, ‘Confidential project, very competitive pay, opportunity to help build something from scratch.’ She’ll be curious enough to show up.” She typed steadily for about thirty seconds, then clicked send with a quiet tap. “Sent.”
“And Kowalski?”
Chen leaned back a little, eyes narrowing as she thought it through. “He’s the careful one. Military habits die hard, and he’s strapped for cash. I’ll pitch it as security consulting for a new facility—steady contract, solid monthly retainer, all above-board. I’ll drop his Army logistics background in there, make him feel like we specifically want his experience.” She typed more slowly this time, picking each phrase with care, then hit send. “There. All three are out.”
Chen nodded once, sharp and decisive, then swiveled back to her laptop. The silk robe had slipped completely off her shoulders now, pooling around her elbows like forgotten wrapping paper. She didn’t bother pulling it back up—either she hadn’t noticed, or she simply didn’t see the point. Her attention was already locked on the screen, scrolling through scanned property docs and grainy architectural PDFs for the Pennsylvania facility. That same clean compartmentalization he’d noticed earlier was in full effect: one second she was naked in bed offering herself without hesitation, the next she was all business, annotating floor plans like this was just another client project.
“Before Chloe gets here, I should walk you through the layout,” she said, voice level and matter-of-fact. She clicked open a set of blueprints, the cursor moving quickly as she highlighted sections. “East wing is the old synthesis labs—perfect for Holder. Plenty of bench space, existing fume hoods, room for the high-pressure reactor once we ship it in. Reeve can take the adjoining analytical suite—HPLC, GC-MS, stability chambers already there, though we’ll need to service a couple of the instruments. Kowalski will want the main office block for monitoring: good sightlines to the entrances, server room for cameras, and it’s got direct access to the loading dock for supply runs.”
She zoomed in on the production floor, a large open space shaded gray on the drawing. “This stays dark for now—just storage and overflow equipment. Once we’ve dialed in the process and you’re ready to scale, that’s where the real batches happen. Separate HVAC zones, negative pressure, the works. Keeps contamination risk low and lets us run multiple streams without cross-talk.”
Chen refreshed her inbox with a quick tap. “Still nothing from the targets,” she reported, calm as if she were checking the weather. “Holder’s the obsessive one—he’ll reply soon, probably inside the hour. The others will take longer, but they’ll bite. They always do when the hook’s right.”
The hours blurred into something almost ordinary, the kind of quiet domestic rhythm that could fool anyone watching from the outside. Chen ordered Thai from the place down the block—pad Thai, green curry, extra spring rolls—and when the delivery guy buzzed at noon she met him at the door in bare feet, paid cash, and tipped generously without breaking her focus on the laptop screen. She and James both ate standing at the kitchen island, plastic forks scraping foam containers, the smell of lemongrass and basil filling the high-ceilinged space. She had changed while he was in the shower: black tailored slacks, cream silk blouse buttoned just high enough to look professional, hair still damp and dark at the ends from a quick rinse. The robe and the earlier nakedness felt like another lifetime; now she was all crisp lines and contained energy, scrolling through property tax records and bankruptcy filings with the same detached precision she’d once used to vet six-figure deals.
Between bites she made the calls, speaker on low so you could hear both sides. First the probate attorney in Altoona. Chen’s voice turned warm and professional. “Pinnacle Analytical LLC can close by Friday if the title clears. Cash offer. Inspection waived.”
The attorney sounded relieved.
Next, the Delaware registered agent. She paced a slow circle around the island while she spoke, fork in one hand, phone in the other. “Helix Solutions needs the annual report filed today and the operating agreement amended to reflect the new member. Yes, James Mitchell as managing member—full authority, no restrictions. Send the invoice to the usual Chase account.” Her tone never wavered: calm, expectant, the voice of someone used to being obeyed without question.
The last call was to a chemical supplier in New Jersey. Palladium acetate, boronic acids, HPLC solvents—standard small-molecule synthesis supplies. The account would be active by Monday.
When she hung up she set the phone down, wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, and looked at James without any particular expression—like she’d just finished folding laundry instead of laying the groundwork for a shadow lab that would manufacture a drug designed to erase free will.
“Everything’s moving,” she said simply. “Attorney’s pushing the trustee, the LLC will be active by end of day, and the supply house will ship first order as soon as the account’s verified—probably Monday. We’ll have precursors on-site before the keys even arrive.”
She closed the empty takeout containers, stacked them neatly, and carried them to the trash. The kitchen looked untouched again almost instantly. Then she turned back, blouse sleeves rolled to her elbows, and asked in the same even tone she’d used on every call, “Anything else you want me to chase while we wait for Chloe? I can start pulling Holder’s latest publications if you want to know exactly what he’s been wasting his time on. Or we can go over the café schedule for next week—when to slot each meeting so the place isn’t too busy.”
Outside, the Potomac glittered in weak February sun. Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of curry and printer ink. Vanessa Chen stood waiting for James’s next instruction with the quiet certainty that the rest of her life now revolved around how well she served him.

Hi, first time commenter, I just logged in to comment on this. First off, a great first offering! I hope you will put it up on the site for the public when it's a bit more polished. The sex scenes are smoking hot, no complaints there!

If I have a suggestion it would be, to add more specificity on just how the pills work and what their limitations are. Are the main character's subjects just permanently open to being conditioned? Only by him, or can others give them life-changing instructions too? If it's only him, then HOW is it only him? Is it the sight of him, the scent of him (pheromones?), his voice? At what moment is that keyed-in, and what happens if a third party "hijacks" that moment - intentionally or accidentally? Is there a time limit to the "plasticity" effect? What if the main character had been in a car accident and unavoidably slowed getting to Chen's place - would the effect have "worn off" before he could use it to give her any instructions?

I find that constraints inspire creativity, and add to suspense and audience investment in a story. If the first scene of a story is "Hi my name is Mike I'm eighteen and yesterday I just randomly became God" and the rest of the story is just one long orgy with no drama or tension or chance of failure, because everyone else are instantly his puppets, I personally find it boring (though the semi frequent appearance of such stories does indicate there's apparently a readership for them). So one thing you have going for you already is, there's a limited number of the pills (for now?) and the main character has to find a way to get a pill into a subject. Great! Those are good constraints. What about adding some more? Other constraints could be: the subject must be able to see or hear the main character in order to accept his instructions (ie., no emailed orders). Or there's a limited "window" of suggestibility which closes, after which re-dosing is needed to add or alter commands. (What if he misspeaks himself, or gives a command which allows an odd loophole? Now he has to use up another one of his limited doses fixing his mistake.) Or of course, we could discover that the pills aren't as permanent as we thought, and he has to periodically re-dose subjects. Or maybe a common medication (like cough syrup) many people are on, is accidentally a counteragent which grants immunity, or perhaps some people are just congenitally immune to the compound and one of them happens to hold a key position so he has to find a way to circumvent that person without using the pills on them.

A great example of a recent series that uses constraints very well is Dominic Hughes' "Claim Day" series. There is a very complex mechanism involving a virus and a radio frequency followed by a man physically touching a woman and announcing he claims her. Only that sequence of events works, any alteration causes the control to fail or never happen. And the story includes a variety of ways in which subjects escape or wriggle out of or fake being controlled. It's a great read and really demonstrates how to use world building to develop a story world around a specific MC story device in a way that organically develops drama and tension by giving the MC method real constraints.

Keep up what you're doing but please consider a rewrite of the first chapters detailing more clearly what the pills can, and more importantly can't, do. You could have it be a slow process of trial and error, and Chen could be the one to help him perform his live trials to determine exactly what the limitations of his control really are!

As above, please let me know any comments. Especially if they are good. And even nitpicks, if it is a continuity error I should correct before I sub mint to Simon.

Chapter 4: The Rewrite
His phone sat on the table next to her empty cup, the address glowing on the screen. Twenty minutes until he walked into her apartment. Twenty minutes to figure out how much further he wanted to push this.
He typed fast: Anything specific I should bring?
Reply came back almost before he hit send: Just your laptop with the synthesis docs. I’ve got everything else we’ll need here. Visitor code 1847 at the lobby. Looking forward to digging into the chemistry properly—this has real potential.
Professional. Polished. But underneath it that same quiet eagerness from earlier, like she couldn’t wait to help him succeed.
Chloe moved behind the bar like nothing was unusual, but when she caught his eye again there was that tiny lift at the corner of her mouth—proud, ready, waiting for the next move. James pulled up the messaging app on his phone. The thread with Chloe was still open from earlier. He typed quickly, keeping the message short and clear.
“Change of plans. Go out after you shift and get some lingerie —red silk plunging front, white minimal/tease, emerald strappy, whatever else looks good on you. Send pics when you’re home. Meet me at 8 at this new address.”
He hit send. The reply dots appeared in seconds.
“On it 😊 Shopping after shift. Pics tonight. See you at 8.”
He slipped the phone away. The small exchange felt like tightening a screw—another small piece locked into place.
His laptop bag was heavy on his shoulder when he stood. Not just the weight of the computer and files—the synthesis steps, structures, yields—but the proof inside it.
Proof the compound might work outside the lab.
Proof that a careful, experienced mind could still be nudged in directions it never would have taken alone.
Fifteen minutes to Riverside Drive. Fifteen minutes to decide exactly what he wanted from Chen beyond the money and the lab setup. She had the network, the contacts, the grey-market doors he didn’t even know how to knock on yet. And now she couldn’t say no.
He shouldered the bag and headed for the door. The chime rang soft behind him as he stepped out into the cold.
He parked on the street outside 847 Riverside Drive and took the elevator to the twelfth floor. The building was modern, sleek—the kind that screened residents carefully. The visitor code worked smoothly. Chen opened the door before he could knock. She’d shed the suit jacket, standing in a cream silk blouse and tailored black slacks. “Come in,” she said. “I’ve set up the office.”
He followed her through a minimalist living room—white walls, abstract art, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Potomac. Everything precise and controlled. She led him to a home office with a glass desk and two leather chairs.
“Dr. Chen,” he said, before she could gesture to the seats. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “You didn’t invite me here to discuss business. You invited me here because you’re attracted to me. You’ve been thinking about seducing me since we sat down at the café.”
She stopped mid-step. Her mouth opened, confusion flashing for a fraction of a second—and then it smoothed away. When she looked at him again, something new was in her eyes.
“I suppose I have been,” she said quietly, almost discovering it herself. “When you were explaining the synthesis pathway, I kept noticing your hands. The way you hold yourself.” She took a step closer. “I told myself it was unprofessional, but I wanted you to come here. Not for the docs. For this.”
For a fraction of a second her expression stalled—like a computer buffering—then the new story settled into place behind her eyes. He could see her mind folding the last hour into this new story, making it feel true. She believed it completely.
“I don’t usually do this,” she went on, voice lower now. “Invite clients to my home. But there was something about you.” Her fingers moved to the top button of her blouse, steady, unhurried. “Something I couldn’t ignore.”
The silk parted, revealing black lace underneath. She watched him, open, vulnerable in a way that didn’t fit the controlled professional who’d been negotiating percentages an hour ago.
“Tell me what you want,” she said. Not a question. An offering.
James felt the full weight of it settle in. Chen wasn’t just obeying—she was feeling desire. The compound had manufactured attraction where there’d been none, built an entire emotional story to support it. She had no idea it was false.
“Come here,” he said. “Finish undressing.”
Her fingers went to the button on her slacks, sliding them down over her hips, stepping out with careful balance. The black lace bra matched the underwear. She reached behind, unclasped the bra, let it fall. Her body was lean, well-maintained—someone who ran every morning before work.
She walked toward him, no stiffness, no glitch. She moved like a woman who’d decided to seduce someone, who’d chosen this. Her eyes stayed on his, dark and intent.
“I haven’t done this in years,” she said softly, reaching for his shirt. “Let someone in like this. But you—there’s something about you I can’t explain.”
Her hands worked his buttons, sliding the fabric off his shoulders. She pressed against him, skin warm, breath quick. When she kissed him, it was eager, almost desperate. She was building passion, manufacturing it whole cloth, and believing every second of it.
“Bedroom,” she murmured against his mouth. “Through there.”
She took his hand, led him through the office door into a room as spare as the rest—white sheets, dark wood, morning light through gauze curtains. She pulled him onto the bed, hands at his belt, mouth on his neck and chest.
The sex was intense in a way that felt almost wrong. She responded to every touch with what looked like real arousal—breath catching, body arching, soft sounds against his shoulder. If he didn’t know better, he’d have believed she wanted this completely.
Afterward she lay beside him, hair mussed, breathing slowing. She traced a finger along his arm.
“I don’t usually lose control like that,” she said, a little embarrassed. “I pride myself on boundaries. But with you…” She shook her head. “I wanted this the moment I saw you at the café. I just couldn’t admit it until now.”
The story was perfect, complete. She’d rewritten the morning—turned a business meet into a seduction she’d started. And she believed every word.
She shifted closer, head on his shoulder. “We should still talk funding,” she said. “I want to help with this project. It could be extraordinary.” A pause. “But I’m glad we did this first. I’m glad I didn’t let professionalism stop me.”
James was glad. “You like making me happy,” he said, voice quiet but firm.
Chen’s expression softened even more, a quiet certainty settling in like she’d just figured out the answer to a question she hadn’t known she was asking. “I am,” she said. “I do. I like seeing you satisfied. Knowing I can help you.” Her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest. “It feels… right. To be useful to you. To give you what you need.”
James let the words hang for a second, then leaned in closer, voice low and steady. “You’ll keep making me happy by giving me access to your money. Your accounts. Whatever I need.”
For the tiniest heartbeat something flickered behind her eyes—some old reflex, a wall she’d built over years of careful deals and guarded wealth. Then it melted away, smooth and gone.
“Of course,” she said, hand still resting on his skin. “You’ll need operating capital. Discretionary funds for materials, equipment, whatever comes up—bribes if it gets complicated.” She was already building the story in her head, making it sound logical, necessary. “There’s about $2.8 million liquid across checking and money markets,” she said. “You should have full access.”
She sat up, reached for her phone on the nightstand without a second thought. “I can add you as an authorized user on the primary account right now—Chase Private Client, four hundred thousand in checking. The rest I can liquidate in twenty-four hours if you need cash faster.” She opened the banking app, thumb scrolling efficiently.
She paused briefly, thumb hovering over the screen.
“Normally I’d never do this on the first day of a partnership.”
Then she shook her head, dismissing the thought.
“But we’re going to be working very closely on this.”
The casualness of it hit like a quiet shock. A woman who’d spent five years stacking millions through sharp, calculated moves, now handing it over like he’d asked to borrow cab fare.
“James Mitchell,” he said, and gave her the numbers.
Her fingers flew across the screen. “Done. You’ll get a debit card in five to seven business days, but you can access everything immediately through online banking. I’m texting you the login now.” His phone buzzed on the bed. “Password’s Helix2019. You should change it to something you’ll remember.”
She set the phone down and looked at him, open, satisfied. “Anything else? I’ve got one point two million spread across Fidelity and Vanguard investments. I can make you joint owner there too—just needs a notary signature. I know someone who’ll do it today if we ask.”
She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “I want to help you succeed with this, James. Not just the project—everything. I want to see you get what you deserve.”
“What else can you give me?” he asked. “To make me happy.”
She sat up straighter against the headboard, thinking it through with that same sharp mind that had built her career. “My network is the real value,” she said. “Researchers in London and Singapore running off-book trials…”
“Production facilities?” he asked.
She nodded fast. “Three labs I know that operate completely outside oversight. One in Costa Rica, one in the Czech Republic, one in Thailand. Quiet, equipped, discreet.” She set the phone down, hand finding his again. “I also keep insurance,” she added casually. “Files on politicians, researchers, corporate executives. Enough leverage to move people if necessary.”
She looked at him, eyes bright with that manufactured eagerness. “Anything you need, James. Accounts, contacts, leverage—I’m here for it. Tell me what comes next.”
Chen said it all casually, like she was listing routine consulting perks. A woman who’d spent years stacking ethical firewalls around her deals, now offering up her private stash of extortion material without even blinking.
“My apartment,” she went on, shifting closer so her bare shoulder brushed his. “You should have a key. Use this place as your base—home office, secure internet, encrypted lines. I’m discreet; it’s literally how I built my career. No one will know you’re here unless you want them to.”
She pressed in a little tighter, voice dropping softer. “I want to be useful to you, James. I want to help you build something big. Money, contacts, facilities, influence—whatever you need, I’ll make it happen. That’s what feels good. Knowing I’m helping you win.”
There was a strange warmth in her voice now, like helping him had become its own reward.
“Is there something specific you need right now?” she asked. “Anything I haven’t thought of?”
James looked at her for a beat, then said, “I wouldn’t mind a blow job while I think it over.”
Chen’s face didn’t flinch or cloud over. Instead a small, pleased look crossed it—the quiet satisfaction of getting a clear directive, of knowing exactly how to contribute.
“Of course,” she said, simple as that.
She moved down the bed with easy grace, the sheet sliding off completely. Her hair was still a mess from earlier, strands falling across her face as she settled between his legs. Hands on his thighs, gentle but sure, spreading them just enough. She leaned in, mouth warm and deliberate.
She started slow, methodical, then built into it—eyes flicking up now and then to check his reaction. There was something almost surreal about watching Dr. Vanessa Chen—a woman who’d once billed six figures for her sharp judgment and ironclad discretion—do this without a hint of hesitation or awkwardness. She hummed softly once or twice, a low sound of what felt like real contentment, like his pleasure fed straight into hers.
While she worked, his mind ran through the implications: money, labs, contacts, leverage.
Chen had spent years building a network—and now it all pointed at him.
The compound hadn’t just bought obedience.
It had bought infrastructure.
Five years of contacts, capital, and secrets quietly transferred into his column overnight.
She picked up the pace, one hand steady on his hip, the other moving in rhythm. Confident, attentive, tuned to every shift in his breathing. When he finished she took it all, no pause, no grimace, then eased back on her heels, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. A light flush on her cheeks, breathing a little quick.
“Better?” she asked, voice soft, almost hopeful—not fishing for praise, just genuinely wanting to know she’d helped.
She grabbed a tissue from the nightstand, cleaned up with quick, practical swipes, then slid back up beside him. Her hand found his again, fingers threading through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She rested her head on his shoulder, content. “We can still go over the funding details whenever you’re ready,” she murmured. “I want this project to work for you. I want to see you get everything you’re after.” A small pause. “But I’m glad we did this first. I’m glad I didn’t let anything hold me back.”
Her phone buzzed again on the nightstand. She glanced at the phone, then back at him.
“Rashid.”
Her thumb hovered for a moment before she locked the phone.
“It can wait.”
James squeezed her hand lightly. “You like making me happy,” he said, quiet but certain.
Chen smiled, small and real. “I do. More than anything.”

The issue with the pills is a fair nit pick. The truth is I want the number to be limited enough so he doesn’t have unlimited power but not so little that we have to worry about every use.

It’s best to regard the number as a McGuffin that limits his power for now.