Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90

The harsh glow of the screen pierced through the darkness, stabbing at my eyes like a relentless spotlight. My fingers trembled slightly as they hovered uncertainly over the keyboard. It had been weeks since I last did this—weeks since Noah. Weeks since I allowed him into the parts of myself even Mr. A never dared to touch.

But if Aiden was no longer enough to keep me afloat, perhaps slipping back into that other identity could offer a lifeline.

Without hesitation, my password emerged from the depths of memory, each character falling into place as if by muscle memory. Just like that, I was inside again. The familiar dashboard of my Mr. A profile illuminated the screen—a realm that once belonged to me. Here, I wasn’t the discarded coach or the broken brother. No one cared about scandals or failed attempts at redemption. In this space, I was someone else entirely. Respected. Desired. Feared.

The group chat flickered to life. “Where the hell have you been, Sir?” one of the regulars typed, impatience mixed with relief. Another begged for guidance, while a third dropped a clip, silently requesting my critique.

For the first time all night, the emptiness that had hollowed my chest began to recede.

I hit record before second-guessing myself, my voice roughened by both alcohol and a deep well of regret. “Looks like standards have slipped while I was gone,” I said, my tone sharp and cutting, like a blade honed to precision. “That last scene? Sloppy at best. Don’t waste my time with half-assed rope work again. If you want my approval, you’ll have to earn it.”

I dropped the file into the chat. Replies poured in immediately—deference, eagerness, praise. God help me, I let it wash over me, filling the void. For a fleeting moment, I was him again. Mr. A. Not the man who had just pushed Noah out like a coward, but the figure others turned to for strength, for guidance.

I answered a few more questions, nudged a few boundaries just to remind myself I was still alive. But as the rush began to ebb, I did something I knew I shouldn’t—I switched tabs.

My personal folder opened.

Micah’s face appeared on the screen, bright-eyed and obedient. Clips of training sessions played, his devotion shining unmistakably in his gaze. Then came other recordings—brief glimpses of events, parties, strangers who never truly mattered. Flashes of control, release, and the man I once was before I thought I could keep these worlds separate.

And then I saw it.

A recent notification blinked at me. Curiosity pulled me in, and I clicked it open.

This message was different from the others. It bore an official seal I recognized immediately. No desperate submissive pleading for scraps of my attention. No group invite to some half-hearted gathering. This had weight. The kind of invitation whispered about in hushed tones among the elite, the kind of name that made heads turn quietly in exclusive circles.

“Mr. A—

Word of your reputation has reached us, even through your silence. Invitations are rare, extended only to those who have proven themselves worthy. The Dominion is an exclusive society—a private club where standards are unrivaled, discipline is refined, and membership is carefully curated. It is a sanctuary where true power and devotion are both recognized and celebrated.

We would be honored to welcome you. Should you accept, arrangements will be made discreetly. We believe you will find here not only challenge but a home.

“We need to talk.”

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Crossing Lines