The arrangement never needed a name, a contract, or even a single conversation about what it meant. It simply became the rhythm beneath the surface of their days. Late nights in the office stretched longer—Victor assigning Delilah reports that demanded “immediate review,” Elena arriving with chilled white wine and takeout containers that were never opened. Weekends at the lake house turned into “strategy sessions” with no agenda beyond locked doors and bare skin. Lunch breaks grew shorter on the calendar but longer in the executive bathroom—quick, desperate feedings where Victor pinned her against the marble sink, mouth sealed to one breast while Elena knelt and drank from the other, milk dripping onto tiles they never bothered to wipe.
Victor’s international travel increased; Elena joine
