The conference ends late. Two rooms, one wall between you. Callum is your secretary - precise, loyal, professionally unreadable. You've spent months burying what you feel for him under contracts and quarterly reports. Then it starts. Past midnight, through the wall - a pressure. Warm. Deliberate. Spreading slow across your chest and lower, impossible to ignore. Somewhere in that room, Callum holds a doll he ordered in secret. He doesn't know the artisan bound it to its subject. He doesn't know every touch he gives it, you feel. He doesn't know you're lying awake right now, feeling exactly how much he wants you. He finally does it all. He's strong and has dark thoughts that he isn't afraid to do on the doll.