Page 91 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“Not sure why you considered that a punishment. I loved every single moment.”

“Oh, donut,” he says and kisses the top of my head. The small sentiment making my stomach flutter. “Just you wait.”

Chapter 22 - Mylan

Lana fell asleep in my arms shortly after her first taste of my dominant side. I wouldn’t say I'm a full-fledged Dom, nowhere close. Just enough to make my partner squirm and beg and fall to their knees before me. It’s about control, especially when control is the one thing I’m bad at. When I’m sober, having that control in the bedroom is gratifying. I take pride in it.

If only I could redirect that control to other parts of my life.

I close my eyes trying to fall asleep, but Lana is snoring and it’s annoying as hell but at the same time oh so adorable. Typically, noise doesn’t bother me, being that my unimpressive superpower is falling asleep fast and anywhere, but tonight my head swims with scenarios.

What would my life look like with Lana by my side? Would she want kids? We’d have to adopt, obviously. I never wanted kids. I’d be a horrible father; too afraid I’d turn out like my own. But if Lana wants a family, I’d set aside my fears and strive to become the best father.

Would we become power philanthropists? Lana has inspired me to start my own organization. I already donate to plenty of charities, but what if I start a nonprofit to help people struggling like me?

Lana’s head rests on my chest and I pet her hair. I’m pretty sure she’s drooling on my bare chest, but I don’t care. I lean down and kiss the top of her head, and she stirs.

“Tell me about your mother.”

I freeze at Lana’s words.

“I thought you were asleep,” I whisper.

She hums and starts rubbing her palm up and down my stomach. The skin-to-skin contact is addicting. I need more so, I smooth my own palm along her upper arm, back and forth until she shivers.

“I dozed off. I used to have trouble sleeping.”

“Really? When? You knock the fuck out when I'm around.”

She lifts her head off my chest and smiles, biting her lip. I tug it out of her teeth.

“What?”

“After Tyler, I'd toss and turn with nightmares. Eighteen years of sleepless nights until you.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Really? I helped?”

“You did.” She kisses my chest before laying her head back down. I want to hear more about this. About how I help her sleep, but she’s asking about my mother again. “You never talk about her. She’s not . . .”

I shake my head, trying to form words. “No. She’s not.”

She doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to explain. I've never talked about my mother with anyone. Not even Bruno. I told him where she is and why she’s there but that’s it. Eloise knows less than that. She probably thinks Marie Andrews is dead.

She almost died.

This part of my life has stayed out of the media, thanks to my amazing PR team. Even my Wikipedia page has few details, only mentioning my parents’ names and my father’s death fifteen years ago. No more information about him or my mother. How my PR team managed this still baffles me.

“I had her committed when I was sixteen,” I finally answer. “I was emancipated and given power of attorney over her.”

“What happened?”

The fact that Lana doesn’t offer her condolences or her pity right away is refreshing. I hate being pitied. I understand people’s need to sympathize, but it becomes exhausting. All I ever want is for someone to understand. Lana could be that for me. She’s had enough trauma in her life to understand.

I swallow the lump in my throat. For the first time, I actually want to talk about my mother.

“My father was abusive. He started with verbal attacks, telling my mother how pathetic and useless she was. Or how she was the reason I didn’t cast certain roles.”

I pause to take a deep breath because this is where it all goes downhill.

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