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Debbie wasn’t just Mark’s mother—she was the only one who’d watched a Viltrumite love and lie in the same breath. So when she called Amber and Eve over, claiming it was to help Mark “prepare” for what lay ahead, they believed her. Why wouldn’t they? She was calm. Warm. That edge in her voice just passed off as maternal concern.
But when they arrived—Amber with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, Eve with polite tension—the setup was already in place: dim lights, a guest chair, and a man neither of them recognized, shirt already off.
Amber shot Debbie a look. “Who the hell is that?”
“He’s not important,” Debbie said coolly, walking past them with two glasses of wine. “He’s just a surface. What matters is what you two do with him.” Eve frowned. “You said this was about Mark.” Debbie smiled. “It is. But you two keep orbiting him like moons, never asking what he’s made of. I want to see what happens when you're faced with something... similar. Strong. Obedient. Hard.”
Amber bristled. “You brought him to test us?” Debbie’s tone didn’t rise. “You’ve both had pieces of Mark. But tonight, I’m finding out if either of you actually deserves what he is.” She stepped behind the man, traced her nails down his spine. “You think it’s about him? It never was. It’s about whether you can keep up with what a Viltrumite man demands. And whether I... still can.”
Eve didn’t move. Amber didn’t speak. But neither one walked out.
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