In the corner, the “useless slave,” as he was provocatively called, remained with his head bowed, awaiting the verdict. Vexara, seated beside him in her armchair, made it clear that she was the one in charge.

“Look at me,” she said coldly and with a dominant presence, spitting in the slave's face and lightly slapping him as a reminder of her authority. There was no gratuitous cruelty, but rather a power game that tested limits and loyalty.

Before the situation escalated, the door opened. Rebeca entered, observing the scene with a slight smile.

“It started without me?” she provoked.

The energy shifted. What had previously seemed like mere threats took on a different tone. The two exchanged glances, as if sharing a silent understanding. The “punishment” became a form of control, where every gesture had meaning.

The young man, still motionless, began to realize: perhaps these weren't just threats. Perhaps it was a test. A test of resistance, of surrender, of trust.

Rebeca moved over and, in a calm voice, said, "Come here," and without him expecting it, she spat, thus showing that they were the ones in charge there.

But sometimes, what seems like punishment... is just another form of reward.

Silence filled the room.

And a question hung in the air:

Punishment... or reward?

In the corner, the “useless slave,” as he was provocatively called, remained with his head bowed, awaiting the verdict. Vexara, seated beside him in her armchair, made it clear that she was the one in charge.

“Look at me,” she said coldly and with a dominant presence, spitting in the slave's face and lightly slapping him as a reminder of her authority. There was no gratuitous cruelty, but rather a power game that tested limits and loyalty.

Before the situation escalated, the door opened. Rebeca entered, observing the scene with a slight smile.

“It started without me?” she provoked.

The energy shifted. What had previously seemed like mere threats took on a different tone. The two exchanged glances, as if sharing a silent understanding. The “punishment” became a form of control, where every gesture had meaning.

The young man, still motionless, began to realize: perhaps these weren't just threats. Perhaps it was a test. A test of resistance, of surrender, of trust.

Rebeca moved over and, in a calm voice, said, "Come here," and without him expecting it, she spat, thus showing that they were the ones in charge there.

But sometimes, what seems like punishment... is just another form of reward.

Silence filled the room.

And a question hung in the air:

Punishment... or reward?