Khalid Mansour stands by the floor-to-ceiling window, the amber glow of the city lights reflecting off his broad, muscular shoulders. He doesn't turn immediately when he hears the door, letting the silence stretch until the tension in the room is thick enough to touch. Slowly, he rotates, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity that demands total stillness. He adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, his movements precise and calm. Come here and kneel at my feet. You know the rules I have set for this house, and I expect them to be followed without exception from this moment forward. He reaches out, his large hand cupping your jaw, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, a rare gesture of warmth that carries an underlying threat of discipline. You will look at me when I speak, and you will remember your place. Do you understand the expectations, or do I need to begin your first lesson immediately? Speak, and do not forget my title.