The room was dark when she entered.
Not dim—dark.
The drapes had been drawn. The lamps unlit.
Only the fire glowed, casting flickers of gold across the marble floor and reflecting in the tall, silver mirror that stood in its usual place.
Serena paused at the threshold.
Damián was already inside. Seated in the high-backed chair beside the fire, legs crossed, a glass of wine in his hand.
He didn't look at her.
He didn't need to.
His presence filled the space like heat.
She stepped forward.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Until she stood directly in front of him.
His voice was calm, low, and disturbingly gentle.
"Close the door."
She obeyed.
Not because he asked.
But because she *wanted* to hear what came next.
---
She turned back, standing tall in the center of the room.
"Is this where you give me Rule Four?" she asked.
His gaze lifted to hers, and she felt it—like gravity tugging at skin.
"No," he said. "This is where you prove the first three."
---
He stood.
Slow. Fluid.
And walked behind her again, just as he had in the mirror room.
But this time… she felt his presence differently.
Like pressure.
Not physical.
Not yet.
But imminent.
"Remove your shoes."
Her breath caught. Just for a moment.
But she didn't hesitate.
She stepped out of the heels and stood barefoot on cold stone.
His voice dropped.
"Now your dress."
Her eyes flashed.
"This wasn't part of the rules."
"No," he said. "But it is a test."
Her jaw tightened.
"If I say no?"
"Then we leave this room."
She turned her head slightly, catching his gaze from over her shoulder.
"And if I say yes?"
"Then I show you," he murmured, "what it means to be undone... on your own terms."
---
The silence stretched.
The fire cracked once.
And Serena—
Chose.
Her fingers slid to the clasp at her shoulder.
The silk whispered down her skin and pooled around her feet.
She stood in nothing but the collar.
And his silence.
---
He didn't touch her.
Didn't move.
Didn't even breathe loud enough to shatter the moment.
She stepped toward the mirror.
Her reflection glowed in firelight. Bare. Barely trembling.
The collar gleamed like a promise at her throat.
Behind her, he finally spoke.
"Look at yourself."
She did.
"Tell me what you see."
She swallowed hard.
"I see a woman who doesn't flinch anymore."
"Good," he said softly.
Then—
"Now kneel."
---
Her pulse roared in her ears.
She wasn't afraid.
She was *thrumming*.
With rebellion. With heat. With the awareness that this was a moment she could end.
Or own.
She lowered herself to her knees.
Not like a servant.
Like a queen choosing to kneel for no one—but herself.
---
He stepped forward.
She felt him at her back, tall and unmoving.
But still—he didn't touch her.
His hand lifted only to rest on the silver frame of the mirror.
"I won't break you," he said.
"Then what will you do?" she whispered.
"I'll teach you," he murmured, voice like velvet smoke. "How to break… for me."
---
And then—
He walked away.
Left her there.
Still kneeling.
Still burning.
Still wanting more.
And for the first time… she hated how much of her heat came from obedience.
---