Emma stood still as the silence thickened around her. Her dress lay in a crumpled heap on the marble floor, her body trembling in the cold air of Zane Blackwood's penthouse. She had signed the contract. There was no going back.
Zane stepped closer, his expression unreadable, all calm power and quiet dominance. He didn't touch her. Not yet. He simply studied her like a sculptor evaluating marble before carving it into something unrecognizable.
"You're not afraid enough," he murmured, pouring himself another drink. "That concerns me."
Emma said nothing. She couldn't trust her voice.
"Take the glass table," he said, motioning to the center of the room. "Kneel."
Her lips parted slightly. "Excuse me?"
His eyes snapped to hers. "Did you misunderstand the rules, Miss Carter?"
"No," she whispered. But the command still burned.
He waited. Patient. Unmoving.
Her legs moved before her brain caught up. She knelt on the cold surface, her knees pressing into the glass, back straight, head down. She felt like a statue on display, fragile and exposed.
Zane circled her once. Then twice.
"I demand three things," he said finally, his voice smooth but lethal. "Obedience. Honesty. Silence—when commanded. Fail at any of those, and I won't lift a finger to protect your brother."
Her throat tightened. "I understand."
"You don't yet. But you will."
He set his drink aside and pulled a small black box from a cabinet behind his desk. When he opened it, her breath hitched. Inside was a simple black collar—smooth leather, gold buckle, unmarked.
"No chains," he said. "No cage. Just this. Not for humiliation. For clarity."
He lifted it and held it toward her.
"Wear it."
Emma's fingers trembled as she reached out. She fastened the collar around her neck with shaking hands. When it clicked shut, a part of her — the part that still believed in pride — shattered.
Zane stepped forward and ran a single finger down her throat to the edge of the collar.
"You're mine now," he whispered.
She hated how her breath caught. How her body betrayed her fear with something else—something far more dangerous.
He turned away.
"You'll sleep in the east wing. The door locks from the outside. You'll be escorted to and from work each day, no deviations. Your phone stays here. Your time is mine. Every evening at 9PM, you report to me. Without exception."
Emma swallowed. "And during the day?"
"You live as you did before," he said. "Pretend you're free. Pretend you're untouched. But remember every second—"
He stepped closer again, his lips a breath away from hers.
"—you're not."
Her chest rose and fell with quickened rhythm.
"Do you understand the rules?"
"Yes," she breathed.
He smirked. "We'll see."
He stepped back, grabbing a remote from the coffee table. The wall behind her shifted—an invisible panel sliding open to reveal a hidden room. It was luxurious but cold, decorated in obsidian tones with silk sheets and silver chains bolted subtly into the walls.
Her stomach dropped.
"This is your room when I say it is," he said casually. "Otherwise, you'll stay in the east wing."
She didn't respond.
He pressed another button. The panel closed.
"Tonight, you sleep alone," he said after a long pause. "Not because you deserve kindness. But because I want you to think."
He walked to the bar and downed the rest of his drink.
"Max will escort you."
A tall man appeared from the hallway, silent and broad-shouldered, dressed in black. He looked like he could break bones with a glance.
Emma scrambled to grab her dress, trying to preserve what little dignity she had left.
Zane didn't look at her again as she was led away.
The room in the east wing was unlike the penthouse's main chamber. It was warmer, less intimidating. Still, the opulence screamed of a world she didn't belong to — silk sheets, scented candles, and a view of the glittering city below.
Emma collapsed on the bed and let herself breathe.
Thirty nights.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay calm. She had done this for Aiden. Every humiliation. Every rule. It had to mean something. He was her only family. He'd taken care of her when they had nothing.
And now she would pay the price.
She touched the collar around her neck.
It wasn't just leather.
It was a promise.
And a threat.
The next morning, she woke to a knock. Max stood at the door, offering her a pressed outfit — elegant, modest, professional. She dressed silently, avoiding his eyes.
"You'll be taken to work," he said. "You finish at five. You'll be picked up. No detours. No contact."
Emma nodded.
Work felt surreal. Her coworkers barely noticed anything different. She tried to smile. To act normal. But she could feel Zane's presence like a phantom hand at her throat. She wondered if he was watching.
She wondered if he wanted her to break.
That evening, at exactly 9PM, she stood outside his office door.
She knocked once.
"Enter," came the voice.
The room was darker tonight. Candles burned low. The windows were open, letting the breeze ruffle the curtains.
Zane sat at the desk, pen in hand, reviewing papers. He didn't look up.
"Come here."
She stepped forward.
"Kneel."
She obeyed.
He finally looked at her.
"You remembered."
"I'm not stupid," she whispered.
He stood and approached her. His fingers slid through her hair. "No, you're not. That's what makes this fun."
His other hand reached into his coat. He pulled out a chain—not to bind her, but to clip gently to the front of her collar. It wasn't long, but it made a statement.
Control.
"Lesson one," he said. "Everything you are belongs to me for thirty nights. Your name. Your breath. Your pain. Your pleasure."
She looked up at him. "Why?"
His eyes darkened. "Because you asked me to save your brother. Because you knew the price. And because deep down—"
He leaned down and whispered against her lips.
"—a part of you wants this."
Emma's skin burned with the weight of his gaze. She hated him. She hated herself for not running.
But most of all, she hated how he was right.