Almost curious.
“You think you’re surviving.”
The words hit harder than any slap. I squeezed my eyes shut. Breathed through it. Held.
“You’re not.”
Another pause.
Soft.
Deadly.
“You’re breathing becauseIallow it.”
My throat locked. The collar bit harder. Because he wasn’t wrong. Because somewhere in the hollowed-out places inside me—the places that still bled grief and shame and ruined hope—I already knew.
I wasn’t kneeling to survive. I was kneeling because it was the only place left where the world made sense. Because survival here wasn’t about strength. It was about belonging. It was about ownership.
His.
Not mine.
Never mine again.
Wolfe stepped closer. Boots brushing against my knees. I felt the heat of him. The violence buried under all that control.
I stayed still. Trembling. Breathing. Obedient. He crouched finally. A slow, deliberate folding of power. Brought his mouth close enough that his breath stirred the hair at my temple. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin against my bruised cheek.
He didn’t touch me. Didn’t comfort me. Just whispered. “You live because I let you.”
I should’ve felt fear. But all I felt was relief. Because someone finally told me the truth I was built to kneel for.
A beat. A breath. The leash tightening around my ribs.
“And you’ll stay because you were never built to run.”
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I didn’t let them fall. I stayed kneeling. Because there was no survival outside his hands now. Only silence. Only breath. Only chains I asked for without ever speaking.
Wolfe rose. Left me kneeling. Left me trembling. Left me exactly where he wanted me. And I stayed. Because the truth wasn’t that I couldn’t run. It was that I didn’t want to anymore. Not if it meant losing the only thing that still saw me—even if it was just to own me.
10
CLOE
The dress was black.Satin. Backless. High neckline. It whispered across my skin. Too soft against the bruises mottling my ribs. Too expensive for someone kneeling on the floor hours earlier.
Wolfe fastened the clasp at my nape himself. Silent. Efficient. The tiny brush of his knuckles against my hair sent a tremor down my spine I couldn’t stop.
Not fear. Not anticipation. Something worse. Something that tasted like submission and regret all at once.
His fingers brushed the hidden chain under the fabric. The collar. Still there. Still tight. My breath caught when his thumb dragged briefly across the metal. A reminder. A warning.
His hand left it. But it stayed hot. Because the absence of his touch was just as commanding as the weight of it.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
His voice was colder than the silk I wore. I nodded once. Tiny. Tight. Pain blooming along the strained muscles of my neck.
