No fury.
No betrayal.
No forgiveness.
Just—ownership.
The kind that didn’t need to be spoken. The kind that lived in the way my body locked tighter at the heat of his gaze. The way my lungs squeezed tighter against my ribs. The way my heart stuttered once against the cage of my chest—then settled into a slower,steadierbeat.
One meant for survival. One meant forhissurvival. Because mine didn’t matter anymore. Not really. Not when the only thing keeping me standing was the expectation of it.
Wolfe’s stare didn’t waver. It didn’t soften. He didn’t look at my bruises. He didn’t look at the silk stretched too tight across broken ribs. He looked at the place where the collar sat. Where the diamonds glittered. Where the leash looped invisible through my skin.
It didn’t hurt. Not really. Itsettled. Like I’d finally stopped fighting gravity.
And in that one glance—he told me everything.
Stay still.
Stay silent.
Stay breathing—only because I allow it.
A cold shudder worked its way through my muscles. I absorbed it. Held it. Turned it into stillness. Because moving now would be a betrayal. Not of him. Of myself. Of what he trained into me. Of what I begged for without words every time I obeyed without being told.
The music played on. The laughter returned. The ballroom rebuilt its careful, glittering lies around us. But I stayed exactly where I was. The shame weighing heavier than the silk. The obedience sinking deeper than the bruises. Because survival wasn’t about strength anymore. It wasn’t about hope. It was about surrender.
Silent.
Breathless.
Complete.
And I realized then—knees trembling under the weight of breath I didn’t own—I didn’t survive because I fought.
I survived becauseI was allowed to.
Because Wolfe decided I could. Because Wolfe decided Ishould.
And when the world shattered again—because it would, because it always did—I wouldn’t fight it.
I would kneel in the wreckage.
Exactly the way he built me to.
The ballroom pulsed wrong. Too sharp. Too loud. Too slow. I stayed exactly where Wolfe’s glance pinned me. Head down. Spine straight. Breath shallow. A figure wrapped in satin and shame.
The music kept playing. But it sounded off. Tilted. Like a record starting to crack. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe deeper. Because Wolfe hadn’t given me permission. Because Wolfe hadn’t looked away yet.
I heard Royal first. Of course I did. His laugh split the heavy silence like a blade dragged slow across skin. Not loud enough to be noticed by the guests still pretending not to see. But loud enough for Wolfe. For Loyal. For me.
“Well,” Royal drawled, voice rich with lazy cruelty, “it was never going to stay hidden forever.”
I flinched inside. Not visibly. Not where anyone could see. But I felt it. The collar tightening against my throat. The bruises burning under silk.
Royal moved closer. Casual. Predatory. The kind of slow prowl that made the air thin in my lungs. He stepped into my peripheral vision. Close enough that his scent curled through the silk and sweat clinging to my skin.
Crisp cologne.
