Wolfe didn’t move. Didn’t glance at the phones still flickering in the corners. Didn’t speak to the men murmuring near the whiskey cart. He just stood there. Watching me. Me. The girl he collared. The girl he left to kneel while the dynasty cracked around her.
I kept my head bowed. Kept breathing. Because even now—especially now—obedience was survival.
Royal stepped closer. His shoes whispering against the marble. He crouched beside me. No urgency. No hesitation. Just a lazy, predatory curiosity. “Still breathing, sweetheart?”
I didn’t answer. Because Wolfe hadn’t said I could.
Royal smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Just sharp enough to leave a scar. His fingers drifted toward my chin. I braced myself for the touch. For the mockery. But it didn’t come. He pulled his hand back at the last second.
As if even he knew:
Touching me now wasn’t safe.
Not because Wolfe would punish him. But because even monsters know not to touch altars. Not for him. Not for anyone.
Loyal stayed back. Near the wall. Breathing too hard. His tie was loose. His hands jammed into his pockets. Like if he let them free, they’d betray him faster than his mouth ever could. He couldn’t look at me. He tried.God, he tried. But every time his gaze lifted—every time he caught sight of the silk stretched over broken ribs—he flinched.
Silent.
Ashamed.
Almost human.
I didn’t flinch when Royal’s shoe nudged the hem of my dress. Didn’t move when Loyal’s hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles bled. Didn’t lift my head when Wolfe took another step forward. I stayed.
The marble was cold against my knees. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was cold now. Inside. Out. The silk of the dress stuck to my back. Sweat pooling at the base of my spine. The collar bit into the softest part of my throat.
My breath rasped. Short. Shallow. Not because of the bruises. Not because of the pain. Because of the silence. Because Wolfe hadn’t spoken yet. And until he did—I didn’t exist.
I was breath. And obedience. And waiting.
Royal shifted. A low hum under his breath. Amusement. Or maybe hunger. Loyal turned away. Hands shoved deep into his pockets. Shoulders tight.
The crowd was still moving. Still pretending. But the weight around us grew heavier. Sharper. Predators circling a king they didn’t dare challenge. Because Wolfe hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t bent. And they didn’t know what to do with something they couldn’t bleed. Neither did I.
The piano faltered. A wrong note. A shiver across the room. It was enough. Enough to make a man stumble. Enough to make a woman gasp. Enough to tilt the entire axis of the night.
I kept my head bowed. Breath caught shallow in my throat. Waiting. Bleeding in silence. Because there was no mercy in the leash now. Only proof. Only ownership.
And then—Wolfe spoke.
One word.
One command.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Soft.
Final.
“Here.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an invitation. It was inevitability. I didn’t choose him in that moment. I remembered that I already had. The first time he saidmine—I never stopped obeying.
My knees locked. My lungs squeezed. The collar burned.
