"Get settled." Luc heads for the door. "Dinner soon. We'll go over your schedule and determine what meetings you can handle remotely. And Simone?"
I look up.
"Tomorrow we find out if you're actually brave enough to stop performing."
The door closes behind him. I stand in the center of the guest house, my luggage still by the stairs, my carefully maintained control cracking at the edges.
Tomorrow we start training—real submission to his protection, not the performance version. The difference between playing submissive and actually being one. I should be terrified. I am terrified.
But not for the reasons I expected.
3
LUC
Simone’s still asleep when I finish my morning workout. I kept it to the property—perimeter circuits, bodyweight exercises on the lawn—never losing sight of the guest house.
I check the security feeds from my phone while I cool down on the guest house porch. Perimeter clear, motion sensors quiet, all access points secured. The main house shows Remy moving through the kitchen, probably making coffee before Isabella wakes up. Normal morning routine, except for the high-value asset sleeping upstairs who's going to fight me on every protocol I've put in place.
Yesterday proved that much. Simone LaCroix doesn't take orders well, doesn't trust easily, and sure as hell doesn't surrender control without a fight. Which would be fine in a club scene where she's performing submission for an audience of one. But this isn't a scene. This is a protection detail, and her inability to follow commands could get her killed.
I head inside, shower, dress. By the time I'm pouring coffee in the kitchen, I hear movement upstairs. Water running. The guest room door opening.
She appears at the top of the stairs wearing silk pajamas. Her honey-blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, face free of makeup, looking younger and more vulnerable than the polished CEO who walked in yesterday afternoon.
"Good morning." She starts down the stairs.
"Stop."
She freezes mid-step, one hand on the railing. "Excuse me?"
"You don't come downstairs until I clear you to." I set my coffee down. "Security protocol. Wait until I verify the space is secure."
Her jaw tightens. "This is ridiculous. It's just the kitchen."
"Windows. Door. Perimeter exposure." I don't move. "You follow my commands or you leave. We established this yesterday."
She stands there for a long moment. Her jaw works. Her eyes narrow slightly as she weighs whether to push back. Smart enough to recognize she signed a contract giving me operational authority. Too stubborn to accept it without testing the boundaries first.
"May I come downstairs?" The words come out tight, in a controlled corporate voice trying to mask frustration.
"Yes."
She descends the rest of the way, moving past me toward the coffee pot with practiced grace. Pours herself a cup, adds cream, turns to face me with that boardroom posture that says she's in charge of every room she enters.
"We need to discuss the schedule." She pulls out her phone. "I have three video conferences this morning, a contract review this afternoon, and a dinner meeting with my board chair tonight that I cannot miss."
"Video conferences are fine. Contract review depends on what it involves. Dinner meeting is cancelled."
"I'm not cancelling?—"
"You're not leaving this property until I've assessed the threat and implemented additional security measures." I pick up my coffee again. "That takes time. You want to expedite the process, stop arguing and start following commands."
Her fingers tighten around her phone. "How long are we talking about?"
"At least a few days before I even consider off-property movement. Longer if the threat escalates."
"That's completely unacceptable." She sets down her coffee with enough force to slosh liquid onto the counter. "I have a company to run. I can't just disappear without explanation."
