"Complete compliance with security protocols. No arguments, no negotiations, no testing boundaries." I move closer. "And when I give you a command, you follow it immediately. Not after you've debated whether it makes sense. Not after you've weighed the inconvenience. Immediately."
"That's asking for a lot of trust."
"That's asking for the bare minimum required to keep you breathing." I stop just inside her personal space. "You want to know the difference between performing submission and actually surrendering control? This is it. Following commands even when you don't understand the reasoning. Trusting my judgment instead of negotiating terms."
Her breathing changes—shallow, quick. The same response I saw yesterday when I stepped into her space in the conference room—her body recognizing dominance even when her mind fights it.
"I'll try." The admission costs her something. "But I can't promise I won't push back sometimes."
"You'll push back. That's who you are. But you're going to learn that pushing back has consequences. And eventually you're going to learn that my authority isn't a threat to your control. It's the foundation that lets you surrender it safely."
I step back, putting distance between us before the heat building in the narrow space ignites into something neither of usis ready for. Not yet. Not when she's still performing instead of actually submitting.
"Handle your video conferences. I'll be downstairs when you're done." I head for the door, then pause. "And Simone? Don't leave this guest house. For any reason. Without my permission. Clear?"
"Clear."
I leave her standing in the workspace, hands clenched at her sides. She's fighting every instinct she has to maintain control. Fighting the reality that someone else is making decisions about her safety.
But she'll learn. They always do. The only question is whether she learns before the threat escalates beyond my ability to stop it.
Downstairs, I pull up the security feeds and check perimeter status while Simone handles her first video conference upstairs. Her voice carries down occasionally—professional, controlled, no hint of the fear or frustration she showed me earlier. CEO voice, full armor firmly in place. Another performance, this one for executives who see her as unshakeable.
My phone buzzes. Remy.
"Meeting shortly. Main house. I've got Andy Broussard, from NOPD, and two of the tech team en route. I'll have one of our guys posted at the guest house while you're in the briefing."
"Copy that." I glance at the ceiling. "Asset's handling video conferences. Should be clear by then."
"How's she adjusting to protective custody?"
"About as well as expected." I pull up the real-time feed from her laptop camera, verify she's still on her conference call. "Pushing boundaries, testing authority, trying to negotiate terms she doesn't have leverage for."
Remy's laugh comes through the line. "Sounds familiar. Isabella did the same thing when we first met."
"Simone's not Isabella." I close the laptop feed. "Isabella was running from an external threat. Simone's being stalked by someone who understands power dynamics well enough to weaponize them. Different psychology, different approach."
"You thinking it's someone from the club?"
"Thinking it's someone who knows exactly how she performs submission and is using that knowledge to destabilize her." I glance at the time. "I'm sweeping Dominion this afternoon. Margot's meeting me there."
"Good. We need to narrow the suspect pool before this escalates further." His tone shifts to business mode. "See you soon."
The call ends. I review the threat assessment data my team compiled overnight. Three photographs delivered over several weeks, each showing Simone in progressively more vulnerable positions. Rope suspension, impact play, sensory deprivation. All captured via hidden cameras planted in Dominion's private rooms, all showing intimate scenes that were supposed to be protected by the club's strict privacy protocols.
The stalker knows her patterns. Knows when she books private rooms, which rooms she prefers, what kind of scenes she gravitates toward. They've been documenting her for weeks, building a psychological profile designed to maximize impact.
And yesterday's email marked the shift from surveillance to direct threat. Timeline specified, intention clear. Physical action is coming. The only question is when.
I head upstairs, knock once on the workspace door.
"Come in."
Simone's still at her laptop, the video conference window closed. She looks up when I enter, careful control cracking. Exhaustion shows in the tight lines around her eyes.
"I need to meet with my brother and the team," I tell her. "Main house. You stay here, keep the doors locked, don't open them for anyone except me. Understood?"
"How long will you be gone?"
