Emma
Damien stiffened beside me.
The reaction was subtle—a slight tightening of his jaw, a fraction more pressure from his hand at my back—but I felt it like a tremor through bedrock. He hadn't expected her to say that. Or maybe he had, and he'd hoped she wouldn't.
Either way, the words hung in the air between us.One of Damien's old submissives.Not just an old friend. Not just someone from his past. Someone who had felt his hands on her skin. Who had worn a collar like mine. Who knew what it felt like to surrender to him—to be owned by him—long before I existed in his world.
Jealousy and insecurity tangled tight and ugly.
"It's nice to meet you," I said.
The words came out flat. Frigid. Polite in name only—the corporate smile I'd perfected in boardrooms full of men who underestimated me.
Vivian's eyebrows rose a fraction. Her gaze flicked to Damien, a look passing between them, before returning to me with renewed interest.
"She's got fire," Vivian said, a note of approval threading through her voice. "I like that."
"Viv." Todd's tone carried a gentle warning.
"What? I'm being nice." She released my hand, stepping back into Todd's embrace. "I'm just saying—Damien always did have a type."
I raised a brow. "A type?"
"Strong women." Vivian shrugged, utterly unbothered by the ice radiating off me. "The ones who fight back. Who make him earn it." Her smile softened into something almost genuine. "It's a compliment, Emma. Trust me."
Her tone—the warmth beneath the teasing—let my shoulders drop. Slightly.
"Vivian and I ended things over five years ago," Damien said, his thumb tracing a reassuring circle against my lower back. "Ancient history."
"Very ancient," Todd agreed, pulling Vivian closer. "She's been terrorizing me ever since."
"Terrorizing is a strong word." Vivian tilted her head up at him, batting her lashes. "I prefer 'keeping you on your toes.'"
"Same thing," he muttered, but his gaze was soft.
I watched them—the easy intimacy, the way they leaned into each other like magnets finding their poles—and something clicked.
The collar.
There, nestled against Vivian's throat, half-hidden by the tumble of red hair: a delicate gold chain with a small ruby pendant. Elegant. Beautiful.
Owned.
Not by Damien. By Todd.
My jealousy drained away, replaced by embarrassment. She wasn't competition. She wasn't a threat. She was someone who understood. Someone who had walked this path before me and found her own destination.
"Sorry," I breathed, shaking my head. "I didn't realize—I didn't see your collar at first."
Vivian's expression softened. "It's okay. I would have reacted thesame way." She reached up, fingers brushing the ruby at her throat. "Todd collared me three years ago. Best decision I ever made was letting Damien go so I could find him."
"They're a much better fit than we ever were," Damien said, and there was no bitterness in it—simple fact. "Vivian needs something I couldn't give her."
"Wouldn't," Vivian corrected, but she was smiling. "He wouldn't give me what I needed. Too progressive for his own good."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I'm a traditional girl, Emma." She smoothed a hand down her corset, preening slightly. "I like the 1950s housewife dynamic. Cooking. Cleaning. Waiting at the door with a drink when my man comes home." Her eyes sparkled. "Todd keeps me barefoot and busy. I have a chore list every day. If the house isn't spotless when he gets back from work..." She trailed off with a delicate shudder that was clearly more anticipation than fear.
