Where am I?

That was the first thought clawing its way through my dazed mind. I blinked slowly, the unfamiliar ceiling above me a blur of soft lights and dark wood. I tried to sit up — and found I wasn’t tied… but something else was wrapped around me instead.

Silk sheets.

Not chains. Not rope. But not freedom either.

I wasn’t kidnapped. I walked in here. I signed the papers. I agreed to everything.

Didn’t I?

I lived alone. Orphaned, yes — but fiercely independent. I’d made a life from scraps, built my world brick by brutal brick. But things had… unraveled lately. Emotionally. Financially. Spiritually. I wasn’t lost — just… tired.

Then, one day, I found an envelope at my door.

No return address. Just my name in blood-red ink. Inside?

A contract.

No explanation. Just a list of terms. Rules. Promises. Demands. And something about it — the deliberate cruelty, the madness of it — intrigued me. I should’ve burned it. I should’ve laughed and moved on. But instead, I kept reading. Again and again and again.

It said:

Agreement

You are to submit to your Master.

You are to obey his instructions, without question.

You will present yourself as he desires — clothed, or not.

You will be kept in comfort, in exchange for complete surrender.

You may not leave without permission.

You may be punished or rewarded at your Master’s discretion.

You will never be harmed, only claimed.

No outside contact. Your identity is erased.

You may be loaned to others if your Master deems it worthy.

Your only duty: to serve, to surrender, to belong.

Sign below. Or don’t. But you’ll always wonder.

I stared at that final line for what felt like hours. I didn’t know who “he” was. I didn’t know what this truly meant. But something deep in me — dark and reckless — whispered: Do it.

So I signed.

Now, here I am.

Not kidnapped. Not chained. But owned, all the same. The door opened quietly. Two towering men entered — silent, suited, and serious. They weren’t thugs. They were guards. And they treated me not like a prisoner… but like property. A strange kind of reverence in the way they moved. Like I’d already been claimed by someone powerful. Someone untouchable. They handed me a black silk robe.

“Put it on. He’ll see you now.”

My heart thundered as I walked the dim corridor. Every step felt like I was descending into something… not hell, but something deeper. Older. Hungrier. When the double doors opened, I saw him.

Alaric.

And oh… fuck.

Tall. Carved. Pale skin over muscle and shadow. Grey eyes like stormclouds ready to swallow me whole. Hair black as sin, curling slightly at the ends. Lips I wanted to hate, but couldn’t look away from.

He looked at me like I was a feast he’d waited years to taste.

“You signed,” he said. I nodded. Barely. “Then you’re mine,” he whispered.

He circled me, not touching — just watching. His gaze alone made my skin feel too tight. “I don’t force,” he said. “That’s the difference. You chose this. You just didn’t know what you were choosing.” I swallowed hard. My throat was dry, my thoughts spinning.

“Tonight,” he continued, “you learn your first lesson.”

“W-what lesson?” I asked, trembling. He smirked. And that was when I knew — I’d handed myself over to a predator. Not because he hunted me…

…but because I walked into his jaws willingly.

His voice dropped to a whisper, burning straight through me.

“How to beg.”

The doors shut behind me with a soft, final click. The silence after that was suffocating. Not quiet. Not peaceful. It was controlled. Like even the air in this room obeyed him. Alaric stood only a few feet away, yet it felt like his presence filled the entire space. Every time I blinked, I could still see his silver eyes, tracing the path of my skin, imagining what was beneath the robe.

He stepped closer, deliberate and slow. Like a wolf who knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Like he’d already won.

“You look nervous,” he said, voice deep and lazy. “Are you?”

I hesitated. “Should I be?”

He smiled. Oh, fuck. That smile was worse than anything else. It didn’t promise safety or danger. It promised change.

“I like honesty,” he said, circling me again. “That’s rare in submissives. Most lie, at least at first. They pretend they’re not afraid. Not curious. Not aroused.”

My spine straightened at the last word. I hated that he could read me so easily.

“I’m not—”

“You are.” He cut me off, calm and cool. “You don’t even know it yet. But you will.” His fingers grazed the edge of my jaw — not a caress, not a threat, just… a reminder. That I was already within reach. That I didn’t pull back.

“You’re not here because you’re weak,” he whispered. “You’re here because something inside you wanted to be broken open. Am I wrong?” I wanted to say yes. I wanted to scream you’re wrong, I’m not like that, I didn’t mean it.

But nothing came out. Not a single word. That silence was my confession.

He saw it and rewarded me with a cruel, satisfied smirk. “Good girl.” I shivered. Goddamn it.

He walked toward a velvet chaise near the fireplace and sat down, spreading his legs slightly, relaxed but commanding.

“Remove the robe.”

The words hit me like a slap, not from violence, but control. A test. My fingers trembled as they reached for the sash. I paused. Hesitated. Looked up.

He was watching me — not lustfully, not hungrily. Expectantly.

Like this wasn’t about nudity. This was about power.

I undid the knot. Slowly. The robe fell to the floor in a whisper. His eyes didn’t roam. They didn’t devour. They held mine.

“Step closer,” he ordered. I obeyed. My skin burned as I walked, bare and vulnerable, toward the one man I shouldn’t want to please. Every step felt like I was giving him a piece of myself. And worse… I wanted to.

When I was finally in front of him, he said, “Kneel.” Just one word. No threat. No force. But my knees hit the ground like a prayer.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re listening now. That’s the first step. Now let’s find out how far you’ll go.” He leaned forward, brushing my hair from my face, thumb grazing my cheek. “Say it.”

I blinked. “Say what?” His voice turned sharp.

“Say who you belong to.” My lips trembled. I could barely hear my own heartbeat over the rush in my ears.

“I…”

He waited.

“I belong to you.”

The words hung in the air like a spell. The moment I said them, I felt something crack inside me. Something final. Something terrifying and beautiful. His hand moved to the back of my head, fingers gently threading into my hair. “Yes,” he whispered. “You do.”

Then his grip tightened — just enough to remind me who I belonged to — and he leaned in, lips brushing mine without kissing. “I’ll train you,” he said. “Break you. Build you. Teach you how to beg. How to serve. How to worship.”

I swallowed hard, eyes wide. “But not tonight,” he said suddenly, releasing me. “Tonight, I let you feel the weight of your choice.” He stood, towering over me like a dark god.

“You’ll sleep at the foot of my bed. Naked. On the floor. Like a pet.”

And then—

Just like that—

He turned away.

No pleasure. No pain. Just… denial.

And that was the worst punishment of all.

Night One ended with me curled on the cold floor, robe discarded, body untouched, but mind in chaos.

I hadn’t been taken. I hadn’t been hurt. But I had been claimed.

And somehow… I wanted more.