The city sparkled below like a spilled bag of diamonds, restless and hungry. From the rooftop of the most exclusive restaurant in Manhattan, Savannah Reed sat frozen across from the most powerful man she'd ever met. Her fingers clutched the edge of the marble table, the wine in her glass untouched.

Damien Knight reclined in his seat like a king surveying a kingdom he already owned. Sharp black suit. Matching black eyes. Hair neatly styled, yet tousled just enough to suggest dominance with effortlessness. His presence was dangerous—like a knife polished to beauty.

Between them sat a slim black envelope. It rested on the table like a silent promise, or a trap.

Savannah swallowed. “So this is what you do? You buy people?”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile—never a smile. Just a knowing tilt. “No. I invest. There’s a difference.”

“I’m not an investment.”

“Oh, but you are.”

He said it like he already owned her. She hated how that stirred something hot and twisted in her gut.

“Why me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Damien leaned forward. The soft glow of the city caught the edge of his cheekbone, casting the other half of his face in shadow. “You’re beautiful, yes. But more than that—” His eyes slid over her like a velvet blade. “You have fight in you. And that’s what I crave.”

Savannah’s throat tightened. She had felt it the first time they met—two weeks ago when she spilled coffee on his thousand-dollar shoes during her second job as a part-time waitress. Instead of being furious, he asked for her name. Then her number. Then nothing for a week. Until tonight.

“I’m not a toy,” she said.

“I know. That’s what makes this interesting.”

She stared down at the envelope.

The terms were clear:

$50,000 per month.

A penthouse in Tribeca.

Full protection and access to his world.

No emotional attachment. No dating anyone else.

Complete discretion.

And one rule: You belong to Damien Knight.

“I don’t sleep with strangers for money,” she whispered.

Damien’s voice was low. “We’ll get to know each other. Intimately.”

Savannah flinched.

He leaned closer, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. “You have debts,” he murmured. “Your brother’s school is six months behind. You’re working two jobs. And I’ve already paid off your landlord.”

Her head snapped up. “You did what?!”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“I haven’t signed anything yet!”

His lips finally curled into a proper smirk. “But you will.”

Savannah stood abruptly, her chair scraping. Her heels clicked against the marble as she turned to leave—but he caught her wrist with swift, shocking gentleness.

“Savannah,” he said quietly. “If you walk away, the offer disappears. Forever.”

Their eyes locked. His grip was warm, but not painful. Possessive. Commanding. She hated how her body reacted—heart racing, thighs tensing, a low ache blooming inside her that had nothing to do with anger.

He wasn’t seducing her. He was claiming her.

And part of her wanted to be claimed.

She yanked her wrist free and stormed toward the elevator.

—

The city outside was still alive, but Savannah’s body hummed with something darker.

Back in her tiny apartment, she watched her brother Jayden sleeping on the couch, surrounded by books and empty ramen cups. He didn’t deserve this life. Neither did she. But what other way out was there?

She opened her email. The contract had already arrived.

She stared at it for twenty minutes.

Then she typed her name.

Savannah Reed.

---

Three days later, a sleek black car pulled up outside her building.

The driver nodded. “Mr. Knight is expecting you.”

She climbed in with nothing but a small duffel bag and her pride bundled tightly in her chest.

The penthouse was a dream. All glass walls and marble floors, suspended high above the chaos of the city. When she stepped inside, Damien was already waiting. No suit this time. Just a black dress shirt with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled, bare feet.

She’d never seen anything so unfairly beautiful.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I wasn’t aware there was a schedule.”

“There is now.” He approached her slowly, eyes fixed. “Do you understand what you’ve agreed to?”

Savannah nodded. Her voice came out hoarse. “Yes.”

“Good.” He stepped even closer, until they were a breath apart. “You will eat when I say. Dress how I like. You will not entertain other men. And when I touch you—” his fingers ghosted up her bare arm, raising goosebumps— “you will not pull away.”

Her breath caught.

Damien brushed a strand of hair from her face. “But I won’t force you. Say no, and I stop. Say ‘red,’ and I leave you alone.”

It was sick how much that turned her on.

“I won’t say no,” she whispered.

“Good girl.”

The words hit her like a match to gasoline.

He backed her toward the wall slowly, never breaking eye contact. When her spine pressed against the cool glass, he placed his hand beside her head.

His lips hovered just over hers. “This isn’t about sex, Savannah. It’s about power.”

“Yours?”

“And yours. You don’t even realize how much of it you have over me already.”

She shivered.

Then he kissed her—not soft, not gentle. A claiming. His lips demanded, devoured. Her hands clutched his shirt before she realized they were moving, and suddenly he had her pinned, leg wrapped around his thigh, mouth teasing hers apart like a slow burn.

His voice dropped to a growl. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

She moaned, barely recognizing herself.

Damien pulled back just enough to whisper, “This is mine now. Every part of you.”

And somehow, she didn’t want to escape it.

The penthouse was silent, but Savannah could feel Damien’s presence in every inch of it—like he’d marked the air, the floor, the furniture. Everything was expensive. Sleek. Immaculate. She didn’t belong here, yet here she was, in a black silk slip Damien had sent ahead for her, standing barefoot on heated marble floors, staring out over a city that used to make her feel small.

Now it felt like it was waiting for her to crumble.

Behind her, she heard his footsteps. Soft. Measured.

She didn’t turn around.

“You got my message,” he said.

Savannah nodded slowly, still facing the window. “Your assistant left a closet full of clothes. Tags still on. Lingerie that looks like it costs more than my rent.”

“Everything you wear now,” Damien said, voice calm and deliberate, “will be for me.”

Savannah turned to face him, heart thudding. “You think dressing me makes me yours?”

He took a step closer, eyes dark with hunger. “No. Undressing you does.”

The air between them thickened, her body tensing like a bowstring. She should be outraged, should slap him, should walk away. But something deeper—hotter—made her stay still.

“Come here, Savannah,” he said, voice low.

She didn’t move.

His jaw tightened, but instead of repeating himself, he approached her. Slowly. Like a lion circling his prey. When he was a breath away, he reached out and slid his fingers up her bare arm. Goosebumps bloomed along her skin.

“You signed the contract,” he murmured. “That means you trust me.”

“I signed it to protect my brother,” she said, chin lifting. “Not to be your toy.”

Damien’s fingers stopped just below her shoulder, and he leaned in until his breath grazed her ear. “Then don’t act like one.”

A shiver traveled down her spine. Her knees nearly buckled.

He moved behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest. His lips brushed her neck—barely touching, just enough to make her crave more.

“I told you this wasn’t about money. It’s about control. Obedience.”

“I’m not a submissive,” she whispered.

“We’ll see.”

His hand slid up her stomach, slow and deliberate, teasing the edge of her slip. Savannah’s breath hitched.

“You like this,” he said. Not a question. A claim.

“I hate it,” she lied.

“Your body disagrees.”

He turned her gently to face him, both hands on her hips now, holding her like something precious... or breakable. Then he kissed her again—deep, unhurried, a dominance that didn’t ask for permission. His tongue swept past her lips, and this time, she kissed him back, fire erupting in her blood.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.

“You belong to me now, Savannah,” he whispered. “Every inch.”

She stared at him, dazed and breathless. “And what do you belong to?”

He smiled—a real one, fleeting and dangerous. “Myself. For now.”

---

The next morning, Savannah woke alone in a bed that felt too big and too soft. Damien hadn’t stayed the night. Part of her was relieved. Another part hated how much she missed the weight of his body beside hers.

She rolled over and saw a white card on the pillow.

Breakfast is downstairs. Training begins at 11. Dress appropriately. — D

Training?

What the hell did that mean?

---

When Savannah arrived at the private gym on the lower floor, Damien was already there. Shirtless. Muscles flexing beneath perfect skin, slick with sweat. He was finishing a set of pull-ups, his body moving with lethal precision. She forgot how to breathe.

“Glad you decided to show up,” he said, dropping to the mat.

Savannah crossed her arms. “Training for what? A fight club?”

He walked toward her, towel around his neck, chest rising and falling with each breath. “No. Training you to live by my rules.”

She raised a brow. “And if I refuse?”

His eyes darkened. “Then I’ll punish you.”

A rush of heat surged through her, pooling low in her belly.

He stepped behind her again, that same controlling touch grazing her hips. “First rule,” he whispered, “You don’t lie to me. About anything.”

His hand slid up to her throat—not choking, just holding. “Second rule: When I speak, you listen.”

She sucked in a breath.

“Third,” he said, voice like silk over steel, “Your pleasure belongs to me. Only me. If you touch yourself, I want to know. If someone flirts with you, I want to see you shut it down. You’ll be obedient. Responsive. Open.”

Her heart thundered. “You sound like you want a pet.”

“No,” he said, tightening his grip slightly. “I want a woman who understands the value of surrender.”

“And what do I get out of this?”

Damien released her and turned away, tossing the towel aside.

“I give you everything,” he said. “And in return, you give me what no one else ever has.”

“What’s that?”

He looked back at her, eyes smoldering. “Real loyalty. Real fire. A challenge.”

Savannah’s lips parted. She didn’t know whether to run or let him break her.

---

Later that night, Savannah explored the penthouse alone. Every room was styled to perfection, but cold. Sterile. Not a single picture on the wall. Not even a personal touch in the bedroom he claimed as his.

It wasn’t just a bachelor pad. It was a fortress.

She wondered what Damien was hiding.

A buzz from her phone. A message from her best friend, Layla:

“You ghosted me, girl. Are you okay?”

Savannah hesitated.

How could she explain any of this?

She typed back:

“I’m safe. I’m just… figuring things out.”

Another message came, but this one wasn’t from Layla.

Unknown Number:

“You look stunning in black. He won’t keep you forever.”

Savannah’s blood turned cold.

She stood still in the hallway, phone shaking in her hand. Someone was watching her.

Someone else.

---

Damien arrived an hour later.

She confronted him the second he stepped through the door.

“Someone’s watching me. I got a message.”

He looked at the phone, his jaw tightening. “Show me everything.”

His fingers flew across his own phone. Within seconds, the penthouse security system was activated. Cameras. Motion detectors. He was thorough. Almost paranoid.

“This is why I have rules,” he said darkly. “You think I’m being controlling. I’m being protective.”

She watched his face harden, saw the rage simmering beneath the surface. Whoever sent that message had made a mistake.

“Who would want to hurt me?” she asked quietly.

Damien’s expression shifted. “Someone who wants to hurt me.”

He reached for her, pulling her close with a hunger that went beyond sex.

“You’re not just a contract anymore,” he murmured, hand slipping into her hair. “You’re leverage. And I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”

Savannah didn’t know if she was terrified... or falling.

The silence in the penthouse was suffocating.

Savannah sat curled on the velvet chaise in Damien’s study, wrapped in a cashmere throw, though the room wasn’t cold. It was her heartbeat that wouldn’t calm. Her fingers still trembled from the message.

“You look stunning in black. He won’t keep you forever.”

She had worn the black slip last night. Damien’s choice. The person watching her… knew.

Across the room, Damien was speaking quietly into his phone, his voice cold and clipped. “Trace the number. I want every camera on the building combed for the last 24 hours. And I want eyes on Savannah. No blind spots. No mistakes.”

His jaw flexed as he ended the call.

Then, he turned to her.

“I won’t let anyone near you,” he said.

Savannah swallowed. “Do you think it’s someone from your past?”

Damien didn’t answer right away. He crossed to her, crouching so they were eye level. His hand came up, slow, and brushed her hair behind her ear.

“I have enemies, Savannah. People who would love to use you to get to me. This is the cost of being close to me.”

She met his eyes. “Then maybe I shouldn’t be.”

His hand tightened ever so slightly in her hair.

“Too late for that.”

---

Damien didn’t sleep that night. Not in bed. Not beside her. She heard him pacing the hallway just before dawn, his voice low and sharp in more phone calls. And when she woke again at sunrise, he was already dressed—in another crisp black suit, his expression unreadable.

“Get dressed,” he told her. “I’m taking you with me today.”

“To where?”

He looked at her like she should already know.

“To my world.”

Savannah had never stepped into a boardroom like this.

All glass and steel, perched high above the skyline, the entire floor belonged to Knight Holdings, Damien’s empire. She sat in a corner chair of his private office, feeling more like an ornament than a person. Still, her eyes couldn’t leave him.

Damien was a different man here—imposing, calm, and terrifyingly efficient. His voice was quiet but sharp as a blade. Executives scrambled to meet his gaze, terrified of disappointing him.

And yet, every few minutes, his eyes would flick to her.

Claiming her, even in silence.

He’d made her wear a silk blouse with a collar he fastened himself, and a pencil skirt that hugged her hips with no underwear underneath. His voice had been low, commanding, as he knelt before her that morning:

“Don’t wear anything beneath. I want to be the only thing you feel all day.”

She thought he was joking.

He wasn’t.

---

After the meeting, he dismissed the room and waved her over. “Come here.”

She hesitated.

“Savannah,” he warned. “Now.”

Heart pounding, she crossed to him. He leaned back in his leather chair, watching her approach like a predator watching his favorite prey.

He took her hand, pulled her to straddle him. Her thighs settled over his lap, her knees against the chair, the city behind them all glass and distance.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, breath shallow.

Damien’s hands slid under her blouse, fingertips teasing the curve of her waist. “Rewarding you. You stayed quiet. You obeyed.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

His voice dipped. “I would’ve made you beg for forgiveness.”

Her pulse spiked. She shouldn’t want this. But her body already responded to him, his control igniting something dark and needy inside her.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips. “You don’t get to forget that just because I put you in heels and sit you in meetings.”

Then he kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Possessive.

One of his hands curled in her hair, the other slipping between her thighs where she was bare, exposed, aching.

Savannah gasped. “Damien—someone could see—”

“That’s the point,” he whispered darkly.

Savannah was still breathless when she slid off Damien’s lap, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kisses. He adjusted his cuffs like nothing happened—like he hadn’t just touched her with the kind of intensity that made her entire body thrum.

She turned to head toward the bathroom, heart pounding, when the office doors opened without warning.

A woman stepped in.

Tall. Red-lipped. Elegant in a blood-red dress that clung to her body like it was stitched to her skin.

Her eyes found Savannah instantly.

“So,” the woman said with a half-smile, “this is the new one.”

Savannah froze.

Damien stood slowly. His face changed. It wasn’t softness or anger—it was calculation. Cold, measured calculation.

“Valeria,” he said. “You weren’t invited.”

The woman walked toward him like she belonged there. “When have I ever needed an invitation, Damien?”

Savannah stepped back, unsure what to say—unsure what she was even witnessing.

Valeria’s eyes dragged over her again, full of amusement. “She’s pretty. Raw. A bit… unbroken, though.”

Damien’s jaw clenched. “You’re not here to judge her.”

“Of course not. That was my job when I wore the collar.”

Savannah’s heart dropped.

Collar?

Valeria turned to her with a wicked smirk. “Let me guess… he started soft. Polite. He’s giving you rules, isn’t he? Little rewards when you obey?”

Damien moved between them. “Enough.”

Valeria ignored him. “And when he loses control, darling—because he will—he’ll break you just right. He likes the ones with fire. But fire burns, doesn’t it?”

Savannah found her voice. “Who are you?”

Valeria smiled, teeth gleaming. “I’m what came before you. And what may come after.”

Damien snapped. “Get out.”

Valeria looked amused, not angry. She leaned in, kissed Damien’s cheek—lingering.

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” she purred. “You always come back to the ones who know how to bleed for you.”

She left without looking back.

Savannah stood frozen. The collar. The warning. The look in Damien’s eyes.

“You lied to me,” she said softly. “She was yours.”

Damien exhaled, dark shadows under his eyes. “She was a mistake.”

“And what am I?”

His voice was low. Dangerous.

“Mine.”