Master and Slave Chapter 9: Reclaim

Chapter 9: Reclaim

Jenika was no stranger to pain.

But this—this quiet dismissal, this invisible exile—was worse than any lash across her back.

For two days, she remained locked in her suite, untouched, unspoken to. Meals arrived in silence. No commands. No footsteps outside her door. No keys turning in locks. Only her thoughts.

And beyond the stone walls, she knew the other girl was training.

She could feel it.

And that thought burned more than the brand on her hip.

Jenika paced the room barefoot, her cuffs still in place, her mind a storm. Was this the lesson? To fade? To be forgotten?

No. That couldn’t be the end of her story.

She wouldn’t be erased.

So when the door opened the next evening, and Alex stood in the doorway—unspoken invitation in his eyes—she dropped to her knees without hesitation, head bowed low.

“Permission to speak, Master.”

He studied her for a long moment.

“Granted.”

“I was weak,” she said softly. “Jealous. Distracted. I let your gift make me proud… instead of humble.”

“And now?” he asked, voice unreadable.

“Now I understand,” she whispered. “You are not mine to keep. I am yours to earn.”

Alex stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a click that echoed in her spine.

“Stand,” he said.

She rose slowly. The brand on her hip peeked out from beneath her robe — a reminder of the fire she'd survived, and the silence she’d endured.

“Remove the robe,” he commanded.

She did, letting it fall to the floor in one motion. The chill of the room met her skin, but she stood tall, eyes forward.

“You want to reclaim your place,” Alex said.

“Yes, Master.”

“Then you will take it back.”

He stepped aside. Behind him, the other girl stood in the doorway. Collared. Dressed in a black shift. Uncertain.

“You will train her,” Alex said, never breaking eye contact. “You will mold her. Correct her. Strip her pride and teach her fear.”

Jenika blinked.

“But you—”

“Are not asking,” he cut in. “If you still want to wear my mark, prove that you understand what it means.”

Her breath hitched. This wasn’t punishment. This was elevation. He was handing her control—not over him, but over another soul.

This was trust.

Jenika turned to the girl, who looked at her with a mix of confusion and fear. She saw herself there—fresh, raw, untested.

“You will kneel,” Jenika said, voice cold but calm.

The girl hesitated.

Jenika stepped forward, gripped her by the wrist, and forced her to the ground.

“You will call me Ma’am until Master says otherwise.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl whispered.

Alex watched from the shadows, arms crossed.

Jenika turned toward him again. Her chest rose and fell with quiet fury. Not anger—but conviction. She dropped to her knees, lowered her head, and extended both wrists.

“Use me, Master. Test me. Break me again, if that’s what it takes.”

Alex walked forward.

He knelt beside her, fingers grazing the curve of her jaw.

“I don’t need to break you again,” he said. “You finally learned how to kneel without losing yourself.”

Then he kissed her—slow, cruel, possessive.

Not as a reward.

But as a reminder.

She was his. Still.

And she had earned it.

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