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.
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