Chapter 1 The Beginning Of The End

Celeste never thought it would feel like this. Being bound, restrained, owned. Leather straps dug into her wrists, pinning her arms above her head. She had fought them at first, but now? Now, she could barely breathe. Not from fear. From need. The blindfold covered her eyes, stripping away control, heightening every other sense. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him—his presence, the heat radiating from his body, the sheer power coiled in his muscles. "You swore you’d never kneel for me," Dominic murmured, his voice low, commanding, dragging over her senses like silk laced with steel. "And yet…" A single fingertip traced the line of her throat, slow and deliberate, a featherlight touch that made her shudder. She clenched her fists against the restraints, fighting the desperate ache pulsing through her body. "You’re trembling," he noted, amusement laced through his words. "Is it fear, Celeste?" Her breath hitched. Because it wasn’t. It should have been. But all she felt was anticipation. He tilted her chin up, his grip firm yet careful, as if he knew exactly how much pressure to apply. She couldn't see him, but she could feel his gaze—heavy, all-consuming, possessive. "You’re mine now," Dominic whispered, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "A good girl with a filthy little secret. And I’m going to make you admit it." A whimper slipped from her lips before she could stop it. Because the worst part? She wanted to. ------- Celeste Holloway believed in control. She lived by it. It was the reason she never missed deadlines. The reason she always locked her apartment door twice, just to be sure. The reason she never allowed herself to chase impulses or entertain distractions. Control kept her safe. Which was why the first time something felt off, she forced herself to ignore it. The door to her bedroom closet was open. A small thing. A mistake, surely. Maybe she hadn’t shut it all the way before leaving for work. It happened. Except—it didn’t. Celeste was meticulous. She followed a routine. She didn’t make mistakes like that. Even so, she convinced herself it was nothing. She shut the closet door and went about her night, telling herself she was just tired. Until the next night. When she came home and found it open again. The feeling grew stronger after that. At first, it was just a whisper of unease. A nagging doubt at the edge of her mind. Then it became something she could feel—a pressure in the air, a weight against her skin. It followed her home. It wrapped around her shoulders when she stood in front of her mirror, watching her own reflection and feeling like someone else was watching too. Her sleep became restless. She woke up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, certain that someone had been there. The air in the room felt different, like it had shifted in her absence. Like someone had breathed it in before slipping away. Her deep brown skin prickled, a cold shiver running down her spine. She ran a hand through her sleek black hair, the strands slipping between her fingers like silk, a nervous habit she hadn’t noticed until now. Her keys weren’t where she left them. A sweater disappeared from her closet, only to reappear neatly folded on her bed days later. And then there were the roses. The first one appeared on a Tuesday evening. A single black rose, placed neatly on her doorstep. Celeste had stared at it for a long time, an unsettling chill crawling down her spine. There was no note. No message. Just the flower. A gift. A warning. A claim. Her fingers had trembled when she picked it up. The petals were soft, freshly cut, as if it had been placed there just moments before she arrived home. She had thrown it away, shaken it off. But the next day, there was another. And the day after that. Every evening, a new black rose appeared. No one ever knocked. No one ever rang the bell. She had started checking security footage, only to find nothing. Like the roses had just appeared out of thin air. Celeste tried to tell herself she was imagining things. Until the whispers started. The first time, she had been walking home from work, half-listening to a podcast, the city humming around her. And then— "Celeste." A whisper. Right against her ear. She froze mid-step, breath catching in her throat. She whipped around—nothing. No one. The street was alive with people, cars honking, conversations murmuring in the background. But no one was near enough to have whispered her name. Her pulse hammered in her chest. She forced herself to keep walking, her hands clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms. It was nothing. Just her imagination. But it wasn’t. Because it happened again. And again. Always just close enough to make her skin crawl. ------- The storm came a week later. The air was thick with rain, the kind of heavy, suffocating dampness that made her feel trapped. She should have stayed at work longer. Should have taken a cab. Should have waited until the streets were busier. But it was too late for that now. Celeste stepped off the curb to cross the street— And lightning flashed. For a split second, she saw him. A man standing across the street. Watching her. Tall. Broad. Dressed in black, his figure sharp against the storm. His golden-brown skin stood out even in the shadows, the glint of ink curling up his forearms barely visible beneath the drenched fabric of his shirt. His long, dark hair was slicked back, the rain making it shine under the streetlights. She stopped breathing. Another flash of lightning— And he was gone. Celeste stood there, drenched and trembling, heart slamming against her ribs. She wasn’t imagining this. She wasn’t being paranoid. He was real. And he was coming for her. ------ Dominic’s POV: Closing the Trap She was unraveling. Beautifully. Dominic stood in the shadows, watching her rush inside her apartment, breathless, dripping from the rain. She felt him now. Felt him in her bones. And the most delicious part? She was fighting it. Fighting the way her pulse spiked when she sensed him. Fighting the way her body responded to his presence before she even understood why. Her full lips had parted in shock, her deep brown skin illuminated by the occasional flashes of lightning, her dark eyes wide with confusion and fear. But that was fine. Because soon, she wouldn’t fight it anymore. She would beg. And he would be there to catch her when she fell.