Chapter 2 The First Lesson

The room was quiet, save for the slow ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the corner—an elegant relic that didn't match the cold austerity of the space. Isla stood near the wall, bare feet curling into the thick velvet carpet, her back tense, arms wrapped around herself like she could hide from his gaze. Dominic Virelli watched her from across the room, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. He hadn’t spoken since dropping those final chilling words. “I want to unravel you slowly, Isla Maren.” They echoed in her ears still, like the whisper of something venomous crawling along her spine. She was still in the same clothes she’d worn two days ago—her jeans rumpled, her paint-stained sweater soaked from the rain and dried stiff on her skin. She felt dirty. Vulnerable. Like she was standing in a stranger’s museum, where she was the exhibit. “How long are you going to stand there, Isla?” Dominic finally spoke, swirling the liquor in his glass. His voice was maddeningly calm. “You’ve barely moved.” “I don’t know where I am,” she replied, forcing her voice not to tremble. “You're safe.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I was safe before you broke into my apartment.” He took a step closer. Her entire body tensed. “Do you know why I brought you here?” he asked. “Because you’re a control freak? A psychopath? Take your pick.” That earned her a faint smirk. “I don’t mind spirited women. I prefer them, actually. They scream louder when they fall apart.” Her breath caught. “You think this is some kind of game?” she whispered, pressing herself back into the wall. “No.” Dominic approached her like a predator who didn’t need to run—he only needed time. “But I think you’ve lived your whole life playing by someone else’s rules. Smiling when you wanted to cry. Apologizing for taking up space.” He was in front of her now. Too close. “I think, Isla, that a part of you liked watching me that night.” She slapped him. It echoed in the silence like thunder. Isla’s palm stung. Her breath came in rapid bursts. But she didn’t back down. Dominic didn’t flinch. Slowly, he set his glass on a nearby table, then turned back to her with an expression that sent ice through her veins. “I’ll allow that one,” he said. “But only once.” “You don’t own me,” she spat. He tilted his head. “Don’t I?” Her hand trembled at her side. “I won’t be part of your sick fantasy,” she said. Dominic reached out and took her wrist gently, lifting it between them. “You think I want a doll to dress up and display? No. I want the woman who dares look into the dark and doesn’t look away.” He pulled her closer, his voice dropping. “You looked at me, Isla. Not with fear—but with fascination. You saw what I did, and you didn’t run until it was over. Do you know how rare that is?” She shook her head, trying to tug her arm free. “You’re wrong.” “Am I?” he murmured, brushing his lips near her ear. “Then why are you still listening?” --- That night, she didn’t sleep. Dominic left her alone, locking the door behind him with a quiet click. She stood by the bed for hours, unable to lay down, afraid of what would happen if she did. The lights stayed dim but on. There were no windows, only shadows—and the sense that at any moment, the darkness might reach for her. She checked the door. Solid steel. No keyhole. There was a bathroom through a narrow archway—elegant, fully stocked, with everything from lavender-scented shampoo to a robe that still had a tag. Her things had been unpacked and folded neatly in a wardrobe. Her brushes. Her sketchbooks. He had taken everything. And yet, oddly, nothing was missing. It was terrifying, that level of control. When she finally crawled into bed near dawn, sleep took her only because exhaustion left her no choice. --- She woke to the sound of soft classical music. For a split second, she forgot where she was. The mattress was so soft it cradled her, and the sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood and something darker. Then memory slammed into her chest like a wave. She sat up fast. Dominic was sitting across the room, perfectly at ease in an armchair, reading a leather-bound book. He looked like a portrait—sharp suit, hair still damp from a shower, expression unreadable. “What the hell?” she gasped, scrambling back against the headboard. “You sleep with your mouth slightly open,” he said calmly, closing the book. “It’s endearing.” “Get out,” she hissed. “No.” He stood and walked toward her. “I wanted to give you your first choice today, Isla. To show you how this arrangement works.” “This isn’t an arrangement,” she snapped. “It’s a prison.” Dominic smiled, unfazed. “All cages are prisons. But some are gilded.” He held up two items in his hands. In his right hand, a sleek silver bracelet. In his left, a thin leather collar with a ruby-studded clasp. Her stomach turned. “No,” she said immediately. “It’s symbolic,” he explained. “The bracelet means you stay in the guest wing. You eat with me. Talk with me. You remain a... guest. Watched, but untouched.” She swallowed. “And the collar?” He stepped closer. “That means you’re mine.” “Physically?” “In every way that matters.” Her pulse raced. “I’d rather die.” He chuckled. “You won’t. Because I know something you don’t.” “What’s that?” “You’re curious.” She didn’t reply. He let the silence stretch. “You have until the end of the day to decide,” he said, placing both items on a dark velvet cushion near the foot of the bed. “If neither is chosen, I choose for you.” He left without another word. --- Hours passed. Isla didn’t move from the bed. Her eyes never left the symbols of her fate. A bracelet. A collar. Both choices felt like chains. One silk, one steel. Could she manipulate the guest position? Gather intel? Find a way out? Would the submissive choice make him complacent—or would it break her? She hated him. She feared him. But beneath it all, a small, dark part of her burned. It had burned the moment he touched her wrist. The moment he whispered near her ear. You looked at me... with fascination. What if he was right? What if, deep down, a part of her wanted to know what it felt like to be possessed completely? --- That night, the lock clicked again. Dominic entered. The air shifted with his presence. Isla was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t speak. But her choice was clear. The silver bracelet was untouched. The collar lay in her palm. Dominic’s eyes darkened. He walked to her slowly, not with triumph, but reverence. “You surprise me,” he said. “Don’t read into it,” she murmured. “I want to see what kind of monster you really are.” He took the collar from her hand and brushed his fingers along her jaw. “You’ll regret that curiosity,” he said. “I already do.” But she lifted her chin as he fastened the leather around her throat, the ruby glinting in the candlelight. And when his thumb brushed the underside of her jaw, she didn’t flinch.