Chapter 8 The Collar And The Cage

Midnight approached like a storm. The collar sat untouched on the velvet bench, its presence dominating the room just as much as Dominic’s had earlier. Isla paced in front of it, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. Her mind was a battlefield—rage and defiance clashing against fear and something darker… curiosity. What would it mean to put it on herself? Would that be weakness—or power? She hated that the question even existed. Dominic had left her alone for hours after issuing his ultimatum. The house was too quiet, too still. Cameras in every corner reminded her she was being watched, even in her solitude. The thought should have disgusted her. But the truth was far more complicated. Her gaze drifted to the collar again. The silver ring glinted under the dim chandelier light, like a promise. Or a warning. What disturbed her most wasn’t the threat—it was the fact that a small part of her wanted to feel what would happen if she wore it. She picked it up. It felt heavier than she expected. Made of thick, supple leather with a buckle that would lock with a faint click—one she’d never be able to remove without him. She imagined his fingers at her neck, closing it around her, that possessive gleam in his eyes. You will put this on by midnight. Or I will. Isla’s breath hitched. She set the collar down like it burned. --- At 11:57 PM, the door opened. Dominic stepped inside like a phantom in tailored black. His hair was slightly disheveled, his jaw shadowed in stubble, eyes darker than usual. He saw the collar still lying where she’d left it. His silence was more dangerous than shouting. Isla met his gaze. “You knew I wouldn’t do it.” He didn’t blink. “I hoped you would.” “Why?” “Because when you give yourself willingly,” he said, stepping closer, “that’s when the real break begins.” She backed up a step. He advanced two. “I’m not something you can break, Dominic.” “No,” he said, voice quiet. “You’re something I’ll rebuild.” Before she could respond, he grabbed the collar and approached her. “I gave you the chance to choose,” he said. “Now, you’ll learn what happens when I choose for you.” He turned her around with a firm hand on her shoulder. She resisted at first—but his grip was steel. Then she heard the soft click as the collar fastened around her throat. It fit perfectly. Not too tight, not loose. Just… final. Her heart thundered. Dominic’s fingers brushed the back of her neck, tracing the buckle. “You belong to me now, Isla.” “No,” she whispered. “I belong to no one.” He leaned in, lips against her ear. “Then fight me. Scream. Run. Bite. But know this—every time you resist, I’ll bring you back harder.” She trembled—not from fear, but from the overwhelming heat that rolled through her at his words. He stepped in front of her again. “Tonight,” he said, “we begin your training.” “Training?” she scoffed. Dominic smirked. “Yes. You’ll learn how to kneel. How to speak. How to come when I allow it—and how to beg when I don’t.” She burned with fury and arousal. “I’ll never beg you.” “We’ll see.” --- He led her to the mirrored wall. “Strip,” he ordered. She didn’t move. He raised an eyebrow. “Disobedience already?” “I told you. I’m not your puppet.” He stepped close, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at her own reflection in the mirror. “What do you see, Isla?” “Myself,” she said. “Look again.” He slid his fingers down to her collar. “You see a woman fighting a losing war. Still holding on to her fire, but slowly, she’s realizing something.” “What’s that?” “That the cage she’s in isn’t made of bars. It’s made of want.” Her breath hitched. And still, she didn’t move. Dominic gave her a warning look, then slowly circled her like a wolf stalking prey. “You’ll learn discipline,” he said. “Obedience. Not because you’re weak. But because you’ll understand power isn’t about control—it’s about surrender.” She glared at him. “You’re insane.” “No,” he said, stepping behind her. “I’m patient.” His hand moved to her shirt. She slapped it away. He chuckled. “Last warning,” he said softly. “Take it off.” Her pride flared. Her hands reached for the hem of her shirt—and in a defiant motion, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. His eyes devoured her. She removed the rest of her clothes slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. When she stood naked before him, goosebumps covered her skin. Dominic walked around her again, gaze tracing every inch of exposed flesh. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Not because you’re perfect—but because you’re real. Fierce.” Then he knelt. She gasped. Dominic Blackthorne, the man who radiated dominance, kneeled before her. But it wasn’t submission. It was power—pure, refined, and terrifying. He picked up a chain from the wall, attached it to the ring on her collar, and stood. “Walk,” he ordered. “Like hell,” she spat. He yanked the chain. She stumbled forward. “Try again,” he said coldly. She gritted her teeth, fists clenched—but she took a step. And another. He led her in a slow circle around the room. Each movement made her feel exposed, humiliated… and something else. By the end of it, her knees trembled. Dominic turned her to face the mirror again. “Look at yourself,” he commanded. She did. She saw a woman standing naked, chained, collared, fire still burning in her eyes—but dimmer now. Not extinguished. Just… waiting. Waiting to rise. Or to break. Dominic whispered behind her, “Tomorrow, we begin with restraint. You’ll learn what it means to truly let go.” She turned her head slightly. “And if I never do?” He smiled. “Then I’ll enjoy trying every single night.”