When I woke, my body screamed. Every muscle ached reminding me of what he'd done. My thighs burned, the belt marks across my skin throbbed with dull pain. The door opened. Brayden Gatsby stepped inside, He held a folder in his hand. "Sit up." I did. Because what choice did I have? He came to the bed, placed the folder in my lap, and opened it. "Your life, Zoe, no longer belongs to you. You will follow my rules. If you dare to break them, you will regret it." His tone was clipped and businesslike. He flipped the first page. "Rule number one: You speak only when spoken to. Ever. Anywhere." My throat tightened. He waited. "Yes, Mr. Gatsby." "Rule number two: Your body is mine. That means no refusal, no hesitation, no boundaries unless you're on your period and I choose to set them." My stomach dropped. "Rule number three: You will kneel whenever I enter the room unless ordered otherwise." The words stung like a slap. "Rule number four: There is no privacy. Cameras monitor you at all times. What you eat, how you sleep, how you touch yourself, everything belongs to me. My cheeks flamed. Cameras? Always? "Rule number five: If you try to escape, if you defy me, if you betray me, I won't kill you. I'll ruin you. I'll make sure you beg me to put you back in chains. if you disobey, there will be punishment." My throat burned. "What kind of punishment?" He leaned down, close enough that I felt the heat of his breath against my ear. "That's for me to know," he whispered, "and for you to find out." I swallowed, throat dry. "Do you understand?" My voice cracked. "Yes, Mr. Gatsby." "Say it like you mean it." "Yes, Mr. Gatsby." He leaned down, fingers tilting my chin up until I had no choice but to look into his eyes. "Good girl." Then, with a cruel smile, he handed me a pen. "Sign at the bottom. And welcome to your new life." My hand shook as I scrawled my name. Zoe Brant. It looked so small beneath his signature. That evening, he dressed me in black silk. A collar snapped around my neck. I was leashed. "Where are we going?" I whispered before I could stop myself. The chain jerked hard, cutting me off. "Rule number one," he reminded coldly. My lips clamped shut. He led me into an elevator, down to a level of the house that felt like stepping into another world. The air was thick with perfume and smoke. Music thrummed, low and decadent. Then the doors opened, and I froze. It wasn't a house, it was a club. His club. Men and women lounged with glasses of champagne, their attention turning instantly to us. To me. Brayden pulled me into the room like a prize animal, curious eyes followed eyes, whispers spreading. "Who's the new one?" "She's stunning." "He bought her at the auction last night, didn't he?" My stomach turned. Shame filling my body. He stopped in the center, tugging the leash until I dropped to my knees. The floor was cold and every face was on me. "This," Brayden said clearly,"is Zoe. She belongs to me. You will not touch her. You will not speak to her. But you will watch as I teach her obedience." Laughter rippled. Glasses clinked. My pulse pounded in my ears. "Up," he ordered. I scrambled to my feet. "Take off the robe." I froze. His eyes sharpened. The crowd hushed. "No," I whispered. "Not in front of them. Please..." The leash snapped tight, choking me. "You dare defy me?" His voice was a razor. Tears stung, but something in me snapped. "I won't do it!" "Rule number two," he said. "Your body is mine." My stomach twisted. I shook my head once. His grip tightened, fingers digging into my cheeks until tears burned the corners of my eyes. "Do you want me to show them what happens to disobedient little slave pets, Zoe?" "No, Mr. Gatsby," I whispered. His lips curved. "Then obey." He ripped the robe from my body, baring my naked frame to every pair of hungry eyes in the club. My arms instinctively tried to cover my breasts. Then he bent me over the nearest table, pulled the belt free from his waist, and brought it down hard on my ass. I gasped, tears spilling, heat pooling low in my stomach. The crowd roared. Applause, whistles, laughter. They loved it. The crowd's cheers still rang in my ears when he dragged me out of the club. My legs trembled, every step a reminder of welts stinging across my ass. We didn't speak on the ride back. He sat beside me in the car and I sat naked. By the time we reached his mansion, my body was humming with fear and shame, and but a part of me wanted more. He led me straight to the room as the night before. His playroom. "You humiliated me tonight," he said softly. "In front of my people. Do you know what that means, Zoe?" "That I disobeyed..." "And?" "That I have to be punished." A cruel smile curved his mouth. "Good girl. You're learning." He tied my wrists to the bed, the leather straps biting into my skin. Then he opened a drawer. And inside lay clamps, gags, blindfolds, toys I didn't even know. He put the clamp on my nipple making me cry out, the sound muffled when he shoved a gag into my mouth. Tears blurred my vision. I hated him. I hated what he was making me feel. And yet, when his hand finally slid between my legs, testing how wet I'd become under his punishment, I felt ashamed of how much I wanted him to continue. "You see?" His voice was velvet over steel. "See how wet you are? You enjoy being paraded like the slut you are," I shook my head, choking on the gag, but my body arched into his touch anyway. "You want it, don't you?" he murmured. "You want to come." I shook my head, moaning. He pressed the handle of the whip against my clit, grinding just enough to make my back bow. My muffled cries filled the room. "Say it," he demanded, pulling the gag down just enough. "Beg me." "I..I can't.." His hands tugged on the nipple clamps. I screamed. "Beg." "Please!" The word tore out of me. "Please, Mr. Gatsby, I can't take it anymore! I'll do anything...just let me....let me..." His chuckle was dark, satisfied. "That's better." He spanked me hard before sliding his fingers inside me, curling deep. My walls clenched greedily. My own moans disgusted me, but I couldn't stop them. The rhythm built, ruthless and unrelenting, until I shattered, screaming his name, my body convulsing around his hand. When it ended, I slumped against the restraints. Tears stained my cheeks, shame burned me from the inside out. He stroked my hair almost gently, removing the gag, unclipping the nipple clamps one by one. "Do you understand now?" His voice was velvet over steel. "I own you." I sobbed, "Yes, Mr. Gatsby..." His hand shot forward, grabbing my chin, forcing my tear-soaked face up to meet his eyes. "Say it," he ordered. "Say I own you." "You. Own. Me," I whispered, each word a shackle tightening around my soul.

I woke up to the sound of voices. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. My body still ached from the night before. The voices grew louder. I slid off the bed, wincing at the soreness between my thighs, and tiptoed to the door. It wasn't locked this time. "You think the mafia will wait forever?" the stranger growled. "You're supposed to marry his daughter!." My stomach twisted. Mafia? Marry? Brayden's voice was calm, "I don't take orders. Not from him. Not from anyone." the stranger snapped back, "You owe him, Gatsby. Your father promised him that before he died." Brayden's tone was ice. "My father's promises died with him. I won't chain myself to that spoiled girl." The man's voice hardened. "You realize her father holds a major stake in your empire." Brayden leaned back, unbothered. "I have businesses spread across the world. I don't need him." The man snapped. "If you refuse to marry her, then you'd better find someone else, someone the mafia can accept. Otherwise, you risk losing everything your father built." And with that he turned and left but the words lingered. Mafia. Marriage. Promises. I had been sold to a man with dangerous enemies. I hadn't even caught my breath when the door burst open. A tall beautiful woman entered. "So it's true," she spat. "You bought a new toy." Brayden appeared behind her. "Get out, Alessia." She ignored him. Her eyes raked me over like I was filth. "Pathetic. She's not even pretty. Just a scared little tramp. This is what you've replaced me with?" Alessia's laugh was sharp, brittle. "I should've known. You were always a freak, Brayden. Always chasing control because deep down, you're still that broken little boy. And now you need slaves to feed your weird fetish and fantasies?" Brayden's voice was calm, but lethal. "Alessia You have no right to be here." "On the contrary," she purred, "I have every right. My father still expects you to marry me, Brayden. We were meant to be." Brayden's reply was tight. "Get out, Alessia." She flinched. Then her eyes cut back to me with pure venom. "Good luck, little slave girl. You're just another hole for him to fuck. He'll destroy you just like he destroyed me." And then she was gone. The silence that followed was worse than her words. Brayden stood there, watching me. "She doesn't matter," he said flatly. But she did. I saw it in the tightness of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. Whoever she was, she'd cut him once, deep. Before I could form a reply, he spoke. "Come." He put the leash on me and led me out of the playroom and out of the mansion. We turned into a grand hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. My legs trembled, sore from the night before. I stumbled. Pain shot up my knees as I fell to the ground. "Careful there," a man's voice said. Warm. Kind. I looked up. It was one of the staff, broad-shouldered, dark hair, a simple shirt rolled at the sleeves, offering his hand. I took it before I could think. He pulled me up with steady strength. "Thank you," I whispered. The man's eyes softened. He gave me a small nod. And then the leash snapped hard. My body jerked back, colliding with Brayden's chest. "She doesn't need your help," Brayden said, voice low and lethal. The man's jaw tightened, but he dipped his head respectfully and stepped back. Brayden bent low, his lips brushing my ear. "Rule number one, Zoe. You don't speak unless spoken to. And you never thank another man for touching what belongs to me." "Yes, Mr. Gatsby," I whispered. "You broke a rule" He said leading me back into the mansion. To his playroom. Brayden shoved me inside, the heavy door slamming shut behind us. "On your knees," he ordered. My knees hit the cold floor. His hand tangled in my hair, pushing my head back so I was forced to stare into his dark eyes. "You broke my rule. Twice." His voice was low, dangerous. "You spoke when you weren't spoken to." His thumb brushed across my lower lip "And you dared to thank another man for touching you." "I...I didn't mean.." "Silence." The word cracked like a whip. He released me only to pull a black velvet blindfold from the drawer beside the wall. He tied it around my eyes, plunging me into darkness. My breath hitched. Every sound was louder. Every brush of his hand made me flinch. "Spread your knees," he commanded. I obeyed, trembling. "Do you know what happens when you break my rules, Zoe?" His voice was smooth, mocking. My lips trembled. "...No, Mr. Gatsby." "You suffer." The first crack of the whip landed across my ass. Fire exploded through my body. I cried out, jerking against the restraints. "Count," he ordered. "One!" I gasped. The next strike came harder. "Two!" Again and again until my voice broke, the leather searing me, branding me with his discipline. My body shook, tears spilling hot beneath the blindfold. By the tenth strike I was sobbing, pleading. "Please... please, no more..." But instead of mercy, I felt his hand between my thighs, pressing into my soaked heat. "You're dripping," he murmured against my ear. I shook my head desperately. "No Sir..." He pushed two fingers inside me. My hips bucked against him. "That's it," he growled, curling his fingers deep. "Cry and beg all you want, little slave. Your cunt belongs to me." The rhythm built until I was clawing the floor, torn between pain and unbearable pleasure. My orgasm ripped through me violently, leaving me slumped and shaking. Brayden removed the blindfold, forcing me to look at him. His expression was unreadable, a mix of satisfaction and something darker. "Why me?" My voice cracked. "Why did you buy me?" "Because you were mine the moment I saw you," he murmured. "And I don't let what's mine slip away."

Weeks passed. Days blurred into nights inside Brayden's mansion. He worked. He ruled. He fucked me. And I obeyed his commands. And then one Sunday afternoon, the storm broke. A black car pulled up the drive, I was polishing glasses in the kitchen when Brayden appeared, his jaw set. "They're here," he muttered. "Who sir?" I asked. He didn't answer, just fixed his cufflinks. I followed when he called me, though every step knotted my stomach. In the living room, His mother and brother waited. I stayed back in the corner, clutching the tray like a shield. "Brayden," his mother said smoothly, "You've ignored our calls long enough." "I've been busy," he replied flatly, pouring himself whiskey. His brother leaned forward. "Busy playing house with your... pet?" His eyes flicked toward me. I froze. Brayden didn't blink. "Say what you came to say." His mother's patience snapped. "You will marry Alessia. The mafia expects it. The deal was made before your father died. You owe them." Brayden smirked. "I owe no one." His brother slammed his hand on the table. "Without Alessia, we lose protection. We lose the empire." "You selfish boy!" his mother hissed. Brayden moved. He set down his glass, crossed the room, and stopped in front of me. Before I could breathe, his hand wrapped around my wrist. The tray slipped, shattering at my feet. "This," Brayden said, "is the woman I'm going to marry." The world tilted. His mother's face went pale. "You can't be serious. She's...she's nothing!" His brother's sneer was sharp. "You've lost your mind. She's a slave, Brayden. A toy you bought." Brayden's grip tightened around me. "She's mine. And that's all that matters." The doors banged open. Alessia swept in, fire in her eyes. Her gaze raked me head to toe with venom. "Pathetic. This is who you choose over me?" Brayden's jaw ticked. "Leave, Alessia." She laughed. "Leave? Oh no. I'll make sure my father knows. I'll make sure the mafia knows. They'll destroy her. They'll destroy you. And I'll enjoy watching." Before I could react, she snatched a glass of wine and threw it at me. Cold red liquid drenched my skin, dripping down my dress. "You'll regret this," she hissed. Brayden didn't move. "Get. Out." Alessia stormed away, the echo of her heels like gunshots. His mother stood abruptly. "You're killing us, Brayden. You just rejected the Mafialords daughter for a Slave!" His brother's eyes lingered on me. "She won't last mother. He'll ruin her like he ruined the rest." They left in silence, but the damage hung heavy in the air. Brayden was still holding me. His grip didn't soften. I whispered, shaky, "Why me? Why are you doing this? You can't be serious about... marrying me." For one breath, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. But then he shoved me back. My shoulder hit the wall. The slap came fast, sharp, ringing through the room. My cheek burned. "You should be grateful," he said, his voice cold enough to freeze the air. "I'm elevating you from slave to wife." My heart thrashed in my chest. His mouth curled into a cruel smile. "I'll have my lawyer draft a contract. You'll sign it. You'll be my wife and my property forever." Three mornings later, he entered my room without knocking, a folder in hand. "Read it," he said, tossing it onto the bed. My fingers trembled as I opened it. Contracts. Clauses. Stamped and signed by his lawyer. Clause one: I belonged to him. My body, my voice, my freedom. Clause two: my duties were obedience, silence, loyalty. Clause three: my life was bound until death. By the time I reached the end, the words blurred. Brayden sat in the chair opposite me, calm as ever, sipping coffee. "Sign it, Zoe." "I..." My throat closed. "This isn't marriage. It's prison." He rose, towering over me. "Call it what you like. Wife. Prisoner. Slave. The result is the same." The pen slid across the sheets, stopping before my hand. His eyes locked mine. "Sign." I signed. Brayden smiled. "Good girl. Now, you'll need a dress." The boutique was glass and gold, draped in silks and mannequins. I trailed behind him, still dazed, his hand on my back. A clerk appeared, all smiles. "Mr. Gatsby. A pleasure." His gaze flickered to me with curiosity. "For your... fiancée?" The word burned. Brayden's jaw flexed. "Yes." They ushered us to a private floor. Racks of ivory, satin, lace. I changed behind a screen, the fabric cold against my skin. When I stepped out, one of the male attendants froze, eyes sweeping over me. He was young, tall, his gaze lingering a beat too long. "Beautiful," he said softly. Heat rushed to my face. I whispered, "Thank you." The sound cracked the air like glass. Brayden's hand closed on my wrist, yanking me back. The attendant flinched under his stare, mumbling an excuse and vanishing. But Brayden's fury didn't vanish. "Car. Now." The moment the door slammed behind us, his hand was at my throat, shoving me against the leather seat. "You just thanked another man." His voice was poison silk. "He spoke to me first..." "Silence." He ripped the dress from my body, until I was naked. His palm seized my waist, throwing me across his lap. The first slap landed on my ass with a crack. Pain burst through me. "Count." "One!" I gasped. His hand struck again, harder. "Two!" Over and over until my voice broke, sobs mixing with the sharp sting. By the tenth, I was trembling, begging. "Please...please, no more..." But Brayden's fingers slipped between my thighs, plunging into my wet heat. "Never speak to another man," he growled, curling inside me until I arched helplessly. "Never look at another man. Ever. You belong to me. Is that understood, Zoe?" "Yes!" I cried, my body convulsing around his hand. "Yes, Mr Gatsby, I understand!" His thumb pressed hard against my clit, circling fast and hard. I was still shaking when he dragged me upright, my knees weak beneath me. "Down," Brayden ordered, his hand fisting in my hair. I slid to the floor of the car, the leather cool under my bare knees. He unzipped his pants, pulling his cock free, thick, hard, with veins around it. "Open your mouth," he said. I obeyed, heat flooding my face. His grip tightened in my hair as he pushed his length into my mouth. I gagged, tears springing to my eyes. "Take it," he growled. "All of it." My nails dug into his thigh, my cheeks hollowing as I sucked, gagging, choking, trying to keep up with the rhythm he set. He fucked my mouth without hesitation. I moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his cock. His breath hitched, his thrusts sharper. "Good girl," he groaned. "Look at you, crying on my cock, like you were made for this. My perfect slave. My future wife." His control snapped. He shoved deep one last time, holding me down as he spilled hot and thick into my throat. "Swallow," he commanded. I did, choking it down, trembling as his release coated me inside. When he finally let go of my hair, I collapsed against his thigh, gasping for air. Brayden's hand stroked lazily down my cheek, smearing my tears. His voice was low, satisfied. "Tomorrow," he said, his tone final, unyielding, "we'll get married in court." There was no question in his voice. No room for protest. Tomorrow, I would no longer be his slave. Tomorrow, I would be his wife. Tomorrow, I would belong to him forever. And as his fingers slid possessively down my jaw, forcing me to look at him, I knew there was no escape.