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.

The courthouse looked gray and unwelcoming. I clutched the thin shawl Brayden had put over my shoulders, though it did nothing to calm the tremor running through me. People watched. They always did when Brayden Gatsby walked into a room. Men stiffened, women stared, and whispers rippled through the air like fire spreading across dry grass. But today was different. Today, I wasn't just his pet. I was about to be his wife. His hand clamped around my waist, firm and unyielding. "Head up," he murmured against my ear. My stomach twisted. "Brayden..." "Mr. Gatsby," he corrected. His thumb pressed against my side, a warning. "Remember your place." I swallowed hard and nodded. Inside, the courtroom was hushed. The judge sat at the front, brows furrowed as we approached. Brayden pulled me to the front. "Mr. Gatsby," the judge began slowly, "I was told you requested an expedited civil marriage. This is... unusual." His eyes flicked toward me. "Particularly with this arrangement." Brayden's smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. "I don't wait. Draw up the papers. She's mine, and I want it sealed under law." The judge hesitated. "Miss Brant... are you entering this marriage of your own will?" My lips parted, but no sound came out. The room pressed in on me. All those eyes. All those whispers. Brayden's hand slid down my back, invisible to the judge but unmistakable to me, a slow, dangerous trail that ended at my hip. His fingers pinched hard, a silent command. "Yes," I breathed. "I... I consent." The judge's frown deepened, but he nodded for us to sign. The contract lay heavy on the desk. I reached for the pen, my hand trembling... The doors burst open. Alessia Barged in. The venom in her eyes was directed straight at me. "You can't be serious," she hissed, moving forward. "You're really marrying her? A common slave?" Gasps rippled through the courtroom. Brayden didn't even glance at her. He pushed the pen into my hand. "Sign, Zoe." I froze. Alessia's shadow fell over me. She leaned close, her voice dripping poison. "If you do this, little girl, you're dead. The mafia won't forgive you. My father won't forgive you. Do you think you'll last a week in his world?" My throat constricted. "Sign." Brayden's tone was soft, but laced with steel. My hand shook as I scrawled my name across the line. Alessia's laugh was sharp and cruel. "Oh poor girl. You've just signed your death." "Enough," Brayden snapped. "She's mine. My wife. Touch her, and I'll tear your family to ashes." The judge cleared his throat nervously. "By the authority vested in me... I pronounce you legally married." The words echoed, final. I was officially my masters wife. Brayden reached into his pocket and pulled out not a ring, but a thin platinum band connected to a delicate chain. A collar. Gasps broke out again as he fastened it around my neck. His lips brushing my ear as he murmured low enough for only me to hear: "Wife. Slave. Mine. Forever." Alessia's face twisted, her nails digging into her palms. "This isn't over." She spun on her heel and stormed out. Brayden didn't flinch. He turned me toward the doors. "Walk." The world outside was louder, brighter. The moment the car doors shut behind us, silence swallowed everything. Then his hand was at my jaw, forcing my face to his. "You're now legally bound to me. From today I am your husband. Say it!," he demanded. My voice was barely a whisper. "Say what?" His grip tightened. "Say it, Zoe." "...Husband." A slow smile curved his lips. "Good girl." His mouth claimed mine as the car sped away from the courthouse. His hand slid down, parting my thighs, reminding me that even as a wife, I was still his slave. The mansion felt colder when we returned. Maybe it was the weight of the chain around my neck. Brayden didn't speak as the butler opened the doors. He didn't speak as we climbed the stairs. He didn't speak as he led me into his office, the room that smelled of leather, whiskey, and power. The door clicked shut behind us. He loosened his tie, poured himself a drink, and finally turned toward me. "Congratulations, Zoe," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You've just become Mrs. Gatsby." His eyes gleamed. "But don't confuse the title. You are my wife. And my property. That means the rules change." My heart pounded. "Rules? Change?" He set the glass down with a sharp clink. Then he stepped closer. "Yes. Rules. You thought being my slave was hard? Being my wife is worse. Because now you don't just represent me in the bedroom. You represent me everywhere. In this house. In society. In the mafia's eyes." His hand traced the collar on my neck, pulling lightly. "Rule number one: You do not speak unless spoken to when we are in company. Not to my family, not to my associates, not even to the servants." I swallowed. "And if I..." His hand cracked against my cheek before I could finish. The sting burned. "Rule number two: You never question me." My body trembled. "Rule number three: Your body, your voice, your loyalty, they belong to me. Entirely. If you disobey, I punish you. If you please me, I reward you." He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. "Rule number four: No other man. Not their eyes, not their words, not their hands. You smile at them, you thank them, you breathe too close to them, and I'll remind you who you belong to." I swallowed hard. I couldn't breathe. "Rule number five," Brayden whispered, his hand sliding between my thighs, possessive, "Every night, without exception, you will open yourself to me. Your body is my right. My property." A tear slipped down my cheek. His thumb caught it, smearing it away with a cruel kind of tenderness. "And finally... rule number six." His eyes locked on mine. "You will learn to love your chains. The sooner you accept them, the sooner you'll understand what it means to be my wife." His mouth crushed mine before I could answer, his kiss bruising, sealing the contract with more than ink. I cursed the day my mother died and left me at the mercy of my stepfather.