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.

I sat across from Brayden at the long dining table, my hands folded in my lap, my collar pressing against my throat. He drank his coffee slowly, eyes fixed on the paper in front of him. For once, he was quiet, almost... normal. For one foolish heartbeat, I thought this morning might feel like a real marriage. Husband and wife having Breakfast in a mansion. Then the doors crashed open. "Brayden!" His mother's voice. I flinched as an elegant woman walked into the room. Behind her trailed his younger brother, his mouth curled into a smile that made my stomach turn. Brayden didn't rise. He didn't even look surprised. He set his coffee cup down with a deliberate click. "Mother," he said flatly. "Don't you 'Mother' me!" she snapped. Her gaze turned to me with undisguised disgust. "You had a wedding. A wedding. And you didn't think to invite me? Your own blood?" I stiffened. My fork slipped in my hand. His brother, Leonardo, I remembered, pulled out a chair, his eyes never leaving me. He sat down and leaned back, spreading his legs, staring at me like I was naked. He made me uncomfortable. Brayden finally set his paper aside. "It wasn't a wedding," he said. "It was paperwork. Nothing more." "Paperwork?" His mother's voice rose, trembling with fury. "You shame this family, Brayden! You bring a whore into my house, chain her like an animal, and call her wife?" Her words hurt, but I kept my lips pressed tightly together. Rule One. Never speak unless Brayden spoke to me. She turned her gaze to me. "What? No words? No greeting? You just sit there like a dumb Barbie doll?" I lowered my eyes to my plate. "Speak, girl!" she demanded, slamming a hand against the table. "Answer me when I address you!" Brayden didn't even flinch. He cut into his toast. "She doesn't speak to anyone but me. Those are the rules." His mother's face twisted in outrage. "Rules? You've turned her into a mute! This...this slave is your wife?" Leonardo chuckled under his breath, leaning forward now, his elbows on the table, his eyes focused on my cleavage. "She doesn't need to speak, Mamma. She's pretty enough just to look at." My throat locked. His eyes moved lower, dragging heat and shame across my skin. I shifted in my chair, but his stare followed me. Brayden didn't notice. Or maybe he didn't care. "Listen to me, Brayden," his mother hissed. "I don't care what papers you signed, what bed you share, what lies you tell yourself. Alessia is your wife. Do you hear me? Alessia. Not this... this silent little tramp. Your father would be turning in his grave." Her words landed like a slap. Brayden finally raised his eyes. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and set it down. "Get out," he said. His mother froze. "What did you..." "Out," Brayden repeated. "Both of you." Leonardo smirked, rising slowly, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long before he pushed in his chair. His mother pointed at me, trembling with rage. "Mark my words, Brayden. Alessia will take her place. And when she does, this... girl will be nothing but dust." Her heels clicked sharply as she stormed out, Leonardo trailing behind with one last filthy look over his shoulder. The silence that followed was unbearable. Brayden poured himself another drink as though nothing had happened. I sat frozen, my nails digging crescents into my palms. Finally, he looked at me. His lips curved. "You did well. Not a word." My chest rose and fell. His gaze darkened. "But next time, Zoe... if you hesitate, if I see even a flicker of rebellion in your eyes, I'll remind you what obedience feels like." I swallowed, the collar around my neck heavier than ever. By nightfall, the mansion's walls felt suffocating. When Brayden told me to dress, I obeyed without question. A black silk dress, no bra, no panties. His instructions were precise. The car ride was silent. When the tinted glass doors of his underground club slid open, I forgot how to breathe. This place pulsed with shadows, heat, and power. Music throbbed like a second heartbeat. And everywhere, people were fucking. Not behind closed doors. Not in bedrooms. Here, in full view. A woman bent over a table, her wrists tied with silk as a man fucked her from behind. Another, gagged and blindfolded, rode her Master's lap while others watched. My face burned, but my eyes wouldn't move. Each moan, each slap of skin, each desperate cry of pleasure, my body betrayed me. Heat pooled between my thighs. My nipples ached against the thin silk. Brayden noticed. Of course he noticed. His lips brushed my ear. "You're dripping, aren't you? Watching them fuck... makes you wet." "No sir. I..." "Silence." His command sliced through me. He didn't waste time. He dragged me past the voyeurs and moans into a guarded corridor. The men at the door didn't even blink when he shoved me inside his private suite. My stomach dropped. It was a perfect replica of his mansion's playroom, toys, chains, harnesses, whips, every instrument of pleasure and pain gleaming under soft light. He turned to me, eyes blazing. "Strip." My hands trembled, but I obeyed. The dress slid from my body, pooling at my feet. Brayden's mouth curved. "Good girl." In a blur, he fastened a harness around my waist, then he covered my eyes with a blindfold and shoved a gag into my mouth. The chains lifted, hoisting me from the ground until I hung suspended and exposed. The first lash of his whip cracked across my ass. A strangled moan vibrated in my gag. Another lash. My body jolted, swinging in the harness, breasts jiggling. Brayden's chuckle was dark. "You love it. Don't you, slut?" His fingers shoved into me, deep and rough. My wetness gushed over his hand. He finger-fucked me until my body shook, until I was sobbing into the gag, begging without words. A moment later, his cock slammed into me from behind. My scream choked on the gag as he pounded into me, relentless, the harness rocking with every thrust. His hand found my clit and as he thrust into me, he rubbed on it aggressively. "Mine," he snarled. "My wife. My whore. You'll never look at another man again." The pressure built, unbearable, until it snapped. Pleasure tore through me like lightning. I screamed into the gag as my release sprayed, soaking my thighs, splattering the floor. Brayden's growl vibrated against my back. "That's it. Squirt for me, little slut. Mark my floor with your shame." But he didn't stop. He drove into me harder, faster, chasing his own release while forcing mine again and again until my body convulsed, squirting helplessly with every ruthless thrust. When he finally came, it was deep, filling me so completely it dripped to my thigh. He lowered me slowly, ungagged me, removed the blindfold. Brayden kissed my temple, almost gentle. "Welcome to my world, Mrs. Gatsby. You'll never escape it now."