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."

The next morning didn't start with sunlight. It started with his hand on my throat. I woke up choking, my wrists pinned above my head, his thick hard cock already pressing against me. No words. No warning. Just Brayden taking what was his. "Spread that cunt," he growled. I hated how fast my thighs obeyed. The sheets twisted under me as he shoved his dick inside me. My gasp broke into a cry, but the sound only made him thrust harder, pushing me further into the bed. "So wet," he snarled against my ear. "Mine." Every thrust was punishment. Every drag of his cock inside me reminded me that I wasn't a woman, not a wife, I was a hole, a fucktoy he'd bought then legally married. And still, my body betrayed me. Wetness spilled around him, coating his cock. I wanted to scream in his face, claw his eyes out, but my cunt clamped down, greedy for more. "Pathetic," he hissed, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. "You hate me, don't you? You fucking hate me. But you're dripping on my cock." "Yes," I gasped before I could stop myself, shame tearing through me. "Yes what?" His thrusts slammed deeper, harder, his hand squeezing my throat until black spots danced at the edge of my vision. "Yes, sir!" He fucked me until my body convulsed, until I came despite the anger boiling in my chest. Only then did he cum inside me. When he pulled out, I rolled to the side, trembling, clutching the sheets. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to scrub my skin raw. I wanted more. But Brayden wasn't done. He tossed something onto the bed. A vibrator. "Put it in," he ordered. My stomach turned. "Mr Gatsby, please..." His slap snapped across my cheek. "Sir," I corrected quickly, tasting blood. "Please, sir..." "Do it." My fingers shook as I slid the toy between my folds. It slid in too easily; I was still wet from the brutal fuck he'd given me. He put the remote into his pocket, smirking. "Good girl. Now get dressed. We have a meeting." Breakfast was untouched on the table. My stomach was empty, but his rules were clear, I didn't eat unless he allowed it. My hunger twisted tighter with every tick of the clock. By the time we walked into his underground club, i was exhausted. The air smelt of sex and smoke. Mafia men waited at the long table, their eyes sharp. Brayden took the head seat like a king. I sat on a chair behind him with my collar on my neck. Then all of a sudden I felt it. A low hum inside me. My back arched before I could stop it. The vibrator pulsed to life, deep inside, vibrating against every raw clit. My thighs pressed together under the table, trying to fight it, but the vibration was too intense. Brayden didn't even look at me. He sipped his whiskey while the fucking remote was hidden in his palm. "Mr. Gatsby," one of the men said, "about the shipment..." The vibration intensified. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. My breath hitched. I stared at the table, praying no one noticed the redness of my skin. Brayden looked at me briefly, lips curving into the faintest smirk before returning to business as if nothing was happening. The vibrator went a level higher.. My wet cunt clenched desperately around the toy. My nipples peaked under the thin fabric of my dress. God! I hated him. He leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched. Only I knew what he was doing. When I shifted slightly, trying to relieve the pressure, his eyes snapped to me. The remote clicked. The vibrator went to its highest setting. I almost cried out. My hand shot to my mouth, muffling a strangled moan. The men kept talking. Numbers. Deals. Blood. Guns. And I sat there, legs trembling, cunt spasming around the vibrator, Brayden's eyes burning holes into me, daring me to disobey Rule One. By the time the meeting ended, my body was soaked. He stood. "Gentlemen." His tone was smooth. "That will be all." Then his hand fisted my hair, dragging me up from my chair. The men pretended not to see. Pretended not to hear my gasp as he shoved me down the corridor, through a guarded door, into his private suite. The moment the door shut, he slammed me against the wall. "You glared at me." His voice was low, lethal. "No I didn't..." The vibrator buzzed to life again inside me. "You dared to glare at me, slut. My wife doesn't glare. She takes what I give her." He ripped my dress open. My swollen breasts spilled free, nipples hard. His hand closed over my throat as the toy hummed mercilessly inside me. "Say it," he demanded, thrusting two fingers into me alongside the vibrator. "I hate you," I gasped. He grinned like a devil. "And yet your pussy's begging for me." I came then, explosively, violently. My thighs shook, liquid squirting out, soaking his hand. "Slut," he spat, shoving me to the floor. He yanked the toy out, dragged his belt free and unzipped his pants. His thick cock sprang out heavy and hard, glistening with precum at the tip. He stroked himself once spreading the cum over the swollen head. "You see this, whore?" His voice was a growl. "This cock owns you. Every hole, every inch." Then he shoved himself inside me "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, pounding me into the rug. "Soaking wet for me. Don't pretend you don't love this cock." Each thrust rocked me forward, scraping my skin against the carpet until it burned. His hips crashed into mine, his balls slapping against my ass with every stroke. "Take it, slut. Take your Master's cock." His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back, forcing my eyes to him. "Say it. Say this pussy is mine." Tears blurred my vision. Hate clawed through my chest, but my body betrayed me, clenching tight around him, sucking him deeper. And even as tears burned down my cheeks, my body betrayed me again. Pleasure tore me apart, sharp and humiliating. He groaned as he spilled into me, filling me to the brim. When he pulled out, cum leaked down my thighs, dripping onto the floor. "Good girl," he said, mocking. "My perfect little wife." I lay broken, hating him, hating myself.