From Alex’s POV
A winter chill clung to my office, but I wasn’t cold. I was simmering, though nobody would see that. My face? Masked as always, unreadable. Every damn day, people paraded in and out of here, but only one person got under my skin.
I looked at my phone. Nothing. No text from Isabella. “Guess it’s one of those days,” I muttered, tossing the phone on my desk. She was silent, again. As much as I held control over her life, I didn’t own her mind. Frustrating as hell, but I don’t hate it.
Moments later, she entered, punctual as ever. Those big eyes glanced at me, then drifted to the cold, hardwood floors. Her dark long hair fell loose with dandelion perfume, but she’d tried to tame it back, a lawyer’s poise with a hint of defiance. I raised a brow, noticing the faint hint of red on her wrist-a sign of the collar I’d demanded she wear, hidden under her sleeves.
“… Daddy,” she murmured silently, just loud enough to my ears. It was almost reluctant, as though calling me that scraped raw inside her.
“Have a seat, bella,” I said, keeping my voice low. But even in those two words, I made it clear:’ I owned her, mind and soul, though she fought it.’
She settled into the chair across from me , eyes trained on her folded laps. “You skipped your nightly check,” I said, drumming my fingers on the desk. I leaned back, studying her, waiting for the inevitable spark, the reaction she tried so hard to hide.
“I-” she started, her voice shaking. “I had… work, and-”
“Excuses.” My voice cut through the air like a knife. I didn’t care what the reason was; she was mine to command. The contract? Simple. She was to be mine, body and voice, every night. “You think I care why?”
A flush crept up her cheeks, and I could see it-anger, rebellion. But she’d never say it, would she? I enjoyed testing her bottom limits, seeing how far she’d let me push.
“You want me here, every single night? For what, Alessandro? So you can remind yourself that you own me?” Her words were a hiss, barely controlled.
I stood up, sauntering over to her side, leaning close, until I could see every tiny tremor in her body, every single words throwing to her ears. “Yes. And because you need me to.”
Her breath hitched. That was the truth, wasn’t it? She needed me-maybe even more than I needed her.
“Stand up,” I commanded.
She hesitated, but just only for a second. Obedience wasn’t in her nature, but the damn contract kept her in line. Standing, her body practically melted into submission, but I knew it took everything in her to do it. For her, standing before me wasn’t a choice-it was a power struggle she knew she could never win.
“Lift your wrists,” I demanded, and she held them up, hesitantly. My fingers brushed over the red marks every inches gently, and I could feel her whole body shivers, her pulse quicken. Possession coursed through me; she was under my control, completely. This was what she signed up for-a life bound to me, whether she liked it or not.
“See that ? A little reminder. A part of me you wear every day,” I murmured, tightening my grip on her wrist, sending her a kiss from my fingers to her artery. “Maybe you need to be reminded of what you signed up for. Kneel.”
The command left no room for defiance. Her body folded to the floor, her posture everything a man like me needed. Watching her on her knees? Power itself.
“Tell me, Isabella,” I murmured, voice low. “Do you hate me?”
She stilled, her breaths shallow.
That question? Loaded, dangerous. Her lips parted, as if she might spill all she’d been keeping inside.
“Sometimes,” she whispered.”… I wish you didn’t have this power over me. That I could walk away.” Her voice shook, but her eyes were sharp, defiant.
My lips quirked. “But you won’t. Because you’re mine.” I leaned closer, brushing a thumb across her jaw. “And you like it, don’t you?”
Her silence was all the confirmation I needed.
The answer is blanked but she always loved to challenge me.
“Tonight,” I said, “you’ll be back. Not here, but in my home. You’ll stay under my roof, my rules.” I watched her carefully, seeing that spark of fear, of anticipation. She wanted out, but she craved the control, the forbidden thrill. “Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”
Her lips pressed together slowly, but she nodded.
“Good girl,” I said, releasing her, and she got up, her movements stiff, controlled.
Turning toward the door, she paused, almost as if she had something to say. A confession? A plea? Whatever it was, she swallowed it back, leaving without another word.
Watching her leave, I couldn’t help but smile. She’d be back, in my hands, as always.