Chapter 2 Obedience

Emma didn't remember walking out of Damien's office. Only the numb silence of the elevator and the press of her palm against her chest as if she could calm the wild thumping of her heart. She didn't sleep that night. Her mind replayed every word, every breath he took. The way he had stood so close, like her space belonged to him. Maybe it did now.

The next morning, she was back at Whitmore Holdings-6:55 a.m., sharp.

Damien's executive assistant, a woman named Lydia, handed her a tablet and a phone. "He expects you in his office. Now."

Emma hesitated outside the tall double doors. Her fingers hovered over the handle for a moment too long.

"Enter," came the command from inside.

She pushed the door open.

He was seated behind his massive desk, flipping through a series of reports. The skyline framed him like a portrait-power incarnate.

"You're early," he said, eyes still on the page.

"You said I belonged to you now. I assumed punctuality was expected."

That made him glance up. A flicker of amusement crossed his face-just enough to be noticed, not enough to soften him.

"You assume correctly," he said, setting the report down. "Strip."

Emma's heart stopped. "What?"

"Your coat," he said coolly, eyes glinting. "It's wet. Or did you think I meant something else?"

Her face went crimson as she slid off her coat and hung it silently.

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit."

She did, hands in her lap like a scolded child.

"There will be rules," he said. "And there will be consequences. This arrangement isn't for your comfort, it's for my convenience. You'll answer your phone when I call. You'll complete tasks the second they're assigned. You'll attend functions with me when I see fit."

Emma swallowed hard. "Functions?"

"Social, business, personal. You'll look the part. Speak the part. And at all times, remember you're an extension of me."

She nodded slowly. "And... if I fail?"

He leaned forward, voice a silk-covered blade. "You won't."

She didn't know whether to be terrified or thrilled by the challenge in his tone.

He handed her a black folder. Inside was an itinerary of her day: boardroom meetings, staff briefings, coffee orders down to temperature and foam thickness, and a final task in bold:

Dinner. 8 p.m. sharp. Wear the dress delivered to your apartment.

Her head snapped up. "Dinner?"

"With me."

"Should I bring notes? Or is it business-"

He cut her off. "It's not business. You'll sit, eat, and behave."

"Behave?"

He stood and walked to her side of the desk. Emma's pulse picked up as he loomed above her again.

"You want to know what happens when you disobey, Miss Hartley?" he asked, voice low.

She should've said no. But something reckless inside her whispered, yes.

"Yes."

He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Then don't test me tonight."

---

That Night...

The dress was deep crimson, silk, and low-cut. Emma stared at herself in the mirror. She had never worn something so revealing, so... adult. She didn't recognize the woman staring back.

The driver picked her up at 7:30. The car was sleek, black, and silent like everything Damien touched.

He was already at the restaurant when she arrived, seated in a private booth near the back. His eyes met hers, slow and deliberate, drinking in the way the dress clung to her curves.

"Sit," he said, standing only after she did.

She could feel other patrons staring, but his presence made everything else blur.

He ordered for both of them. She didn't protest.

"You're quiet," he said after their first course arrived.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"You."

He raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"I don't understand you."

"You don't need to," he said, leaning forward. "You only need to follow."

Her breath caught. "And if I don't?"

He gave her a look that curled heat low in her belly.

"Then I'll teach you how."