Chapter 5 Obedience

The night passed like a fever dream.

Eira slept in a room she hadn't entered by choice, under silk sheets that smelled of cedar and sin. Her body pulsed with heat, even in stillness. The red liquid Lucien had given her had done something-awakened her senses, sharpened her need.

But the strange part was: she didn't feel hollow. For once, the craving didn't feel like a monster clawing out from inside her chest. It felt... tethered. Watched.

She felt his presence even in the dark.

When she woke, her limbs were heavy, her body damp with sweat, her mind aching for touch. But Lucien didn't come.

Instead, a woman entered the room in silence.

She was tall and elegant, dressed in black silk with a silver pendant around her neck-an inverted version of the mark now burned into Eira's skin.

"You're not his first," the woman said coolly.

Eira sat up, covering herself instinctively. "Who are you?"

"I am the Second. I guide the marked until they're claimed. Today, you learn obedience."

Eira's pulse quickened. "I already signed the contract."

The woman moved smoothly across the floor, her eyes unreadable. "Signing is not obedience. Wanting to kneel is not the same as knowing how."

She pulled open a wardrobe built into the wall. Inside were gowns, corsets, ropes of crimson silk. She chose a sheer black dress with slits up both sides and laid it on the bed.

"Put it on."

Eira hesitated.

The Second tilted her head. "Lucien only accepts defiance when it's asked for. Don't confuse submission with weakness. It takes strength to obey without shame."

Eira's jaw clenched, but she stood. Stripped. Slid the dress over her naked skin. The fabric clung like heat.

The woman studied her. Nodded once. "Good."

She handed Eira a thin collar made of dark leather and silver threading. No lock. No tag. Just a symbol stitched over the throat: a flame within a ring.

Eira stared. "You want me to wear this?"

"You need to," the Second said. "It's not punishment. It's presence. His."

Eira fastened it. Something inside her settled-like clicking into place.

"Follow," the woman said.

They moved silently down the velvet corridor. This time, Lucien's office was empty. But the doors beyond-the ones behind the Ritual Room-were open.

Inside was no dungeon.

It was a sanctum.

Red walls. Black candles. A throne of iron and velvet. And standing before it-Lucien.

He wore black slacks and a silk shirt open at the throat. No tie. No smile.

His eyes met hers and didn't move.

"You've obeyed," he said.

Eira dropped to her knees.

She didn't think. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. There was no shame. No hesitation.

Just heat.

Lucien stepped closer, each footfall echoing in her bones.

"Good girl."

The words melted inside her.

His hand slipped under her chin, lifting her gaze. "Are you ready to be unmade?"

Eira swallowed. "Yes."

Lucien's voice was velvet and steel. "Then remember this: your pleasure belongs to me. And only I decide when you break."

And with that, the true Ritual began.