Chapter 3: A Different Kind of Collar

Chapter 3: A Different Kind of Collar

The ride from Blackwood Tower to his penthouse was a study in taut silence. The city’s afternoon glare streaked past the tinted windows of the Maybach, but inside, the atmosphere was cold and pressurized. Lily sat perfectly still, her hands clasped in her lap, her earlier thrill curdling into a knot of nervous anticipation. Damien had not touched her. He had simply stared out his own window, his jaw tight, his mind clearly still dissecting his rival, Julian Vance.

His penthouse was a familiar space, yet it felt alien tonight. Sprawling and spartan, it was a landscape of chrome, glass, and Italian leather in shades of black and grey. It was a space designed for control, not comfort. But tonight, a foreign element had been introduced. In the center of the vast living area, where a cold, brutalist sculpture usually stood, were several rolling racks of clothing, overflowing with shimmering silks and satins. Garment bags from Chanel, Dior, and Valentino lay discarded like the husks of exotic insects.

"I need you to be someone else tonight," Damien said, finally turning to her. His anger from the office had cooled, refined into a blade of pure, focused intensity. "The woman on her knees in my office cannot be the woman on my arm at this gala. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lily breathed, her heart beginning to thrum with a new, strange rhythm. This was the test he’d mentioned. Not a test of her physical limits, but of her mind, her very essence.

"My usual... companions," he said, the word dripping with disdain, "are ornamental. They are decorative, and everyone knows it. Tonight, I need them to believe you are different. That you are my partner. Sophisticated, intelligent, demure. The kind of woman a man like me would actually listen to."

He walked over to the racks, his fingers ghosting over the expensive fabrics. "Your name is Lily Hayes. You are a successful freelance web designer. We met through a mutual acquaintance at a gallery opening. You are charmed by me, but not intimidated. You find my business empire fascinating, but you don't pretend to understand its complexities. You are graceful, you are witty, and you are utterly devoted to me, but in a quiet, respectable way."

He was writing a character for her, crafting a persona from scratch. The control was so absolute, so minute, it was breathtaking. He wasn't just commanding her body; he was colonizing her identity. She found the idea both terrifying and profoundly exhilarating. This was a deeper level of submission than she had ever known.

"Your mission," he continued, pulling a dress from the rack, "is to listen. Men like the ones who will be there tonight love nothing more than to feel they are the smartest person in the room. You will make them feel that way. You will smile, you will ask simple, open-ended questions, and you will let them talk."

He held the dress up against her. It was a sheath of deep emerald silk that fell to the floor. It was stunningly elegant, but also surprisingly modest, with long sleeves and a high neckline. It was a cage made of couture.

"Especially Julian Vance," Damien said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "He will try to charm you. He will try to impress you. He will try to discern your function. You will let him. You will be my ears. Every boast, every casual remark about a new venture, every name he drops—I want it all. You will be a beautiful, smiling vault, and you will bring everything you collect back to me."

He gestured for her to undress. Lily obeyed, her movements fluid. Standing naked before him amidst the finery, she felt like a blank canvas awaiting his brush. He helped her into the silk dress. It slid over her skin like cool water, the weight of it a constant, restrictive reminder of her role.

"No overt displays," he commanded, his voice a low murmur as he zipped her in. "No hungry looks across the room. No secret touches. Your submission tonight will be invisible. It will be in the way you suppress every natural instinct you have to defer to me publicly. The only person in that entire ballroom who will know you are wearing a collar is you. And me."

He stepped back, his eyes roaming over her, critical and assessing. "Good. Now for hair and makeup. I have people on their way."

He left her standing there to take a call in his study. The emerald dress felt like a second skin, a costume for the most important performance of her life. She was no longer just his plaything; she was his weapon. The thought sent a shiver of pride through her. This was the purpose she craved. This was the devotion her friends could never comprehend. It was so much more than the salacious details she had tried, and failed, to explain to them.

Her phone, lying on a glass side table, buzzed silently. She glanced at the screen.

1 New Voicemail: Chloe

A pang of annoyance, sharp and unwelcome, cut through her focus. Chloe. A voice from that other world, the world of mimosas and judgment. A world she had no time for right now. She was on a mission.

Still, a treacherous curiosity pricked at her. Damien was still in his study, his voice a low, indecipherable rumble. She had a moment. With a quick, furtive movement, she picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear.

Chloe’s voice was thick with tears, shaky and desperate. "Lily? Oh god, Lily, please call me back. We’re so worried. What you described today… that’s not healthy. It’s not… love. He’s hurting you, and you can’t see it. Please, Lil. Just let me know you're okay. We're your friends. We love you."

The words were tiny, poisonous darts. Degrading. Property. Not love. Lily’s thumb hovered over the delete button. Chloe’s concern felt like an insult, a blatant dismissal of the sophisticated, high-stakes reality she was currently living. Did Chloe think a man who trusted her with corporate espionage was hurting her? The idea was laughable. Chloe was crying over spilled piss while Lily was preparing to swim with sharks.

She stabbed the delete button, erasing Chloe’s pathetic plea from existence. She felt a flash of cold anger. Chloe didn't love her; she wanted to drag her back into mediocrity.

The door to the study opened. Lily dropped the phone back on the table as if it were burning hot.

Damien strode back into the room, his eyes missing nothing. He paused, looking at her, then at the phone. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he dismissed it.

He held a black velvet box in his hand.

"One final piece," he said, his voice smooth again. He opened the box to reveal a diamond necklace, a river of cold, white fire. It wasn't ostentatious, but its value was unmistakable. Quiet, immense power.

He stepped behind her, and she lifted her hair instinctively. His fingers were cool against her nape as he fastened the clasp. The diamonds settled against her collarbone, heavy and cold. It felt exactly like a collar. A different kind of collar, for a different kind of obedience.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, his gaze meeting hers in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window. Her reflection was a stranger—a poised, elegant woman sheathed in silk and diamonds. A masterpiece of his creation.

"It's time," he said, his voice a low command against her ear. "Perform for me, Lily."

"Don't disappoint me."