She hadn't moved.
Not since he left.
Serena still knelt before the silver mirror, body warm from the firelight, skin flushed with a heat she didn't understand—and didn't want to admit.
Her breath came slow. Controlled.
But her thoughts weren't.
Why didn't he touch me?
Why do I want him to?
The collar felt heavier now, like it knew something she hadn't yet accepted.
She rose slowly.
And that night, alone in her bed, she couldn't stop thinking of his voice.
"I'll teach you how to break… for me."
---
The next morning, the summons came as expected.
But this time, she wasn't taken to the mirror room.
She was led to the West Library.
It was cavernous and cold. Two stories of dark wood shelves, velvet chairs, and a long table set with an old phonograph.
He waited by the window, gloves off, a book in hand.
He didn't greet her.
Didn't look at her.
Just spoke.
"Close the door. Remove your shoes. Come sit."
She obeyed each command—carefully.
But when she reached the chair opposite him, she didn't sit.
"I'm not kneeling in a library," she said flatly.
Now he looked at her.
His eyes were unreadable.
"I wouldn't ask you to."
A beat.
"I need your mind today. Not your body."
That made her pulse jump.
Because the way he said body…
It didn't sound like a threat.
It sounded like a promise.
---
He gestured to the table.
"Laid out in front of you are three items," he said. "Each one is a lesson. You will choose one. I will teach you what it means."
She looked down.
An envelope.
A scarf.
And a metronome—its silver pendulum still.
Her throat tightened.
"This is a game."
"No," he said. "This is how I learn you."
---
She stared at the objects.
Then reached for the scarf.
Silk. Midnight blue.
Soft in her fingers. Heavy with suggestion.
He smiled.
Of course he did.
"A test of control," he said. "For both of us."
He stood, walked behind her, and held out his hand.
She gave him the scarf without a word.
He circled in front of her again.
"Place your hands in your lap."
She did.
Then—
"Close your eyes."
She hesitated.
He waited.
And she obeyed.
---
She felt him step closer.
Felt the cool silk against her skin as he began to blindfold her.
His fingers didn't graze her cheek. Not once.
But the air shifted when he leaned close enough for her to smell him.
Cedar. Ink. The sharpness of power.
Her breath hitched.
"This is how we begin," he whispered. "Not with touch. With permission."
She shivered. "I didn't give it."
"You didn't stop it."
---
She sat blindfolded, body perfectly still.
Every sound sharpened.
The ticking of the old clock.
The soft shift of his coat as he moved.
Then—
"You will listen," he said. "Only listen."
Her lips parted, barely.
"I will tell you what I would do if I were a lesser man."
Her pulse pounded.
"I would have you kneel."
He paced, slow, his voice smooth and cruel.
"I would run my fingers down your throat to feel how fast your heart beats when you lie to me."
She gasped softly.
"I would hold your chin and ask you—gently—why you haven't begged yet."
"I won't," she whispered.
He chuckled. "You will."
---
He paused behind her.
Not touching.
Not breathing near her.
Just there.
"You think obedience is about submission," he said. "But it's not. It's about *trust*. Giving it. Holding it. Testing how much you can take before you fall apart."
"And if I never fall?" she asked, voice shaking.
"Then I will spend the rest of my life pushing you toward the edge."
---
The room was silent again.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly now.
She waited for him to remove the blindfold.
He didn't.
Instead, he stepped away.
And left.
Just like that.
Leaving her in the quiet, blind and breathless— wanting nothing but his voice again.