The knock came at exactly 6:00 AM.
Not hurried. Not loud. Just three crisp taps that sliced through the silence of Aria's bedroom like a blade. Her eyes opened instantly. She hadn't really slept how could she? Not with the weight of the collar still around her neck, not with the ghost of the silver tag pressing into her skin like a brand.
She sat up slowly. The world felt off-balance, like she was living inside someone else's life a surreal one, designed with cruel precision.
The door creaked open before she could reach it.
A tall, sharp-featured woman stepped in. Her gray dress was as severe as her expression, her hair tightly coiled in a bun that looked sculpted rather than styled. Gloves. Black heels. A clipboard in hand.
"I am Mrs. Hollow," the woman announced, her voice clipped and emotionless. "Housekeeper. Instructor. You will refer to me only when necessary."
Aria blinked. "Instructor… for what?"
Mrs. Hollow extended the clipboard. "Your schedule."
Aria took it with hesitant fingers. The letters were printed in bold, exact fonts. No decoration. No softness.
---
DAILY ITINERARY — MISS ARIA GREY
6:30 AM — Breakfast (alone)
7:00 AM — Physical training: posture, flexibility
9:00 AM — Etiquette instruction
12:00 PM — Silent lunch
3:00 PM — Rule memorization
6:00 PM — Dinner (under observation)
8:00 PM — Report to Mirror Room
MANDATORY RULES:
No touching Damien Black.
No speaking unless spoken to.
No eye contact without permission.
---
Aria's chest tightened. The words No touching Damien glared up at her like a brand-new chain.
"Begin dressing," Mrs. Hollow ordered. "Your training starts in thirty minutes. Do not be late again. Master dislikes wasted time."
Before Aria could respond, the woman spun on her heel and disappeared down the corridor.
She dressed in silence tight leggings, fitted black tank top. All provided. Everything already arranged in the wardrobe, like someone had known her size, her preferences, her limits.
There was no room left for choice. Only obedience.
And it was only the first morning.
By 6:30, she was seated alone at the far end of a massive marble dining table. The plate before her looked like something from a hotel breakfast menu eggs, fruit, toast. Everything balanced and arranged with impossible neatness.
She wasn't hungry. But she ate anyway. Slowly. Mechanically.
There was no music. No chatter. No other soul.
Only silence… and the subtle hum of the surveillance cameras tucked into the corners of the ceiling.
She wasn't alone.
Not really.
She was being watched.
At 7:00, Mrs. Hollow reappeared and ushered her into another room one lined with mirrors, its floor pristine like a dance studio, though nothing about it felt artistic. There were yoga mats, a barre, a low wooden bench. The air smelled like lavender and control.
"Your spine slouches," Mrs. Hollow said immediately. "Your posture is unacceptable. Lift your chin. Pull your shoulders back."
Aria mirrored the stance. Held it.
Tap.
A thin cane struck her lower back. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make her skin sting and her pride shrivel.
"You are not a woman here. You are presentation. Grace. Posture. Control."
Aria gritted her teeth. "I'm not a doll."
"No," Mrs. Hollow said coolly. "You're property. And no one wants a broken item."
By 9:00, her muscles were aching, her throat dry from silence, her pride scraped raw. But there was no rest. No reprieve. She was led to another room where etiquette lessons began.
She was shown diagrams of cutlery, instructed on how to sit like a socialite, how to pour tea without spilling, how to smile without showing desperation.
Mrs. Hollow's corrections were sharp and endless. "You blink too much. You look up too soon. Stop thinking. Start becoming."
Aria slammed the porcelain teacup down with more force than needed.
"I don't even drink tea," she muttered.
Mrs. Hollow leaned close. "You don't exist to drink. You exist to obey."
The words echoed in Aria's skull long after the lesson ended.
At noon, lunch was served again in silence. No conversation. No eye contact. The food sat untouched for too long, but she eventually gave in and ate aware of every bite, every movement, every camera.
At 3:00, she was taken to the library.
Except there were no books.
Just a binder. Black. Thick. Titled simply:
RULES.
She opened it to find page after page of instructions.
"You will not speak unless addressed directly."
"You will not touch Master Damien, directly or indirectly."
"You will not break eye contact unless instructed."
"You will not lie."
"You will not run."
"You will not ask for things that are not offered."
"You will not disobey."
"You will not cry in defiance."
"You will not resist."
On and on it went. Dozens of them. Detailed. Ruthless. Unfeeling.
She stared at the lines until they blurred. Then she whispered them aloud. Over and over.
Mrs. Hollow listened from across the room.
She never corrected Aria's volume. Only her phrasing.
When Aria tripped on a line, the cane tapped the table beside her.
"No mistakes. Say it again."
Her voice cracked by the sixth repetition. But she kept going.
She didn't cry.
Not yet.
Dinner came. Six o'clock sharp. A different room now. Less formal but with an air of silent observation. She sat at a smaller table. Alone again. Except she wasn't.
She could feel him.
Damien.
Somewhere close. Maybe behind a camera. Maybe standing just out of reach.
She didn't dare look around.
She tried to eat. Her hands shook.
When she reached for the napkin, her fingers barely grazed the edge of the chair across from her.
It was empty, but it was his.
Before she could pull away
Snatch.
Mrs. Hollow's hand wrapped around her wrist.
"No touching," she said sharply. "Even his chair is above your reach."
Aria's face burned.
"I didn't mean—"
"You thought. That's already a mistake."
Dinner lost its taste. Her appetite vanished.
She forced herself to finish the meal. Chewed each bite as if it were glass.
By 8:00, she was escorted into the mirror room.
The walls were quiet. The light dimmed.
The massive mirror gleamed, reflecting the version of herself she didn't recognize anymore.
And then… he appeared.
Damien Black.
Standing behind the glass.
No guards. No shadows. Just him charcoal suit, unmoved expression, eyes dark and calm like a storm before the first lightning bolt strikes.
Aria's breath caught.
He said nothing.
She stared at his reflection. Her hands curled at her sides.
He didn't move. He didn't blink.
He just watched.
Her heart beat against her ribs like it wanted out.
Finally, she stepped forward.
"I don't understand you," she said quietly. "Why do you make me want things you never give?"
Still, no response.
Only eyes that devoured her silently.
Then—his voice. Deep. Controlled.
"Wanting," he said, "is the first part of obedience."
Her knees wobbled.
He took a single step forward. Just one. Enough to make her feel the pull of his gravity.
She followed suit.
There was still glass between them, but it felt thinner than before. Like one breath could shatter it. Like one mistake could bring her to her knees again.
She raised her hand. Slowly. Not enough to touch the mirror but close.
He watched the motion. Eyes locked on her fingers. Her wrist. Her need.
She trembled.
"Please…" she whispered.
He stepped so close his breath fogged the glass.
"You'll beg to touch me, Aria," he murmured.
She swallowed hard. Her hand lifted just an inch higher.
"And when I let you…"
His gaze pinned her in place.
"…it'll ruin you."
Then he turned. Walked away. No touch. No kiss. No reward.
The door opened. Then shut.
Silence swallowed the room whole.
Aria stood frozen in place, heart pounding, her hand still hovering in the air like it had forgotten how to fall.
No touching.
No voice.
No mercy.