The lock clicked behind her.
Her first night in Command K wasn't sleep, or food, or comfort. It was blood.The "room" they gave her was clean, sterile, and silent. Too silent. The air smelled faintly of bleach and smoke, and beneath that… him. Dominic. His scent lingered like ownership, seeping into the very walls.Elena stood stiff in the middle, suitcase at her feet, every muscle coiled. She hadn't unpacked. Something in her gut screamed not to get comfortable.
She was right.
The pounding came at midnight—three bone-rattling thuds on the steel door.
When it opened, the man waiting wore a black mask. Broad-shouldered. Silent. He didn't speak, didn't gesture—just pointed.
Her chest tightened.She followed. Bare feet on cold marble. Cameras blinked red in the corners. The deeper she went, the colder it got, as though the air itself was stripped of oxygen.
The double doors swung open.White light exploded across polished floors. Mirrors lined the walls, multiplying her fear into a thousand versions of herself.And at the center stood Dominic.Black slacks. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, veins cutting sharp down his forearms. No suit tonight—just raw dominance. His scent filled the air: sandalwood, smoke, leather, something darker beneath it.
"Elena."Her name left his lips like a command, not a greeting.She froze in the doorway, clutching herself.
"This is where Command K is born," he said, pacing slowly. "Everyone under me was baptized here. Pain strips the weak. Fear remakes them."His gaze pinned her. Unblinking. Heavy."Tonight, you'll bleed. Or you'll leave in a body bag."
The masked man stepped forward and dropped something at her feet.
A knife.Silver. Sharp. Gleaming under the lights.Elena's stomach twisted.
"Pick it up," Dominic ordered.Her fingers shook as she crouched. The metal was cold, heavy."Now," Dominic said, stepping closer, his scent swallowing her. "Use it."
The masked man rolled up his sleeve, exposing his forearm. Scars crisscrossed the skin, thick lines of old battles. He raised his arm like an offering."What—what do you mean?" Elena stammered.
"Cut him," Dominic said flatly. "Or he'll cut you."
The masked man drew his own blade. Her pulse slammed in her throat. "No—I can't—"
Dominic moved. He crouched in front of her, his hand gripping her chin so hard she whimpered. His voice was low, venomous, lips brushing her ear."This world doesn't care about your morals, Elena. It only cares who bleeds first. You hesitate? You die. Prove you want to live."He released her, shoving her back.
The masked man lunged.
The First Cut
Instinct screamed. Elena slashed clumsily. The blade caught his arm. A shallow line, blood beading red.She froze, horrified.
Dominic's voice snapped like a whip. "Again."The man swung back. She dodged late, the edge grazing her shoulder—hot, searing pain. Blood slicked down her arm.
Her scream echoed in the mirrored room.Dominic didn't flinch. He smiled."Good. Pain makes you remember."
It didn't stop at one cut.The fight stretched. Slash after slash, bruise after bruise. Every time she slowed, Dominic barked at her, his voice a blade cutting through her fear.
"Faster."
"Don't think—move."
"Bleed now or bleed later. Which do you prefer?"
She fell more than once. Each time, Dominic's shadow loomed over her, forcing her to crawl back up, forcing her to face the blade again.Blood stained the mirrored floor—hers and the masked man's. Her palms blistered from gripping the knife. Her breath tore out ragged.By the time it ended, she was drenched in sweat, streaked with blood, knees raw from marble, arms shaking so violently she could barely keep hold of the knife.
She thought it was over.
Then Dominic lifted his hand, and another masked man stepped in. Bigger. He carried a burlap sack.He dumped it on the floor.The sack writhed.Something inside it struggled, muffled cries slipping through the fabric.
Elena's stomach dropped. "No—"
Dominic's smile sharpened. "A test isn't real until it costs something."
The bag was ripped open.
A man spilled out—young, beaten, gagged. His eyes were wide, terrified, darting from her knife to Dominic to the masked men.
Elena's breath hitched. "Who is he—?"
"Doesn't matter," Dominic said coldly. "All you need to know is this: you kill him, or you take his place in that bag tomorrow."
Her knees buckled. "You can't—"Dominic stepped into her space, his hand on her throat—not tight, but enough to remind her he could end her with a flick. His scent burned her senses, suffocating.
"You think Command K is built on kindness?" His voice was ice. "Weakness gets you killed. Mercy gets you skinned alive. Choose, Elena. Now."The knife slipped in her hand, slick with sweat and blood.The man on the floor sobbed behind his gag.
Her heart cracked open.
Elena raised the blade—her hand trembling, her lungs choking on Dominic's scent and the weight of his stare.
Her reflection in the mirror showed a thousand Elenas—every one holding a knife, every one breaking apart.Her stomach churned. Tears burned her eyes.
And Dominic just watched. Patient. Merciless.
Waiting to see if she'd kill, or crumble.
Elena's hand trembled so violently the knife nearly slipped from her grip.
The man on the floor sobbed louder, gag muffling his pleas. His eyes—wide, wet, human—tore at her insides. She couldn't. Not after everything she'd already survived.
Her throat closed, but she forced the word out, broken and small.
"No."
The word hung in the mirrored room like a gunshot.Dominic's smile evaporated. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
"No?" he repeated, low and deadly, as though testing whether she dared to say it again.Elena shook her head. Her chest heaved, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. "I won't kill him. I—can't."For a moment, silence. Then Dominic's laugh—quiet, humorless, sharp as broken glass."You can't." His tone mocked her. He took a slow step forward. The knife slipped from her hand, clattering on the marble floor.
The sound was enough to seal her fate.
In a blink, Dominic's hand was around her throat, slamming her against the mirrored wall. The glass shuddered, spiderweb cracks splintering where her head struck.
Her scream cut short, strangled under his grip."You think you get to choose?" he hissed, his breath hot and laced with smoke and steel. His scent smothered her—raw, intoxicating, inescapable. "You don't refuse me, Elena. Not here. Not ever."
Her nails clawed at his wrist, gasping for air.
But Dominic wasn't done. He slammed her down onto the floor, marble biting into her back. Her vision flashed white. Before she could move, his boot pressed into her chest, pinning her like prey."You want to show mercy?" His voice thundered, echoing in the chamber. "Then you'll learn what mercy costs."
He snapped his fingers.
The masked man who'd fought her earlier stepped forward, dragging a length of chain. The heavy links clinked against the floor, metallic and final.Elena's blood went cold.
"Hold her," Dominic ordered.
The man seized her arms, wrenching them behind her back. The chain coiled around her wrists, tightening until the bite of metal cut into her skin.
Dominic crouched in front of her, tilting his head, studying her trembling body like a scientist dissecting a specimen. His hand brushed her cheek almost tenderly—then struck hard across her face, the crack ringing sharp.Her lip split. Blood flooded her mouth, copper and warm."Look at me," he demanded.She forced her eyes up, shaking, vision blurred with tears and blood.
"You refuse to kill?" His voice was calm now, terrifyingly calm. "Then you will suffer in his place. Every cut he should've taken, you will wear."
He signaled.
Another masked man approached, holding a short whip—a leather lash tipped with metal. Its surface gleamed under the lights.
Elena's chest caved in on itself. "No—please—"The first strike ripped across her back. The sound was a gunshot in her ears. Pain seared hot, fire burning into her skin. She screamed, the sound raw, animal.
Second strike. Third. Each one carving fire deeper, tearing fabric, tearing flesh. Blood welled in thin, burning lines. Her voice broke on sobs, her body convulsing.
Dominic watched. Arms crossed, face carved from stone.
"Count," he ordered.
Her eyes widened. "W-what—?"
"Every lash. You want to survive Command K? You learn discipline. You don't cry. You count."
The whip cracked again "One!" she screamed.
Another.
"Two—!"
Her voice shredded with every number. By ten, she was shaking uncontrollably, blood dripping onto the marble, staining the mirrored floor. By fifteen, her throat was raw, lips trembling, voice breaking.
Dominic stopped them at twenty.Elena collapsed forward, chains biting her wrists, blood dripping in rivulets down her arms and back.
Dominic crouched down, close enough for his scent to drown her. Smoke, leather, power—his presence overwhelming. His hand gripped her jaw, forcing her swollen face up.
"You think this was punishment?" His voice was low, a hiss against her ear. "This was mercy."Her tears mixed with blood, dripping down her chin.
"You refuse me again," he continued, "and I won't stop at twenty lashes. I'll carve you open until there's nothing left but obedience."
He shoved her face into the marble. The cold stone burned against her split lip.
"Welcome to Command K," he said. "Your mercy just died here."