Caroline blinked awake, the sun streaming into the room, warming her flesh and the floor around her.
Daniella’s scent still lingered faintly on her skin—jasmine and wine and something feral beneath it. She licked her lips, tasted the night again. Tasted the early morning. And she took a deep breath, taking it in. The curve of her hip still ached from the way Colt had gripped it, hard and possessive, as if she were something to be claimed between them. Their hands, their mouths, their rhythm—it had blurred together in a haze of submission and indulgence, and even now Caroline wasn’t sure which part of the night had been real and which had simply felt too good not to believe in.
She had gone to them not out of curiosity. But obedience. Ethan had given her away right there in the ballroom, the eyes of the room on her as she let herself be swept away--a slave in a plain shift of a dress barely enough to cover her. A tinge of hesitation, trepidation, fear even, of not knowing what she was yet. Ethan knew, it seemed. Daniella knew. And Colt.
And they had welcomed her. And before she’d taken three breaths, she them.
It hadn’t been love. It hadn’t even been comfort.
But it had cracked something open inside her—something that, until then, had remained tightly wound beneath years of performance and pretense. Years in denial with a husband that couldn’t satisfy, absent, fearful and angry when he was home. Years of loneliness and her own wiles to keep her company. And yet, one night with Daniella’s tongue in her mouth and Colt’s cock in her ass, and Caroline had stopped pretending. For a moment, she'd been nothing but want and breath and need. And they'd taken her in, as if that part of her—the part that needed, the part that obeyed—had always belonged. As if they’d known it the moment they saw her.
And yet, did it matter? She belonged to Ethan now, and he’d taken no time to show her what she was. She lay there, still and easy, the cuffs in place, the collar tight around her throat, but easy and quiet and comfortable, watching Daniella walk away, her toes long and painted and pretty. Colt led the way from the room, their bag over his shoulder. Before Daniella had gone, her hand still lingering on the doorframe, she leaned back in and smiled, then pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh, now. Don’t wake up your master.”
Now, in the quiet hours of morning, that memory pressed close, not as regret, but as proof. She could want. She could surrender. And it wouldn’t break her. In fact, all she wanted was for Daniella to come back. She laid there waiting, her breath easy and slow like a weekend morning in the Big Easy. Would Daniella come back for one more taste? Caroline was helpless, lying there in a half daze after a long night, yet wet and aching, the throbbing between her legs calling out for attention.
A knock at the door interrupted her reverie—three soft raps. A servant, not Ethan. A young black woman in a traditional maid outfit, black dress, white apron, white shoes as silent as the wind on the wooden floor. She approached without a sound, not even looking at the naked woman on the floor. She sat a velvet box on the floor in front of Caroline and began to strip the sheets from the bed. When she was done, she unfastened the chains and the restraints, again without a word or so much as a glance or acknowledgement. Then, the girl was gone, everything from the night bundled neatly in her small arms, leaving behind the flat square box.
Inside: a collar. And a note.
Black leather, minimal, exquisite. A silver ring at its center. Caroline stared at it for a few moments, feeling the hands, bodies, the heat of the night before, then thought of home, or what had been her home. The solitude. The emptiness. The cold gaze of her husband. The mocking tone of her daughter. Another day waiting for someone she cared about to notice her, to touch or hold her, to kiss and hug her, to hear the words, “I love you.” There was no collar there, no restraints, no cuffs or chains. And no grasping hands, no breathless sighs, no trembling lips. There was nothing to go home to -- that much was certain.
Caroline waited for a long time on her knees, one hand resting on the collar’s edge, her thumb slowly tracing the stitching. The sun climbed in the morning sky, warming her skin, filling the room with light. It should’ve felt humiliating, she thought. Instead, it felt like the truth—one she was finally willing to wear. She had gone into the bargain with eyes wide open, understanding at least to some degree what her decision might bring. She’d read novels, slipped her fingers into her pussy as she dreamed of those moments the words brought to life. She understood the concept of surrender, fantasized about it, even explored it on the web one late night, but now, here it was. Like a beacon during a storm. Here was that sign, that moment, when the way forward was as clear as day and she tired of longing for it.
She pinned her hair up with care, then returned to the collar. She fastened it around her throat, the leather warm against her skin. The clasp clicked into place like a final breath before a dive.
And then she leaned over onto her hands and knees and began to crawl.
The collar stayed snug against her throat as Caroline crawled through the quiet house, her breath steady, her knees already stinging from the hardwood floors. The estate was still—early enough that the halls echoed with the hush of polished shoes and distant kitchen clatter. No one stopped her. No one offered help. Another maid and another passed her, and each time she looked up, their eyes met hers. A silent warning. Eyes down. Don’t look up at us. The message was simple enough, and Caroline focused her eyes on the floor.
Somewhere, she would find Ethan.
She passed the drawing room, the study, the long hallway lined with ancestral portraits—all of them watching, disapproving, silent.
Somewhere, deep in her belly, the echo of Daniella’s lips on her skin still pulsed. The strength of Colt’s grip still lingered on her hip like a bruise made of lust. She’d thought that night might vanish in the morning light, but instead, it traveled with her—an unspoken confidence under her skin.
You are not just his, Daniella had whispered. One day you will become your own.
She turned the corner and spotted the tall glass doors that opened onto the back patio.
Ethan was already there.
He sat in a sculpted iron chair at a small breakfast table, a linen napkin draped across one thigh, a newspaper folded beside his untouched plate. His coffee steamed in his hand, and he looked entirely unbothered by the arrival of a woman crawling across the flagstone patio toward him, naked except for a collar and the daylight creeping over her back.
Caroline settled at his feet, lowering her head. The stone was warm here, drawing her back towards sleep. She inhaled, took in the morning breeze heavy with roses and rain-soaked earth. Somewhere behind her, she knew, the gardens stretched for half an acre. She’d remembered walking there after a party once, her husband in the study laughing and smoking cigars, the moonlight streaming down over the rows of roses. And suddenly, there was Ethan, his eyes sparkling, taking her in.
“Good morning,” said Ethan, pulling her back to the here and now. “I trust you slept well. After your night, Daniella was most pleased, promised to come back as soon as their business was concluded in Baton Rouge.”
Caroline’s pulse skipped.
He went on. “I imagine they were gracious hosts,” he mused, sipping his coffee. “Daniella usually is. Colt less so—but I suspect he enjoyed you. He was all smiles, cocky -- the same as always, but different. How you must have looked fucking him all night. Them, I should say. Daniella looked tired, where she usually looks sharp. Did you make her cum, pet? Did you enjoy the taste of her pussy? Colt confesses she’s a dream in bed.”
Caroline didn’t speak. Her palms pressed flat against the stone, grounding her. She wasn’t sure what she expected from Ethan. Instead, she felt a smile just behind his words.
“Is she?” he said, voice velvet-soft.
She swallowed and nodded her head, unwilling or unable to look up at him. Would he see the heat in her face? Sense something in her eyes?
“They said as much about you, darling, but I think some time with Anastasia will do you some good. Not everyone is so aggressive. Or conventional. And I don’t ever want to hear that you disappointed.”
“No, sir.”
He finally looked down at her, and the weight of his gaze was heavier than any leash. She could feel it on her back as much as she felt the heat of the sun. “And here you are now. Crawling through my home. Naked and collared.” He shifted in his chair, and Caroline felt his fingers trail up her spine, drawing her gaze.
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back in his chair and considered her.
“Which means you’ve learned something about what you are,” he said. “And what you want.”
Caroline lifted her head slowly. The collar tightened slightly with the motion, reminding her of its presence. Of his.
“I don’t know,” she said, and it felt right. True. Would he accept that, or did he want her to play a role? She studied his face, straightening until she was kneeling upright in front of him. Naked. Collared. A woman in a prominent neighborhood just the day before. A slave today.
“In time, pet,” Ethan said, setting down his cup. “A lot can happen in a year.”
She should’ve been afraid just then. Instead, she closed her eyes—and breathed him in. Breathed in the idea. The truth of it. A year was a long time, and yet still no more than the blink of an eye, depending on your angle. Did it matter now? The contract was signed. The bargain made. Somewhere, not more than twenty miles away, a house sat empty, her old world left behind. This was her world now. This place. This man. This life was hers.
He reached out and clipped the leash to her collar, pulling her eyes back to his.
“You will spend the day as mine,” he said. “Utterly. Unquestionably.”
She nodded.
“Do you understand what that means?”
“I do.”
His hand cupped her jaw, thumb stroking the edge of her mouth, then dragging lightly along her bottom lip. “Then show me, pet,” he whispered.
And just like that, Caroline’s first morning as a slave began.
