CHAPTER SIX — STEPHANIE
I walk into the library like it's exactly where I meant to go, like there's a five-course meal waiting for us behind the nearest bookshelf. David follows me in. And then I hear it: the click of the door locking behind us.
I turn around. His hand's still on the little brass latch, and the look on his face tells me the game's over. Not in a fun way.
"Where's the chef, Stephanie?"
"He's, um. Off-site. Like I said, he's bringing the food, so—"
"Stephanie."
That's it. That's all he says, just my name, but the way he says it, I feel it in my knees. I open my mouth to keep lying, out of pure reflex, and nothing comes out.
"There's no chef, is there," he says flatly.
"...No."
"There's no dinner."
"No."
"You changed your listing at the last minute, you put yourself up on a block in front of a room full of men slobbering over you, and you made me sit there and watch it, all so I'd bid and get you alone in a room. Do I have that right?"
I back up until the edge of a big oak table digs into my thighs. "...Kind of, yeah."
"Why."
And here's the part where I'd normally smirk. Say something cute, make him work for it. That's what I do. That's what I always do.
But honestly, I'm so tired. I'm tired of being clever. So instead I just tell him the truth, which, for me, is kind of a novel experience.
"Because you won't talk to me," I say. "You wouldn't answer your phone, you sent me that email thing like I'm an account you're closing.
I needed to explain and this was the only way I could think of to make you actually sit still and listen.
I know how insane that is. I'm aware. But you don't leave a girl a lot of options when you go full witness protection program on her. "
He doesn't say anything. So I keep going, because it's now or never.
"John played me, David. I need you to hear the whole thing.
" I take a breath. "He texted me. Out of nowhere, yesterday.
Said you were still trying to get rid of me, that you'd been at legal all morning figuring out how to evict me in a way where I couldn't come after you.
And then he sent a screenshot. An actual email, you and your legal team, time-stamped like forty minutes old.
And it looked real. Names, a signature, the whole thing. "
"And you believed it," he says flatly.
"Immediately. Instantly. Didn't even blink.
" I feel my face go hot. "Because that's the thing about me you haven't fully clocked yet: the second anyone hands me a reason to think a man's about to screw me over, I don't check it.
I just believe it, because believing it first means I avoid looking like a fool down the line.
I've done it my whole life. So yeah. You told me that morning you wanted to spend your life with me, and by that afternoon I'd decided you were lying, because some guy I don't even like sent me a JPEG. "
I'm not crying yet but I'm close, and I hate that, so I keep talking fast.
"So I— you already know what I did. I put John in your clothes, I made those stupid fake investigator papers, I bumped into you on your run and I filmed you when you lost it, and I told you we felt unsafe and I'd call the cops. I did that. To you. With him."
My voice finally cracks. "And then I sat in the bath and something didn't add up, so I actually looked at the email, and the spacing was off…
I ran it through AI, and I checked the real names of your legal team against the ones in the email, and they didn't match.
And that's when I realized John forged the email.
He wanted to pit me against you, and it worked.
I feel so stupid and embarrassed, and incredibly sorry.
I'm an idiot. I never should have believed him without asking you about it first."
David is very quiet. I can hear my own heartbeat.
"When I realized what a mistake I made, I felt horrible. I desperately wanted to make it right, but you just wouldn't listen to me. No matter how many times I called you or texted you, you were like a stone wall. And so that's why I changed my auction service at the last minute."
David nods. "Go on."
I'm nervous. I look down at my hands and continue talking, each word coming out faster than the last.
"I was going to offer haircuts like last year, but I figured I needed to offer something that would make you bid on me. So I pretended to be an escort. I knew you'd bid."
David strokes his chin. "But why the chef?"
"I had to make it something that you'd feel guilty backing out of. I know you feel guilty wasting food. I'm sorry."
I glance at David. It looks like there's some tension in his face, but he's impossible to read. I feel the words spilling out of my mouth like marbles.
"I didn't want to lie, but at the same time, if it was the only thing that was going to get you alone in a room with me and give me a chance to explain… then I had to do it. You're worth it. Again, I'm really sorry. Do you forgive me?"
"Hmm," David says, staring at me. "Are you sorry, though? It kind of sounds like you're justifying your actions."
Fuck. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He's making this hard.
I swallow. My mouth is dry from talking so fast, but I keep talking.
"I mean, kind of, but like I said, you didn't give me many options.
I had to do something, and I felt like this was my only choice.
I was going to make it up to you no matter what it took.
You know I don't go down without a fight. "
He looks at me for a long moment. I've watched this man's face for months and I still can't always read it, but I can read the muscle in his jaw, and it's working overtime.
After two long seconds, he smiles. "Of course, I know that," he says. "Come here." He opens his arms.
I don't move. My legs feel like cement.
"Stephanie. Come here."
And just like that, like he's lifting a curse, I'm able to walk.
I walk to David and nestle against his chest. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me back a few inches from him.
He takes my chin in his hand and tips it up so I have to look at him.
I notice then that the smile is gone. It's replaced by a stern look, a look I've seen before.
The butterflies in my stomach grow stronger.
"You want to make it up to me," he says. "You've been saying that since yesterday. 'Let me make it up to you, David. I'll do anything…'"
I grimace remembering the desperate pleading I did in my emails. I guess he read at least some of them. I normally never beg like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
He tightens his grip on my chin. "When you said you'd do anything, Stephanie, did you mean it? Or was that another lie, another game of yours? Just another trick to get me to listen to you?"
Fuck, he caught me. It was real for sure, but I didn't think it through when I sent those messages. But my words have caught up to me now, and I'm feeling scared. Scared and excited. My palms start to sweat.
"Answer me, Stephanie," he says, his voice a low growl. "Did you or did you not mean it when you told daddy you'd do anything to make it up to him?"
My breath goes shaky. I know this voice. I've known this voice since the first time he put me over his knee.
"I meant it, daddy," I whisper, embarrassed.
"Good girl," he says.
Something in him shifts. I can feel it.
"Then here's how this is about to go," he says, and he shrugs off his suit jacket and lays it over the back of a chair.
"Daddy is going to punish you exactly as he sees fit, and you're going to take it.
All of it. No complaints, no bratting, no sassiness.
Just pure obedience. The only words I want to hear out of that fuckable little mouth of yours are 'Yes, daddy. ' Understood?"
I swallow. I can feel my face flush. Even though he's punished me before, this time it feels different.
"Yes, daddy," I say.
"Good," he says. "If you talk back once or push back on me, if I even get a whiff that you're trying to play a little game, I'm going to walk right out this door, and this will be the end of us. And that's totally fine, by the way. This dynamic isn't for everyone."
Oh, God. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and his thumb grazes the smooth skin on my jaw. I shiver as his hand slides down my neck and slowly squeezes. I squeeze my legs together tightly.
"But I need to know that you can listen and submit for once in your life. I need to know that your words aren't empty, that when you told me you'd do anything, you actually meant it. Do you understand?"
I nod. His hand grazes my collarbone, and I realize I'm holding my breath. It keeps dropping lower, approaching my breast.
"This isn't just about me enjoying myself, although I won't lie, I certainly am going to enjoy punishing you.
This is also about trust. I need to know you trust me, Stephanie.
Clearly, you didn't yesterday when John emailed you, since you believed him over me.
You believed an absolutely terrible person and automatically assumed that the lies he told you were the truth. "
Guilt hits me. Again, I feel sick. I look at him, acknowledging what I've done.
"You say you're sorry and it won't happen again," he continues. "But I need to actually know you trust me. And if you don't, that's okay. You don't owe me your trust. But for me to trust you, I need to know that it's reciprocal."
His hand grazes the material covering my breasts now. I feel my nipples stiffen and electricity between my legs. He slowly circles my nipple with his thumb and continues talking.
"I need to know that you trust me not to push you past your limits. You can always safe word, but if you try and weasel out of your punishment using your usual tactics, that's not going to work. I need you to humble yourself for me."
I swallow the lump in my throat. Hot shame bubbles in my core just thinking about what humbling myself in front of David would look like. I hate the idea, but it also turns me on.
"I know that's hard for you, sweetheart," David continues. "I know you hate it, and that's why I need to see you do it. Does that make sense?"
I nod.
"Use your words, little one," he says.
"Yes, daddy," I whimper, my cheeks growing red.
"Good girl," he says. "Now let's begin."