Chapter 4
Everly
The alarm buzzes in my ear, jolting me awake. It's the same time as always, 6:30 a.m., but everything feels different. For a moment, I forget where I am—the softness of the bed and the faint scent of lavender in the air throw me off. Then memory crashes over me like a wave—Xavier, the agreement, this new life.
I rise, the silk sheets cool against my skin as I throw my legs over the side. When I get to the bathroom, the mirror reflects a face I barely recognize. My eyes look darker, more shadowed, from the lack of sleep. I splash some water on them, trying to shake off the weight that seems to press on my chest.
Upstairs, the house thrums softly with activity. I spot Lila in the kitchen, her dark curls tied back in a messy bun as she sips coffee. She gives me a brief nod, no smile. I return it, feeling the awkwardness between us. We don't talk much, just the necessary exchanges.
That's how it's been the past few days. Uneventful. So much for a year of submission.
Work is a refuge. At Ember's Glow, I lose myself in the familiar routine. There's a donor meeting at 10, and I manage to charm them into a hefty contribution. The smile I wear feels genuine, but somewhere deep down, it doesn't quite fit. There's a disconnect, as if part of me is elsewhere, still trapped in Xavier’s world.
It's like I'm holding my breath.
Lunch is a sandwich at my desk, the usual leftovers from last night’s charity event. I scroll through emails, but my mind drifts. Nothing has been asked of me, not since I was asked to move in. I've just been left on my own, except for dinners together with Xavier, Winter, Lila, and Sable. But that will change.
What will tonight bring? Xavier said something about a session after dinner, his tone smooth but with an undercurrent I can't ignore.
What the heck is a session?
Evening eventually falls, and I'm back at Xavier's. Dinner is formal, with Winter, Sable, Lila, and Xavier around the polished table. Conversation is polite but strained.
"Looks like the new girl is already the favorite," Sable mutters, her tone sharp with bitterness. She spears a piece of asparagus, shoving it into her mouth with an exaggerated slowness that makes me uneasy.
Winter's head snaps toward her, cold eyes narrowing like a blade. "Say it again," she warns, her voice low and hard. The room tightens, the weight of unspoken tension pressing down on us.
Sable just grins, her lips twisting in a way that's more challenge than smile. "Oh, calm down. Just pointing out the obvious." She glances at me, her eyes sharp. "New faces always get treated like glass."
Xavier doesn't react, or maybe he's choosing not to. He continues eating, his eyes fixed on something across the table. I, however, feel every word hit me like a slap, my cheeks heating up.
I sit there, my hands clutched tightly in my lap, trying to make sense of Sable's words. Why would she say that? From what I've seen, I'm just another face in this house. No special treatment here. I glance at Lila, expecting some reaction, but she just smirks, her green eyes glinting with amusement. Winter, though, is another story. Her ice-blue gaze could freeze blood, and Sable’s comment has clearly lit a fire under her. But Xavier remains calm, almost detached, as if none of this really matters to him.
My mind races, trying to recall if there’s been something, anything, that could make Sable believe I’m getting special treatment. The way Xavier looks at me sometimes? Or maybe it's just the way he's been... observant. But I've been so careful, so compliant.
I risk a quick glance at Xavier, but his expression gives nothing away. Lila catches my eye, her smirk widening, and I look away, my heart pounding. Why is Sable lashing out like this? Is it jealousy, or is there something more? And why does Lila seem to enjoy it so much? I try to focus on my plate, pushing the food around with my fork, but my appetite is gone. The room feels like it's filling with more accusations to be raised against me.
Eventually, plates are cleared, and Xavier pushes his chair back, standing.
"Everly, we'll start your training tonight. The dungeon, 9 p.m."
I nod, trying not to show the tremble in my hands. The others exchange glances, but no one speaks. Sable rolls her eyes, too quick for Xavier to catch. I feel a flush rise to my cheeks, but I duck my head down.
I don't know what the other girls do after dinner, but I head straight to my room and watch the clock tick. My anxiety won't allow me to do anything else but agonize about what "submission" really looks like.
Eight. Nine.
I pass the time like a cornered animal. Then, when it's time, I take a deep breath and head down the hall from my room to the dungeon. When I get there, it's dimly lit, shadows pooling on the walls. Xavier is waiting in the center of the room. As soon as I settle before him, clasping my hands nervously in front of me, he starts to speak.
"First rule," he says. "You'll address me as 'Sir' at all times when we're in this room. Is that clear?"
I nod, his gaze steady on me. My mouth feels dry, but I manage a whispered, "Yes, Sir."
"Second." His word breaks through the noise in my head. "Your safe words are 'red' and 'yellow.' 'Red' means stop immediately. 'Yellow' means we need to pause and check in. Understand?"
I nod again, swallowing hard. The words sound foreign in my mind, like they belong to someone else. But I repeat them, memorizing, trying to grasp the weight of what they mean. What would we need to check in for?
"Third." He gestures to a rack of tools on the wall, leather and metal gleaming faintly in the lit room. "You'll maintain the position I set until instructed otherwise. No movement, no speaking unless spoken to."
My eyes widen as I take in the devices, the weird whip things hanging neatly. I feel a surge of panic but push it down, trying to stay present. I ask myself why is this happening now, why ever, but silence is safer. Xavier expects obedience, and questioning is a luxury I can’t afford.
"Fourth," he continues, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. "Respect is paramount. Disrespect will be met with consequences. Do I make myself clear?"
I nod as his eyes search for any sign of hesitation. My thoughts are a storm—unclear and chaotic. I know I agreed to do this to save Talon, but the reality is harsher than I envisioned.
"Fifth rule." Xavier's voice cuts through my daydreaming. "You'll trust me to take care of you. I will set boundaries for your pleasure and pain." He pauses, studying me closely. "Do you trust me, Everly?"
I force a nod, the lie burning through me. Of course I don't trust him to take care of me. A lump forms in my throat as his words sink in. I'm walking a tight line, where trust and fear intertwine. The room seems to close in around me, the shadows pressing tighter. Xavier’s eyes hold mine, searching for any flicker of doubt, but I’ve locked it down, hidden behind a mask of compliance.
But somehow, I know he doesn't believe me.
I want to ask about the tools, what they mean, the safe words, the positions. Every rule offers questions but no answers. I keep my head down, silence the only sanctuary. Submission is the price, the cost I’m paying for my brother’s salvation.
The first rule gnaws at my mind: "Sir." It sticks to my tongue like glue. I’m Everly Fields, cultured, respectful, but now, in this room, that identity blurs, morphing into something else. Xavier’s expectations are clear, though—obedience, silence, trust.
"I want to hear you say you understand. Say it, Everly."
I swallow, forcing words past the lump. "I understand, Sir."
He holds my gaze for what feels like minutes before nodding. "Good. Strip to your underwear."
I stand there, frozen, as Xavier's words sink in. Strip to my underwear. The command is blunt, no room for interpretation. I glance up at him, hoping to find some sign, some indication that he's joking, that this is all just some twisted game. But his expression is as it always is—calm, controlled, expectant. His green eyes meet mine, steady, leaving no doubt in my mind that he means every word.
My heart pounds in my chest, the sound echoing in my ears. I feel a surge of fear. I've never been in a situation like this before. I've never had to expose myself to anyone like this. The thought of it makes my skin crawl, but I can't ignore the authority in his voice.
Slowly, I reach for the hem of my shirt, my fingers trembling as I grasp it. I pause, my breath catching in my throat. This feels wrong, so wrong. But I know I have no choice. I've agreed to this, to submit to him, to do whatever he says. I remind myself why I'm here, why I'm doing this. For Talon. For my brother. I need to save him, no matter what.
I swallow hard, trying to push down the wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. I think about the rules he laid out, about the safe words, about the trust he expects. Trust. It's a word that feels like a betrayal now, a word that cuts deep into my soul.
I take a deep breath and slowly pull my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor beside me. My hands move to the waistband of my pants, hesitating there for just a moment before I force myself to continue. I push them down, stepping out of them and standing there in my underwear. The room feels colder now, the air chill against my skin. I want to cover myself, to hide, but I don't dare. I keep my eyes on Xavier, hoping to find some mercy in his gaze, but there's none to be found.
He looks at me, his eyes raking over me as if inspecting something he owns. I feel a surge of humiliation, of degradation, but I bite it back. I have to keep going. I have to see this through. I tell myself it's just physical, that it doesn't mean anything. But deep down, I know that's a lie.
I stand there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his next command. I know what's coming, and I'm not ready, but I have to be. And so I wait, frozen in fear.
Xavier steps away to pick up one of those whip things, the leather tails swishing and swaying.
"This is a flogger. It's for sensation," he explains patiently. "You'll need to stay still. Do you understand?"
As Xavier raises the flogger, I brace myself, muscles tight. The leather tails flick through the air, landing on my shoulder. The impact jolts me, a sharp sting surging through me, and I gasp. My body jolts forward, but I freeze, his rule ringing in my ears.
"Still," he says, tone firm, a gentle reminder lacing his words. I try to steady my breathing, focusing on the ground beneath my feet as the leather trails down my back. The flogger's caress sends a shiver down my spine, but it's pleasant, almost soothing—until the next strike comes.
The tails slap against my lower back, and the sting rushes through me again. I shift instinctively to the side, trying to bear with the feeling.
"Still," Xavier repeats, his voice edged with a reprimand this time, sharp enough to make me straighten immediately.
A third strike lands harder yet, mid-back, and the sting is more intense. I shiver as the warmth begins to seep in. Beneath the pain, there's a strange tingling heat that I can’t quite explain. It doesn’t feel good exactly, but it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. My fear and anticipation start to mix with a curiosity I’m barely becoming aware of.
What's going on?
I stand before Xavier, my underwear the only barrier between me and his inspecting gaze. The flogger in his hand swings with a rhythm I can’t quite place. He raises it again, swinging with more force this time. The leather tails snap against my skin, carving a line from my collarbone to the curve of my hip. The impact stings, but the strange heat it leaves behind is perplexing.
Another strike lands on the soft flesh of my stomach, and I bite down on my lip, holding back a cry. My skin tingles, not just from the pain but from something unfamiliar.
Xavier steps closer, the flogger in his hand grazing my nipple. He doesn’t strike, just teases. My breath hitches. I try to stay still, but the warmth spreading through me is making it harder.
He moves the flogger lower, trailing it along my thigh. Then, with a sharp flick, it snaps against the flesh. I gasp, the sting sharp. But the heat following it is so intense I can barely concentrate.
He circles me, the flogger now tracing patterns across my skin. Each strike is purposeful, controlled. He’s marking every inch of me, and I can feel the heat rising, glowing under my skin.
The blows continue, each one sharper, more insistent. I can’t help the small cries that escape, but I don’t move, don’t flinch. I’m acutely aware of every sensation, the pain blending into a strange kind of pleasure, a release I've never experienced.
He stops in front of me, studying me intently. The flogger slips through his fingers. “You’re glowing,” he says, his voice even.
I don’t answer. I’m focused on staying still, on enduring this. But the warmth in me is growing, spreading. It’s not just from the flogger now. It’s from the way he’s looking at me, the way his hands are tracing the marks he’s made.
He steps back, the flogger swinging again. It whips across my waist, the sting sharp. I gasp, my hands trembling at my sides. The room is quiet except for the sound of the flogger and my shallow breaths.
Another strike lands on my hip, and I bite my lip again. The heat is so intense now, my skin burning under the impact. But I’m still standing, still holding on.
Xavier stops abruptly, stepping close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. He brushes a finger against the glowing marks on my skin.
“You’re taking it well,” he says softly, approval in his voice.
I don’t respond, but I can feel his eyes on me, watching every reaction. His touch adds to the fire already burning in me. I’m aware of every inch of my body, every place he’s touched with the flogger. It’s overwhelming—and I’m not sure if I want it to stop.
“Enough,” he says.
I’m left standing there, glowing and trembling, the heat still burning in me. I’m not sure what just happened.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, voice low, his presence an anchor in the storm.
My throat is dry, words tangling on my tongue, but I manage a whisper. "I… it's intense," I say, panting softly.
As he steps closer, the light catches the sharp angles of his face, making his features appear even more carved, more defined. There's something about the way he's studying me that makes my breath catch. His green eyes seem to see right through me, yet there's a flicker of something else there—something that looks almost like curiosity.
I notice the way his voice sounds when he speaks, low and steady, like a constant hum that makes my skin prickle. His chest is broad, the fabric of his shirt stretching just enough to hint at the muscles underneath. I find myself staring at his hands, strong and sure, the way they hold the flogger with an ease that's both intimidating and oddly reassuring. I catch the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck, the way his jaw flexes as he concentrates. He's even more imposing up close. But I don't hate it.
I never noticed him like this before.
My nipples tighten under my bra, a reaction I try to ignore, but it's hard to deny. I don't want him to see and make assumptions about my body's reactions. Or do I?
He steps back again, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he meets my eyes. His expression is soft now, dancing with satisfaction.
"Good," he says, his voice matching the warmth I feel. "You did good. We're done for tonight."
I take a careful step back, each movement slow, the unfamiliar sensations still lingering on my skin like a gentle echo. The sting has faded, replaced by a strange gratitude for the unexpected feelings, yet confusion lingers. Why did it feel oddly good? And why does Xavier find this so satisfying? Understanding is hard to grasp—there are only questions and a quiet tolerance for the night's experience.
I dress quickly, my hands still shaky. When the dungeon door closes behind me, I find Sable in the hallway, leaning against the wall. I jump and give a pathetic little yelp. I didn't expect her.
"So," she says, her voice light but sharp. "How was your first session?"
"It was..." I hesitate, unsure how much to share.
Sable snorts, not waiting for me to finish. "Just remember, he's all about control. Don't let him take yours."
Before I can respond, Winter appears at her door further down the hall, her expression calm but serious. "Everly, come here."
With a confused glance at Sable, I slip past her and follow Winter into her room. It's sparse but elegant—just what I'd expect.
"You need to be smart," she says, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Find your strength. That's the only way to survive here."
I nod, grateful. "Thank you…" But I can't keep the confusion from my voice. "Winter, why..." I trail off, unsure of how to express the chaos inside me.
She waves a hand dismissively, her expression softening. "Don’t let anything Sable says sink in." Her voice is steady, calm, and for a moment, her icy facade melts away, revealing something warmer. "She’s stuck in her own struggles. Don’t take her advice."
Her words catch me off guard. It's the first time she's shown any warmth, and I'm unsure how to react. But before I can say anything, Winter’s expression hardens again.
"Go to your room. Stay there tonight." Her tone leaves no room for argument.
I nod, but my mind whirls. Her sudden sweetness and quick change back to her cold demeanor is puzzling. I leave, my thoughts tangled, but I understand: Trust Winter’s guidance for now.
Back in my room, I shut the door and lean against it, trying to catch my breath. My mind is a storm, thoughts clashing. There's the fear of the unknown, the guilt of these new feelings, the resolve to stay strong. I know I need to navigate this carefully, but where does that leave me? And who can I trust in this tangled web of desires and control?
Tomorrow will bring new challenges, and I need to face them head-on. But for now, I just need to breathe and believe in myself, in the strength I know I have.
I run my hands over my still-hot skin. I let Xavier do this to me.
And I didn't hate it.