CHAPTER FOUR
Mr. Hirsh was already waiting.
He stood at the foot of the wide steps like a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed. Immaculate black suit, silver ring gleaming on one finger, a single scar at his jawline catching the light. Two handlers stood behind him, both masked. Armed. Watching.
Montgomery shifted the car into park and cut the engine. I didn’t move. Just listened as he opened his door and stepped out.
The slam of it echoed like a gunshot.
Mr. Hirsh lifted a brow. “You’re late and what is she doing with you?”
“She was on the transfer list. I went to the location listed on the manifest,” Montgomery said coolly, slipping back into the role like it was another suit.
“But there was no contact. No one there to claim her. I waited, followed protocol. Figured it was better to bring her back in than leave her wandering.”
Mr. Hirsh’s eyes glanced past him. Straight to me. Still inside. Still quiet.
“She’s not supposed to be on the transfer schedule,” he said calmly.
There was a pause, then Mr. Hirsh said, “Open the door.”
Montgomery hesitated a moment too long, and then moved to the passenger side and pulled it open.
I didn’t wait for permission. I stepped out slowly, barefoot on the gravel, the night air colder than I remembered. My body stiff, but my face blank.
Mr. Hirsh’s eyes scanned me from head to toe—not with lust. Not even curiosity. Calculation. Like I was a figure on a ledger he couldn’t quite balance.
Mr. Hirsh didn’t move for a long moment. He just stared.
Then he motioned to one of the handlers, “Bring her.”
Montgomery didn’t need clarification. Neither did the handlers. One of them stepped forward, hand brushing the holster at his side just enough to remind everyone who held the leash here.
But I moved before they could touch me. Not out of obedience. Not entirely. Just...knowing what would come if I didn’t.
Mr. Hirsh turned without another word and began climbing the stone steps, the sharp lines of his suit cutting into the dark. The click of his shoes echoed in perfect, practiced rhythm.
We followed.
Inside, the estate hadn’t changed. Cold marble floors. Art that meant nothing. Walls too white to feel like anything but a facade. But the weight of it pressed down harder now—like it was watching me too.
Mr. Hirsh led us deeper, down a hall lit only by the golden sconces lining the wall. Past the auction wing. Past the handlers’ quarters. Past where I used to sleep.
Then he slowed.
At the junction of the corridor, he stopped and turned slightly, indicating the split ahead.
“You,” he said to me, voice calm. “With me.”
A pause.
The guard behind us shifted—Montgomery stepping back as if that had always been the boundary.
The others were directed elsewhere without ceremony, peeled off into the estate like they belonged to different outcomes.
Mr. Hirsh didn’t wait for any reaction.
He opened the door at the end of the corridor.
His chambers.
“Inside,” he said without turning around.
I stepped in.
Everything was the same.
Except it wasn’t.
Before, this room had been something to survive.
Now it felt like something waiting.
The fireplace burned low. A decanter of amber liquor sat on a side table, untouched. His black overcoat hung from a chair, like he’d been here recently, waiting. The bed—still too large for one person—loomed like something ceremonial rather than intimate.
Montgomery stayed in the doorway, unreadable. Mr. Hirsh turned his head just slightly, addressing him with that same icy civility that always sounded like a threat.
“You’ve done your duty. You’re dismissed.”
Montgomery’s jaw worked, something tight flared in his eyes, but he nodded once and stepped back. The door shut behind him with a soft and final click.
Mr. Hirsh walked past me to the side table. Poured a glass of something dark. Didn’t offer me any. He sipped, watching the firelight twist in the crystal.
He looked over his shoulder at me. His expression was unreadable.
“I’d ask what that driver did to you,” he said, “but I’d rather see for myself.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I started quickly, “but he didn’t touch me.”
He set the glass down and turned fully, his eyes raked over me again—but this time with purpose. Not lust. Not yet. Ownership.
“Did I ask you?” His gaze didn’t shift. “No. I did not. Now strip.”
The word was soft. Not barked. Not demanded. It hung there, suspended between civility and control.
I didn’t dare move.
His tone didn’t change. “I’ll say it once, and only once. I don’t know where you’ve been. Or who you’ve belonged to. But you're in my house again. That makes you mine. And I will not tolerate disobedience—not from you.”
Still, I stayed still. His gaze hardened.
And then he smiled.
It was slow. Chilling. The kind of smile a man wears when a plan has fallen right into his lap.
“You think I won’t enjoy breaking you all over again?”
His voice dropped, low and precise. “You think I forgot the way you used to tremble when I walked into the room? You were perfect, Starling. My perfect little project.”
He crossed the distance between us in two slow steps. Close enough that I could smell the spice of his cologne. Close enough that he could tilt my chin up with one finger.
“But there’s a difference now,” he whispered. “You left. You got a taste of freedom.”
His fingers tightened under my jaw.
“Which means you’ll feel it more when I take it away.”
My pulse thundered. My body rebelled and obeyed all at once. Because this wasn’t Tomas, or the masked buyers, or even the men who watched with numbers in their hands.
This was Mr. Hirsh.
And he didn’t need to force you. He made you want to give in.
“I’m going to teach you all over again,” he said softly. “But this time...you’ll beg me for it.”
He let go. Stepped back. Gestured to the chaise at the foot of the bed.
“Sit. Knees apart. Hands on your thighs. Eyes down.”
When I didn’t move fast enough, his voice dropped into something lethal.
“Now.”
And I went.
Because I remembered how he broke the girls who didn’t listen.
And so did he.