Chapter 36
* * *
Emma
The drive home was painfully awkward.
Candace sat in the back seat of Damien’s car, her reflection faint in the window—shoulders hunched, hands folded tightly in her lap. Streetlights washed over her in shifting amber and shadow, each pass catching the faint tremor in her fingers.
Damien’s grip on the wheel hardened, knuckles pale against the dark leather. He hadn’t said a word since we left Peeksville. Neither had I. Every time I tried, the words dissolved before I could form them.
I glanced at the mirror. Candace’s hollow eyes stayed fixed on the blur of headlights trailing behind us—the sight painful enough to finally spur action.
I twisted in my seat to face her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She startled. “Yeah,” she answered too fast. “Just—embarrassed, I guess.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Damien said. “If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s him.”
I reached across the console and squeezed his hand.
“Did… did you really bump into a corner back there?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she shot back. “I wasn’t paying attention and caught the corner. It’s nothing.”
My stomach turned, bile rising.
“I just…” I hesitated. “After that last fight, I saw the bruise on your arm and—”
She exhaled hard. “You’ve got to stop worrying about every little mark I have. The mugger grabbed me, too.”
“I only asked because—”
“Because you think you know better,” she cut in, the words pointed but tired. “I told you then, and I’m telling you now—it’s fine. I’m fine.”
I dipped my chin, guilt spreading through me. I should’ve trusted my gut earlier. Something in Garrett had shifted—he’d always been cruel in small ways, but lately he’d stopped pretending. The nastiness came easier now. Bolder. Meaner.
In the mirror, Damien’s expression set like stone, but he offered nothing. The car filled with the drone of tires on asphalt, constant and relentless.
Candace sank back, eyes closing.
Conversation over.
And I stared out the window, unease skittering like spiders across my skin.
The rest of the drive blurred by in heavy silence.
When we pulled up outside her building, I ventured one final time, “Do you want to stay with me tonight? Just until things settle?”
She gave me a tired smile. “That’s sweet, Em, but no. He just needed time to cool off. We’ll be fine.”
She bent forward, squeezing my hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
I reluctantly agreed. “Text me when you’re inside.”
Her expression came thin, practiced—and she slipped out. The door shut with a hollow thud as she disappeared into the lobby’s amber glow.
Damien pulled back into traffic, eyes on the road as the city lights streaked across the windshield like sparks. “That guy’s bad news,” he offered at last, voice rough.
“I’ve tried talking to her,” I admitted. “But she shuts me out. Just like now.”
His attention stayed on the road. “It isn’t easy to leave a man like that,” he continued after a long pause. “My mother found the strength to. But they don’t let go easily.”
He paused, collecting himself. “My father tracked her for months. We were in and out of women’s shelters until I was about five.”
“What?” I breathed. “I thought you never knew your father?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t. Not really. All I remember are pieces—like old film reels, jumpy and incomplete. But I remember the feeling. The uncertainty of what would come next.”
“I know that feeling,” I managed, voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes cut toward me for the briefest second. “Yeah?”
The words spilled out, shaking. “My parents used to fight. Constantly. And somehow, I was always the reason.” A chill ran through me. “Until the affair, anyway.”
He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.
“After that, I wasn’t the reason anymore,” I confessed. “I was just… collateral.”
Damien’s hand found mine on the console. “I’m sorry, Emma. That must have been horrible.”
Silence settled over us. Two people sitting in the remnants of childhoods marked by someone else’s rage.
“Keep reaching out,” he said finally, tone sure but careful. “Keep throwing the lifeline. One day she’ll grab it.” He glanced at me, amusement tugging at his mouth. “Then we’ll whisk her to safety, and I’ll kick Garrett’s ass.”
A startled laugh slipped out of me. “He called you a pussy,” I giggled.
“Right?” Damien exclaimed, incredulous. “Some fucking nerve for a guy who could barely walk in those painted-on pants.”
The air eased as we pulled into his parking garage.
He parked and stepped out, circling the hood to open my door. I slipped my hand into his. “Thank you, Mr. Hot Shot.”
The elevator doors slid open. Damien stepped inside, punching in his code.
“So,” he said as the doors closed. “To make up for the disaster that was today, I have a surprise for you.”
I tilted my head. “What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see,” he answered, mischief sparking in his eyes.
When the doors opened, he all but bounced out, that boyish energy I’d grown to love breaking through the remaining tension.
“It better not be a puppy,” I called after him, toeing off my shoes.
I changed into the silk pajama slip waiting on the bench at the foot of his bed, then padded toward the living room.
He was waiting there, braced casually against the sofa—holding a small velvet box.
I slowed, my brow lifting. “Okay… so not a puppy.”
He shook his head, smiling. “No. Not a puppy.” He caught my eye. “Do you remember what I told you about collars?”
I searched for the words he’d used that night on my couch. “It’s a symbol.”
“A symbol of ownership,” he confirmed. “My promise to you—to be responsible for you, devoted to you, bound to protect everything you trust me with.”
The weight of it settled over me. Everything we’d discussed. Rules. Structure. The promise that I’d never be alone again.
“And in return you trust me to make the right decisions for your wellbeing.” A beat. “And you obey them.”
Obey. I turned the word over, testing its edges.
I’d expected fear to follow. Instead, there was only a strange sense of relief.
“And if I don’t?”
“Consequences.” Matter-of-fact. Unhurried. “Ones that fit the misstep.”
I nodded slowly, remembering his examples—salmon for a week, privileges revoked. Structure, not cruelty.
“There will be rules,” he continued. “I mentioned them last night. Do you remember?”
“Some of them,” I admitted.
His expression softened. “Then let me be clear.” He held up a finger. “You wear what I set out for you.” Another finger. “Three meals a day. No skipping.” A third. “One hour of self-care, daily.” A fourth. “And you see a therapist.”
I stiffened. “A therapist?”
“I can hold you accountable for a lot of things, Emma. But I can’t give you what a professional can.”
I shifted. That one still didn’t sit easy—even knowing it was coming.
“Is that it?”
“For now. More will come as we figure this out together.” His mouth curved. “Nothing you don’t agree with though.”
I didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between us as I turned it over—the promise, the rules, the structure he was offering like a lifeline I hadn’t known I needed.
None of it sounded unreasonable. Most of it sounded like things I should’ve been doing all along.
But there was one question left.
One last confirmation.
“And if I change my mind?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then you change your mind. We go back to being us.”
No guilt. No pressure. Just… an open door.
I nodded, anticipation settling in my bones.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s give this a shot.”
His face transformed—hope and disbelief and something dangerously close to joy. “Really?”
I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Yes. But if I don’t like it—”
“You’re out,” he cut in. “I know.”
I nodded, and he stepped forward with the velvet box balanced in his hands. “For you.” He revealed what lay inside.
An impossibly delicate gold chain, liquid in the light. A small black teardrop pendant hung from its center—understated, elegant, heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Damien—” My voice caught. “It’s—”
“Yours,” he finished for me.
I brushed my fingertips over the chain, before finally dragging my gaze to his. “It’s perfect.”
Relief washed across his features. He lifted the jewel free. “Something to remind you of me. Of our promise to each other.” His voice dropped. “A promise that doesn’t end. A collar that stays.”
My breath hitched.
“So let me ask you one final time.” His eyes held mine. “Do you, Emma Sinclair, agree to become my submissive?”
“Yes,” I said on a breath.
His smile broke wide as he unclasped the hook. I turned, sweeping my hair over one shoulder.
“With this symbol,” he said quietly, fingers brushing my shoulder with the faintest tremor, “I promise to protect you, care for you, support you… help you reach every goal you set for yourself, and then some.”
The chain slid across my skin, feather-light, raising goosebumps in its wake. The clasp clicked—a small, final sound. My heart ached around the enormity of it.
This was nothing like what Candace had. This was the opposite—a cage with the key always in my hand.
“And in return.” His voice steadied. “You’ll be mine. Mine to hold. Mine to kiss. Mine to guide.”
I touched the pendant where it rested in the hollow of my throat. Small, yet infinite.
I waited for the panic. The walls. The instinct to run.
Nothing came.
When I turned back to him, his face had changed. Something glimmered there, incandescent and barely contained.
“Absolutely perfect.” He traced the chain with his thumb.
A smile spread across my face—wide and true. The look he gave me was proof I’d made the right choice. That the leap into this unknown world—strange and nerve-wracking and somehow exactly right—had been the sanest thing I’d ever done.
I rose onto my toes, looped my arms around his neck, and kissed him. He froze for half a second, then melted into me, his mouth opening, his tongue meeting mine in a deep, aching rhythm. His hands spread across my back, pulling me closer.
When I finally broke the kiss, his eyes were wild, filled with joy and something deeper: the terrifying certainty that we’d crossed a line we could never uncross.
His grin turned wicked, as he scooped me into his arms. A breathless laugh escaped me as I clung to his shoulders. Anticipation coiled with every step toward the bedroom.
Not a puppy.
Instead, something far more dangerous.