MasukCLARAI was a ruin of silk and sweat, suspended by one wrist, my body a map of tremors. But Tyler wasn't finished. He was never finished.He reached for the third piece of equipment. It was a set of heavy, midnight-black leather restraints, lined with soft, cream-colored sheepskin. They looked ancient and modern all at once—tools designed for the sole purpose of total surrender.He unhooked my left wrist from the ceiling cuff. For a fleeting second, I thought I was free, but as my arm dropped, the blood rushing back into my fingertips, Tyler caught both of my hands behind my back. He didn't say a word. He led me towards the far wall, where a set of reinforced steel rings were bolted into the masonry."Turn around," he commanded.I obeyed, my breath coming in shallow hitches. I faced the cold, dark wall, the mirrors behind me reflecting my exposed back and the messy, dark spill of my hair. Tyler pulled my arms up behind me, high enough to make my chest arch forward, and clicked the l
CLARA From the safety of the secluded booth, I watched the scene unfolding beyond the silk curtains with a mixture of terror and morbid fascination. This was completely different from the world I thought I knew. Men in ornate, expensive masks leaned against the bar, their eyes tracking the movement of women who danced with a raw, uninhibited sensuality. There was nothing formal here, no polite conversation about tax brackets or campaign promises. There was only lust, thick and suffocating like a fog.Tyler’s hand found the hem of my black dress. His palm was warm, his touch possessive as he ran his fingers slowly up my bare thigh. The feeling of his skin against mine made my breath hitch. He wasn't looking at the dancers; he was looking at me, watching the way my pupils dilated in the dim, crimson light. "Ready to see the rest?" he murmured.He didn't wait for an answer. He stood, pulling me with him. We moved through the crowd, Tyler’s hand firmly on the small of my back, gui
CLARAMy heart was racing wildly like that of a horse retreating from a bloody battlefield. One half of me—the side raised to be a perfect Huntington — screamed at me to throw the key, burn the note, and scrub the memory of Tyler Wills from my brain. The other half, the part that had felt alive for the first time in years against a display table in a downtown shop, throbbed with a desperate, animalistic need.Maybe it was simply because of the fact that I felt unloved. Maybe it was because I felt a desperate need to be seen, adored and ruined by a man that didn't see me as thrash. Julian didn’t see me; he saw a polished asset. He didn't want a woman; he wanted a statue that could stand beside him at a podium and look pretty while he carved out his fucking political future. Tyler, on the other hand, saw every fractured piece of me. He saw the fire I hid behind the Huntington name. He saw the "slut" Julian claimed didn't exist, and he appreciated her. Wanted her. Deep in my heart, I
CLARAHe turned on his heel and marched out, the heavy door swinging shut with such lethal force it could have easily undone the hinges. I stood there, stunned. The silence returned, but this time it was heavier. I felt lonely in a way I hadn't felt in years. Julian didn't love me; he didn't even like me. That was nothing new. I was more like a prop in his theater of power. And he had just told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was a failure as a woman because I didn't "track" my body well enough for his schedule. Even if it had been a made-up lie, it still hurt as hell. Angry heat flared in my chest, burning through the fear I'd earlier felt. Julian wanted a real woman? He wanted someone who wasn't fragile?I grabbed a paper towel, wiped the smudge from under my eye, and stood tall. I wasn't going to let him see me break. But I also knew that as soon as I walked back through those doors, I wouldn't be looking for Julian’s approval. I’d be looking for the man with the black gift b
CLARAI didn’t think twice. I murmured a quick 'please excuse me,' shoved the microphone at Julian, and bolted straight for the restroom."The silence in the restroom was all I needed to anchor my sanity. I leaned over the marble vanity, staring at my reflection. My eyes were wide, the pupils blown so large the icy blue of my irises had vanished into two black voids of panic. The lace of my dress, the one Julian had so meticulously curated, felt like a cold, wet shroud clinging to my skin.My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped my phone as I dialed Ashley."How is he in there, Ash?" I hissed the second she picked up, my voice a tight whisper. "How is Tyler Wills sitting at a table five feet from the podium? You said you’d handle it!""Wait, what?" Ashley’s voice was a chaotic mix of shock and confusion. "Clara, are you serious? He’s inside the hall? Right now?""He walked in with a black box like he owns the damn Plaza! He looked at me, Ash. He looked at me and I nearly fainted
CLARAThe chandelier light in the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel felt like a thousand tiny needles against my skin.The rehearsal dinner was supposed to be a flawless event—a glittering precursor to the wedding of the decade. A kind of evening that'd be hard for the guests to forget in years to come. That was what Julian Thorne wanted. But to me, it felt like a choreographed march towards a beautifully designed gallows.I was a total nervous wreck. The dress Julian had chosen for me was a masterpiece of strangulation. It was a floor-length sheath of silver lace, so tightly fitted that I had to time my breaths to avoid straining the seams. Julian had been obsessive about it, flying a tailor from the Avenue Montaigne twice for fittings. "It’s all about us, Clara," he’d said, smoothing the fabric over my hips with such a cold sense of detachment. "It’s a statement of our status."Now, that status felt like a suit of armor I couldn't wait to shed. The fabric clung sinfully to every







