Chapter Eight: "I own all of you"

Rhea walks into the building before 8:00 AM, her skin still alive with the lingering "normalcy" of the weekend. For thirty hours, she has felt like a person again, not a line item in a billionaire's ledger.

But as the elevator doors slide open on the nineteenth floor, the air dies.

Tessa offers a broad smile. Julian gives her a bright, secret wink as he passes, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. That small, human contact makes Rhea’s heart skip with the fluttering hope of a crush.

"He's waiting," Tessa whispers, her eyes darting to her monitor as if the very walls have ears and appetites.

Rhea clutches the iPad to her chest, using it as a shield to steady her trembling hands. She walks into Dominic’s office, and immediately, the temperature seems to drop.

Dominic is on the leather couch, flanked by two older executives she recognizes from the boardroom. They are deep in conversation, the low drone of business jargon filling the room.

“Good morning, sirs,” Rhea murmurs, bowing her head. She has dressed with surgical precision this morning: a heavy, charcoal skirt that hits well below the knees and a high-collared blouse. Offending Dominic is not on her agenda.

The executives nod politely. Dominic doesn't.

He looks at her, and it isn't a greeting. It’s a cold, sharp blade of a look. He doesn’t say a word, yet his eyes scream with a quiet, simmering fury.

Rhea’s pulse stutters. Something is very wrong.

He doesn't dismiss her. He doesn't offer her a seat. He simply lets her stand.

An hour passes. Then two. Her calves begin to ache, a dull throb blooming in her heels. The men continue their meeting as if she is nothing more than a piece of furniture.

What did I do? The question loops in her mind, sickening and rhythmic.

Suddenly, her phone buzzes in her pocket. She fumbles to silence it, catching a glimpse of the screen.

Julian: Everything okay? You’ve been in there forever.

She can't reply. She shoves the phone away, her palms damp against her skirt.

“Let’s discuss the rest later,” Dominic finally says, leaning back. The executives take the hint, nodding and filing out in a blur of gray suits.

"Follow me."

Dominic doesn't wait for a response. He paces toward his desk, his stride echoing with a lethal kind of confidence. Rhea follows, her legs stiff, her joints protesting every step after two hours of forced standing. 

He doesn't sit. Instead, he leans back against the edge of the mahogany desk, looming over her like a shadow that refuses to lift.

"Here." He turns his phone screen toward her.

The air leaves her lungs in a sharp, painful rush.

There she is. It’s a grainy, high-res shot from Saturday night. 

She’s spilling out of the car, that silk dress clinging to her curves like a second skin, the low back exposing a vulnerability she thought was hidden.

Beside her, a man’s arm is visible, the sleeve of Julian's sweater, his hand resting intimately against the small of her back. The shadows of the garage swallow Julian’s face, but the heat of the moment is unmistakable.

"Do you remember the terms, Fragile?" Dominic’s voice is a low, vibrating growl that resonates in her very bones.

"Yes, Mr. Ashcroft."

"I don’t share." He reaches out, his hand wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. It isn’t a choke, but the weight of it is absolute: a predator pinning his prey to the earth. 

He forces her chin up, dragging her gaze into the suffocating darkness of his own.

"It was just a friend, sir," she whispers, her voice cracking under the pressure.

"A friend?" He mocks the word, his thumb dragging across the sensitive skin behind her ear. Rhea shivers, a confusing, shameful heat blooming everywhere he touches. He leans down, his breath ghosting against her lips, cold and demanding. "I told you I wanted you covered at all times."

"Sir, I... I thought that was just for the office," she gasps, her chest heaving.

"That’s the part you keep forgetting, Fragile. You didn’t just sign away your nine-to-five. You signed away the way you look at other men. The way you let them touch you. The way you feel when you’re alone in your bed at night."

He pulls her closer, crushing her against the expensive, abrasive wool of his suit jacket.

"I don't just own your labor. I own your smiles. I own your secrets. I own every inch of skin you didn’t hide under that silk dress on Saturday night. You belong to me. All of you."

Rhea’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic, rhythmic plea for mercy. Her mind screams to run, but her body betrays her, leaning into his warmth even as she trembles.

"Tell me his name," he demands, his grip tightening until it borders on pain.

Rhea’s breath hitches. If she gives up Julian, he’s gone: blacklisted, ruined, or worse. "I... I can’t, sir," she chokes out, her eyes stinging.

Dominic’s expression shifts into something truly terrifying. "Every second you protect him, you’re making me wonder why he’s worth the effort. Is he better at touching you? Does he touch you in ways I haven't yet?"

"No."

"Then give me a name."

He leans in, his lips brushing the pulse point in her neck, his teeth grazing the skin. "Give me a name, or I’ll make sure you forget his face entirely. Right here. On this desk."

The threat hangs in the air, thick and metallic. Rhea sees the lethal seriousness in his gaze; he isn't playing. She likes Julian... she likes his softness, his safety. The thought of Dominic destroying that light is too much to bear.

A single tear breaks free, slipping behind her glasses.

Dominic stares at the tear for a long, agonizing second. A low, frustrated groan escapes his throat, and then - just as suddenly as he seized her - he lets go. The sudden rush of cold air makes her feel exposed, abandoned.

“If this happens again,” he says, his voice terrifyingly calm as he smooths his suit, “I won’t stop at words. I will leave marks on your body with my mouth... marks that will show everyone exactly who you belong to. I will make sure you can't wear a dress like that without the world seeing my brand on your skin."

Rhea nods, her hands shaking as she tries to find her breath.

“We’re going out this evening. Together,” Dominic adds, already turning his back on her to return to his chair.

Rhea looks at him in shock, her voice a mere whisper. “Out? With you, sir?”

“You’re dismissed. Be ready.”

She turns and walks out of the office, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. As the heavy door clicks shut behind her, the weight of the contract feels less like a business deal and more like a noose tightening around her throat.

Signing with Dominic Ashcroft wasn't a smart move. It was an execution.