Chapter Nineteen: Thirty Days of Treason

Rhea sits on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. The house feels smaller tonight with her father at the hospital, while she is crowded by the oppressive memory of Dominic’s touch. 

As he demanded, she had surrendered her primary phone to him like a disarmed soldier. In return, he’d handed her a brand-new device - sleek, expensive, and almost certainly a digital cage. She knows better than to touch it. 

Every text, every GPS ping, every breath she takes near that phone likely feeds directly back to his desk.

She reaches under her pillow and pulls out her real lifeline: a burner phone she bought in cash.

Her fingers tremble as she dials Julian’s number. He picks up on the first ring, his voice a sudden, warm burst of reality in her cold room.

“Hey, babe. How are you doing?”

Julian’s voice is steady, a calm harbor. 

Rhea closes her eyes, hunching her shoulders as if Dominic’s shadow is looming over her shoulder, listening through the walls.

“I’m good,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Use this number if you need to talk. Only this one.”

“I’ve got it,” Julian says, a smile evident in his tone. “And I want to take you out. A real date, Rhea. Just us.”

“Really?” A flicker of hope tastes like ash in her mouth. 

“Can we... can we go somewhere private? And don’t come to pick me up. I’ll meet you there. I need to come on my own.”

“Whatever you want,” Julian promises. “As long as I’m with you.”

A heavy pause stretches between them. Rhea can hear him breathing, a sound so human it makes her want to cry.

“But Rhea,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, 

“I want to show you to the world. I’m proud of you. Don’t keep me hidden in the dark for too long.”

Rhea nods into the empty room, her eyes burning. “Don’t worry, Julian. Just... give me a month. I just need thirty days to settle everything. Then I can love you fully. I promise.”

“One month. I can do that,” Julian says, sounding like a man who just won the lottery. “I love you, babe.”

“Love you too,” Rhea breathes.

She hangs up before the emotion can choke her. She stares at the blank screen, the silence of her parent’s apartment settling back in like a layer of dust.

Dominic must take her for a fool. He thinks because she’s older, because she’s desperate, she’ll simply roll over and accept her role as the discarded mistress. 

The image of "Gentle Dominic" flashes in her mind: the man who kissed Ava’s forehead, the man who took her to the cinema and treated her like a treasure.

It makes her skin crawl. It isn't jealousy; it’s a cold, hard rage. 

She feels like a rag he uses to wipe the grease off his hands before he goes home to put on his white gloves for his princess.

He thinks he owns her. He thinks he’s the only one playing a double game. But as she hides the burner phone back under the mattress, 

Rhea feels a sharp, dangerous spark of defiance. He can have her body till she quits, but she will make sure he never touches the part of her that belongs to Julian.

She isn't his toy. She’s a woman counting down the days until his cage no longer fits,  until she has enough to quit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhea steps out of the elevator with her chin held high, a false sense of armor wrapped around her. 

She moves toward Julian and Tessa, her heart a drum of panicked defiance. She is done being a ghost in a silk cage. 

She is an Executive Assistant, one good at her job, and she is reclaiming the boundaries she let him incinerate.

If he wants a toy, he can find one that doesn't have a soul.

“Morning, Tessa. Hi, Julian,” Rhea says, her voice surprisingly steady.

Tessa looks up, her eyes going wide. She actually gasps. 

Rhea isn't wearing the modest, floor-length dresses she wears. She is wearing a sharp, black skirt that hits two inches above her knee, and a blouse that leaves the delicate curve of her shoulders exposed. It’s professional, yet dangerously casual.

“Girl, you look... incredible,” Tessa whispers, scanning the new silhouette.

“Thank you,” Rhea replies, a small, tight smile playing on her lips. She spent an hour this morning with high-coverage foundation, meticulously burying the bite marks on her neck and chest. 

Underneath the makeup, she is a map of his violence; on the surface, she is flawless.

“You look beautiful, Rhea,” Julian says, his eyes softening with an open admiration that makes her want to run to him.

She picks up the iPad and heads for Dominic's office. She doesn't hesitate. She knocks, waits for the muffled "Come in," and walks into the lion's den.

Dominic is buried in his monitors, the rhythmic click of his keyboard the only sound in the room. Rhea stops a few feet from his desk.

“Good morning, sir,” she says.

“Morning, Fragile,” he mutters, not looking up.

“You have a nine o'clock board meeting, followed by a trip to the Sanctuary Orphanage at one, and a three o'clock flight to New York.”

Dominic nods, then finally lifts his gaze. He freezes. 

His eyes travel from the hem of her shorter-than-usual skirt, to the daringly exposed skin of her shoulders. 

The silence that follows is heavy - too calm, like the static in the air before a lightning strike.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he asks. His voice is no longer professional; it is a low, predatory purr that vibrates in Rhea’s chest.

“I want my freedom, Mr. Ashcroft,” Rhea replies, her voice trembling, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m not a toy. I’m an employee. I want to make my own choices.”

Dominic scoffs, leaning back in his leather throne.

He studies her like a fascinating specimen. “We had an agreement, remember? As long as you work for me, your body is a territory you don't get to govern.”

Rhea sighs, the weight of the last twenty-four hours crashing down. 

She used to think money was the only thing that mattered. She thought she could endure his rough claims as long as her father’s medical bills and debts were paid. 

But seeing the way he treats Ava; the respect, the space, the "gentleness", has turned the money into ash in her mouth. 

She isn't his partner; she’s the trash he uses to satisfy his dark urges.

“I want to quit,” Rhea says, the words coming out as a fragile, broken whisper. 

She cannot bring herself to look at him; instead, she stares at her heels. “I’ll leave at the end of the month, once my second salary is processed. It... it will give me enough time to train a replacement and finish the handover.”

Dominic laughs.

Of all the reactions she feared: screaming, violence, coldness - the laughter is the worst. 

It’s a wicked, possessive sound that fills the room, mocking her very existence. He stands up, and Rhea instinctively takes a half-step back.

He rounds the desk, his presence expanding until he’s looming directly over her. He leans in, his nose brushing her ear, his eyes scanning the perfect makeup she used to hide his marks.

“Fragile,” he whispers, his breath hot against her skin. “You should have run while you still had the legs to carry you.”

His hand moves to her blouse, his fingers tracing her collarbone with a terrifying gentleness. Rhea’s breath hitches. Her body, the traitorous thing, shivers under his touch despite the screaming in her head.

“You had a choice before you signed that paper,” Dominic murmurs. 

“Now? You don’t get to leave until I’m bored of you. And I’m nowhere near tired of making you break.”

“The contract... it doesn’t say I can’t resign,” she gasps, trying to find her spine.

Dominic nods slowly, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck, his thumb pressing into her pulse point. “Then leave. Go on. Walk out that door.”

Rhea knows it’s a trap. She doesn't move.

In a sudden, violent blur of motion, he hooks an arm around her waist and jerks her flush against him. Rhea let out a soft cry as her chest hits his suit jacket.

“I dare you to leave,” he growls into her ear before sinking his teeth into the sensitive lobe.

“Ahhh!” The sound escapes her: a mixture of sharp pain and a jolt of unwanted electricity.

His other hand snakes under her skirt, shifting her panties aside to find her already-slick center. He circles her roughly and drives two fingers inside her with a punishing, rhythmic force.

“Mmmph... ah! sir... please!” Rhea sobs, her head falling back against his shoulder as he works his fingers with a ruthless, clinical speed.

“You’re dripping for me,” he hisses, his voice a dark, jagged edge near her mouth. “Is this what freedom looks like, Fragile? Sobbing my name while I ruin you in my office?”

“No... ah! Please... mmm...” She claws her fist, her moans turning into broken, wet gasps as he grinds his thumb against her nub, sending her over the edge. Her body convulses, her legs shaking as she climbs into a messy, unearned climax right there against his chest.

“I’m not done with you,” he mutters, his teeth finding the side of her neck, grinding against the skin to leave a fresh, dark brand. “Cancel my morning. You aren't going to your desk. You’re coming with me.”

He releases her so abruptly she nearly stumbles. Rhea stands there, her breath coming in jagged hitches, the ruined makeup on her neck a testament to her failure. She realizes too late that her rebellion hadn't freed her; it had only made the predator hungrier.