Chapter Ten: The Silver Pen

Rhea steps out of the restroom stall, her skin crawling. The emerald silk is so light it feels like a cold breeze against her bare skin. Without a bra or lace to protect her, she feels dangerously exposed; every movement of her body causes the fabric to shift in a way that makes her breath catch.

She throws her long trench coat over her shoulders, buttoning it up to her chin. To anyone else, she looks like a woman preparing for a rainy evening. But to the man in the corner office, the coat is just a temporary curtain.

She walks back into the main office space.

Julian is still at his desk, staring blankly at a pile of papers. When he hears her heels, he looks up. His eyes soften, that reflex of kindness he can’t seem to turn off.

"Rhea, I—" He stops, his gaze moving to her face. "You look... different. Are you okay? You’re very flushed."

"I'm fine, Julian. I’m just leaving early," she says, her voice tight. She reaches for her handbag, her movements stiff. She’s terrified that if she moves too quickly, the coat will gap and reveal the scandalous shimmer of the green silk.

"Wait, the box," Julian says, pointing to her desk where she left the black packaging. "Your friend’s gift"

Rhea’s heart hammers. "I... I'll take it with me."

Just as she reaches for the box, the heavy mahogany door to the executive suite swings open.

Dominic Ashcroft steps out. He isn't wearing his suit jacket anymore; his shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing tanned, muscular forearms. He looks powerful, grounded, and utterly in control.

The entire floor goes silent. Julian immediately stands up, a reflex of deep respect for the man even though he is younger. "Good evening, Mr. Ashcroft."

Dominic doesn't acknowledge Julian. Not even with a nod. His eyes are locked on Rhea. He walks toward her desk, his steps slow and deliberate. He stops just inches from her, forcing her to look up.

"Ready?" his voice is a low, dark velvet.

Julian’s eyes widen. He looks from Dominic to Rhea, then back again. The confusion on his face is agonizing to watch. "Sir? Is Rhea following... is there more work tonight?"

Dominic finally turns his head toward Julian. The look is one of pure, icy condescension. "Ms. Voss has personal obligations to attend to. Obligations that require my direct supervision."

“Oh. Okay, sir.” Julian nods, the innocence in his expression gut-wrenching. He respects Dominic too much to even imagine the truth. He actually believes this is about business.

Dominic steps closer to Rhea, leaning down until his shadow completely swallows her.

“Did you follow my instructions?” he whispers. It’s just loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough to remain a lethal secret from the rest of the room.

Rhea’s legs feel like they might give way. She can feel Julian watching them, confused, yes, but still trusting her completely. It makes the guilt feel like a physical weight in her chest.

"Yes sir," she gasps, the word barely a sound.

“Good,” Dominic murmurs, his eyes darkening as they sweep over her buttoned-up coat. 

“Because if I find out you lied to me, you will be severely punished. I don't tolerate disobedience, Fragile.”

Dominic turns and walks toward the private elevator without looking back, confident she will follow. Rhea lingers for a split second, her heart aching as she looks at Julian.

He mouths a silent “Take care” to her, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

Rhea gives him a small, stiff nod, a silent apology he won't understand, before picking up the empty black box and following Dominic.

As she steps into the elevator with Dominic and the doors hiss shut, a terrifying thought takes hold. 

Dominic made her wear something so open and so short for a reason. He didn't just want her to feel exposed; he wanted easy access. 

Wherever they are going, he has no intention of letting her keep her dignity.

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

The Maybach door thuds shut with the finality of a coffin lid, sealing out the city and its witness. Inside, the air is thick - a claustrophobic tomb of black leather and the suffocating, expensive scent of Dominic’s sandalwood cologne.

Dominic doesn’t look at her. He taps a button on the armrest, and the privacy glass slides up with a clinical, electric whir, encasing them in a soundproof vault. 

They are inches apart, yet the silence between them feels like a vast, predatory ocean where Rhea is drowning.

"The box, Fragile," he says. His voice is a low, terrifying calm that makes the hair on her arms stand up. "Put it on the floor."

Rhea obeys, her fingers trembling so violently the empty box clatters against her heels like a death rattle. 

She clutches her trench coat to her chest, but the emerald silk beneath is already betraying her, the cold gold chains of the back-strap biting into her skin like a leash.

"Open the coat."

The command is quiet, but it carries the weight of an iron shackle.

"Sir, the driver—"

"The driver can’t see us, and he wouldn't dare look if he could," Dominic interrupts, finally turning his head. His eyes aren't human in this light; they are twin pits of absolute, obsidian intent. "I don’t ask twice."

Rhea’s fingers feel like lead as she undoes the buttons one by one. Slowly, agonizingly, she peels the heavy wool back, baring the liquid poison of the emerald silk. 

Dominic’s gaze travels down her body, slow and clinical, like a man inspecting a piece of art he just purchased at an auction.

"Stand up," he orders.

"What?"

"Stand. Use the handle."

Rhea grips the leather grab handle, her knees knocking together as she hoists herself up just enough. 

The car is moving, the gentle sway forcing her to balance precariously. The dress is so shamelessly short that it hitches high over her hips the moment she moves, exposing the pale, trembling expanse of her thighs.

Dominic leans forward, his face inches from her midsection. He doesn't use his hands. Instead, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a heavy, silver fountain pen.

With the tip of the cool metal, he hooks the hem of her emerald silk, slowly lifting it.

Rhea’s heart is a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She gasps as she feels the brush of the cold metal against her knee. Then, the pen begins to move. It is a sharp, terrifyingly icy sensation as the silver nib drags across her bare skin.

"Open your legs, Fragile," he murmurs, the heat of his breath clashing with the ice of the pen.

She obeys, her thighs parting with a stuttering tremor to allow the pen passage. It moves higher, tracing the sensitive line of her inner thigh with agonizing slowness. Every millimeter feels like a brand. When the cool metal finally hits the raw, damp heat of her center, Rhea lets out a jagged, broken moan.

“Mmm... ah!” Her eyes flutter shut, her head thumping against the roof of the car.

He presses the tip of the pen into her softest folds, stirring the moisture she cannot hide. He isn't even touching her with his skin, yet the clinical invasion is driving her to the brink of insanity.

"You're weeping for a piece of silver," Dominic whispers, his voice dropping into a satisfied, dark purr. He slides the pen deeper, the cold metal contrasting violently with her feverish pulse. "Imagine what you'll do when it's my skin."

He lets the silk fall, but he doesn't pull away. He looks up at her, locking his eyes onto hers with a possessive intensity that makes her want to scream and sink into him all at once.

"You’re learning, Fragile. You’re learning that your body doesn't belong to you anymore. It belongs to my whims."

He reaches out and hooks his arm around her waist, jerking her down onto his lap. The silk offers no protection; she can feel every corded, iron muscle in his thighs through her wetness.

"It’s Julian, right?" Dominic whispers into her ear. His hand slides up, disappearing under the emerald silk to find her breast.

His fingers find her nipple, pinning the hard peak between his knuckles and twisting with a sudden, sharp pressure.

“Ahhh!” Rhea moans, a high, desperate sound of sharp pain and unwanted, soaring pleasure.

"He thinks you’re safe," Dominic hisses, his teeth grazing the tip of her nipple through the fabric. "He thinks you're just working late. He has no idea that right now, I have total, unhindered access to every inch of you. I could take you right here."

He bites down, hard enough to leave a mark that will stay for days.

"If you ever look at him again... if you ever let him put his hand on you... I won't just punish you. I’ll make sure he’s the one who has to watch while I claim what’s mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she whimpers, a single, helpless tear escaping and staining the emerald silk. "Yes... Mr Ashcroft."

"Good." He pushes her off him gently, his expression turning to stone as if the intimacy never happened. He adjusts his cuffs, the silver pen disappearing back into his pocket. "Fix your coat. We’re almost there."

Rhea shivers, her body cold the moment his heat is withdrawn. She fumbles with her buttons, her center throbbing in the silence, a prisoner to the man who just used a pen to reclaim her soul.