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Day 1
Data de publicação:
2026-04-03 16:34:16Chapter 4
I woke up wrapped in silk sheets that didn’t belong to me. For a second, I didn’t move. I stared up at the smooth ceiling, watching the early morning sunlight filter through sheer curtains. The air smelled like cedarwood and something colder, sharper, like the man who owned this place. For a moment, I thought it was a dream. The kind that teases you with heat and power before the weight of reality yanks you back down. But when I shifted under the sheets and felt the soreness between my thighs, I knew it wasn’t. He hadn’t touched me last night. Not fully. But he had learned me. Watched me tremble from nothing but his voice. Pressed his fingers into the places that made me whimper without ever giving me release. He had made me beg. And when I finally shattered for him, he hadn’t even undone a single button on his shirt. He whispered, That’s rule one, Ivy. You cum when I say. Not before. Now it was morning, and everything was real. This was Day One. The contract had started. And I had no idea who I would be by the time it ended. I slipped out of the bed slowly, legs still unsteady. My dress was gone. In its place, on the velvet bench beside the door, was a black silk robe. I put it on, tying the sash tightly around my waist. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. I stepped into the hallway, my bare feet sinking into plush carpet, my breath catching when I spotted him. Damien. In the kitchen. Shirtless. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He looked up the second I entered. His gaze swept over me slowly, possessively, like he was cataloging every inch of skin the robe didn’t cover. “Good morning, Ivy.” I swallowed. “Morning.” He nodded toward the marble island. A single white envelope sat there. My name printed on the front. I walked over, picked it up. Inside was a black card. No logo. Just a chip. “And this is…?” “Your spending card,” he said. “Clothes. Toiletries. Anything you need. My assistant has already arranged appointments with a stylist and a private driver. You’ll be taken care of.” It didn’t feel real. I gripped the card like it might dissolve in my hand. “You don’t waste time.” “Time is expensive,” he said simply. “And so are you.” His words made my skin flush. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Calm. Commanding. Bare chest still damp from a recent shower. “Breakfast is waiting on the terrace. Eat. Then shower. Then wait for my call.” My stomach twisted. “And what happens after?” He smirked. “You learn what it means to surrender.” He walked past me, scent trailing in his wake like heat. I stood there, stunned, still holding the card like a lifeline. Eat. Shower. Wait. Three simple things. But they felt like orders. I stepped out onto the terrace. The table was already set. Toast, fruit, eggs, fresh juice. A breakfast meant for someone who had always lived this way. I hadn’t eaten like this in years. It felt wrong to sit down, but I did. My hands were still trembling. Every bite tasted like something I couldn’t afford. When I finished, I showered. Hot water. Expensive soap. A rainfall showerhead that kissed my back like luxury I didn’t deserve. I lingered under the water too long, trying to quiet my thoughts. By the time I stepped out, wrapped in the same silk robe, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. Come to the red room. Door to the right of the piano. Do not speak. Do not wear anything under the robe. My mouth went dry. This was it. The real beginning. I walked through the penthouse, every step echoing louder in my chest. I found the piano easily. Black. Sleek. Untouched. The door beside it was closed. Red. The handle was cold when I turned it. Inside, the world changed. Low lighting. Crimson walls. Velvet curtains. Leather straps on the walls. Cuffs hanging from hooks. A bed I couldn’t call a bed, it was a display of dominance. Padded benches. Chains. And at the center of it all, Damien. He stood by a tall black chair, dressed now in a tailored black suit. A glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes didn’t move from me. “Close the door,” he said. I did. “Come here.” I walked to him slowly, blood pounding in my ears. He circled me like a predator. One finger hooked under the robe’s sash. “You followed instructions,” he murmured. “Good girl.” The knot came undone in one pull. The robe fell open. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. “Hands behind your back.” I obeyed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out leather cuffs. The moment they clicked shut around my wrists, something in me snapped. Fear. Heat. Curiosity. He walked in front of me again, fingers brushing my collarbone. “I told you I would show you what obedience feels like.” His mouth touched my ear. “But I never promised it would be easy.” He walked me to the padded bench and bent me forward. His hand gripped the back of my neck. “Count for me.” The first strike of the crop hit the underside of my thighs. Sharp. Hot. Stunning. “One.” The second came faster. “Two.” By the fifth, my breath was ragged. By the tenth, I was crying. Not from pain. From the way his voice filled the air every time I got the number right. From the way he whispered, Good girl, like he meant it. He stood in front of me, his hand wiping away a single tear with the back of his knuckle. “You did better than I expected.” I wanted to speak, but the words caught in my throat. “Did you like it?” he asked. I nodded, cheeks red. “Say it.” “I liked it,” I whispered. He spanked my ass hard this time. ”I said always add daddy.” ”I like it daddy” I whimpered. ”Go to the bed,” He said. I went to the bed, awaiting what was to come next. 
Último capítulo
Sinfully His Home
Damien leans back in the chair for a moment, eyes never leaving Ivy. Her breathing is steady now, slow and regular, but the faint rise and fall of her chest still tugs at him. Her fingers twitch slightly, weak, as if trying to grasp something, but she does not move on her own. He studies her, memorizing every line of her face, the uneven color of her skin, the bruises dark beneath the pale surface. His ribs ache sharply with every small movement, but he ignores it. He glances at the monitors, nods slightly, then stands. He walks to the small sink across the room, washes his hands, wipes them on a clean towel, and returns to her bedside, careful not to make a sound that might startle her.The nurses quietly handle her care. They adjust the IV, check her vitals, bring small cups of water and soft food. Damien does not interfere, but he watches everything. Every motion, every careful tilt of her head, every cautious sip of water. He notices when she swallows, waits until her lips relax b
Sinfully His The Hospital
The van swerves into the hospital driveway so fast the tires screech. Damien throws the door open before the vehicle even stops. He lifts Ivy with both arms. Her body is limp, head rolling against his shoulder. Her clothes hang in strips, soaked in dirt and dried blood. His ribs scream as he bolts through the sliding doors, but he keeps going.“Doctor,” Damien shouts. His voice blasts across the lobby. “Now. Someone get a doctor now.”The nurses freeze for a second when they see Ivy. One of them drops a clipboard. Another jolts into action and hits an emergency button on the wall. A team rushes out from behind a desk. They take one look at Ivy and guide Damien toward a hallway.“Bring her in here,” one of them says.Damien hesitates for half a breath, thinking they might take her from him, but they push open a door to a bright room marked VIP. He carries Ivy inside and lays her carefully on the bed they point to. Her head sinks into the pillow, her chest rising unevenly.The doctor wa
Sinfully His The Rescue
“Get me Killan. Now.”Static crackles, then a voice comes through, steady but cautious. “Boss.”“I just got a message,” Damien says, voice raw from shouting and no sleep. “Unknown number. Images of Ivy. There is a countdown. I want the origin traced. Right now.”“Send it through.”Damien forwards the file, fingers shaking. His chest is tight, heart hammering. “God please don’t let anything happen to Ivy.” He whispers it, the first prayer he has muttered since his mother disappeared.Killan’s voice returns, clipped. “Got it. Location pinged. License plate matches a van. I have a street address. You want me to send coordinates?”“Yes. Coordinates. Now.”Maps pop up on the screen in front of Damien. Pins, lines, nothing but movement, everything pointing to a single building on the edge of the city. A warehouse district, empty streets, perfect for hiding.Damien grabs his coat, pistol in one hand, chain in the other. He signals to his men, their eyes wide but knowing. No questions. They m
Sinfully His Fractured Fury
Chapter 23He ripped the chain from his arm and hurled it. It slammed into the wall and clattered to the floor like a thrown sentence. The sound felt small and hollow compared with the ache inside him. Ivy was gone. The room held the ghost of her. That was enough.Damien did not pause to mourn. He moved through the house like a storm, voice cutting orders, body smashing through furniture without noticing. Staff scrambled. Guards lined up, faces pale. He did not look at them. He barked, he shoved, he demanded. He needed every eye, every hand, every pair of feet focused toward one point. He needed a perimeter of motion expanding outward until it reached the city line.“Listen to me,” he said, voice tight and raw. “If anyone lies, if anything is hidden, if even one minute is wasted, I will make this city burn until there is nothing left to hide behind. Do you hear me? Everyone move. Now.”They moved. Men with keys, drivers with maps, housekeepers with lists of deliveries, mechanics who k
Sinfully His Gone
Mr. Voss’s shadow filled the doorway, calm and absolute. The guards stiffened. Damien froze only for a breath. Then he pushed. The chain screamed and the bolt tore loose from the wall.The sound was sharp, metal on stone, and the guards spun toward him. Damien swung the length of chain like a weapon, slamming it into the nearest man’s head. The guard crumpled. Another lunged, baton raised, but Damien shifted his weight and wrapped the chain around the man’s arm, wrenching it until bone cracked.Mr. Voss didn’t flinch. His eyes were steady, cold, proud in a way that cut deeper than any weapon. “My son,” he said, as if watching a lesson unfold.Damien ignored the words. He spun again, chain striking, boots kicking. Another guard fell. A baton struck his ribs and pain exploded through his side, but he did not stop. He could not stop.Blood smeared the floor. Keys scattered. Damien dropped low, snatched them up, and ripped the manacles from his wrists. His skin tore where the metal had cu
Sinfully His Chains
Chapter 21Damien moved slowly, painfully. Every shift of the chain made metal rasp and his skin sting. He counted nothing. Counting was useless. Only movement mattered. He tested the links again, each one a tiny chance, a whisper of freedom. A link shifted a fraction and he froze, listening.Footsteps echoed in the corridor. A guard laughed and cursed under his breath. Keys jingled. The pattern was familiar, mapped from long hours of observation, long hours of suffering. Timing was his weapon. Muscle memory became a map of survival.He twisted against the chain. Pain erupted in his shoulder but he ignored it. A link gave a fraction more. That fraction meant leverage. He pushed again. Metal groaned and he inhaled, sharp and shallow. Each small sound in the facility was magnified, a signal he could use.The door creaked as someone approached. He pressed himself against the shadows of the wall, waiting. The guard appeared, keys at his belt, flashlight in hand. Damien stayed still, silen
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