Chapter 2: Rules

When I woke, my body screamed. Every muscle ached reminding me of what he’d done. My thighs burned, the belt marks across my skin throbbed with dull pain.

The door opened.

Brayden Gatsby stepped inside, He held a folder in his hand.

“Sit up.”

I did. Because what choice did I have?

He came to the bed, placed the folder in my lap, and opened it.

“Your life, Zoe, no longer belongs to you. You will follow my rules. If you dare to break them, you will regret it.”

His tone was clipped and businesslike. He flipped the first page.

“Rule number one: You speak only when spoken to. Ever. Anywhere.”

My throat tightened. He waited.

“Yes, Mr. Gatsby.”

“Rule number two: Your body is mine. That means no refusal, no hesitation, no boundaries unless you’re on your period and I choose to set them.”

My stomach dropped.

“Rule number three: You will kneel whenever I enter the room unless ordered otherwise.”

The words stung like a slap.

“Rule number four: There is no privacy. Cameras monitor you at all times. What you eat, how you sleep, how you touch yourself, everything belongs to me.

My cheeks flamed. Cameras? Always?

“Rule number five: If you try to escape, if you defy me, if you betray me, I won’t kill you. I’ll ruin you. I’ll make sure you beg me to put you back in chains. if you disobey, there will be punishment.”

My throat burned. “What kind of punishment?”

He leaned down, close enough that I felt the heat of his breath against my ear. “That’s for me to know,” he whispered, “and for you to find out.”

I swallowed, throat dry.

“Do you understand?”

My voice cracked. “Yes, Mr. Gatsby.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Yes, Mr. Gatsby.”

He leaned down, fingers tilting my chin up until I had no choice but to look into his eyes. “Good girl.”

Then, with a cruel smile, he handed me a pen.

“Sign at the bottom. And welcome to your new life.”

My hand shook as I scrawled my name.

Zoe Brant.

It looked so small beneath his signature.

That evening, he dressed me in black silk. A collar snapped around my neck.

I was leashed.

“Where are we going?” I whispered before I could stop myself.

The chain jerked hard, cutting me off.

“Rule number one,” he reminded coldly.

My lips clamped shut.

He led me into an elevator, down to a level of the house that felt like stepping into another world. The air was thick with perfume and smoke. Music thrummed, low and decadent.

Then the doors opened, and I froze.

It wasn’t a house, it was a club. His club. Men and women lounged with glasses of champagne, their attention turning instantly to us. To me.

Brayden pulled me into the room like a prize animal, curious eyes followed eyes, whispers spreading.

“Who’s the new one?”

“She’s stunning.”

“He bought her at the auction last night, didn’t he?”

My stomach turned. Shame filling my body.

He stopped in the center, tugging the leash until I dropped to my knees. The floor was cold and every face was on me.

“This,” Brayden said clearly,“is Zoe. She belongs to me. You will not touch her. You will not speak to her. But you will watch as I teach her obedience.”

Laughter rippled. Glasses clinked.

My pulse pounded in my ears.

“Up,” he ordered. I scrambled to my feet.

“Take off the robe.”

I froze.

His eyes sharpened. The crowd hushed.

“No,” I whispered. “Not in front of them. Please…”

The leash snapped tight, choking me.

“You dare defy me?” His voice was a razor.

Tears stung, but something in me snapped. “I won’t do it!”

“Rule number two,” he said. “Your body is mine.”

My stomach twisted. I shook my head once. His grip tightened, fingers digging into my cheeks until tears burned the corners of my eyes.

“Do you want me to show them what happens to disobedient little slave pets, Zoe?”

“No, Mr. Gatsby,” I whispered.

His lips curved. “Then obey.”

He ripped the robe from my body, baring my naked frame to every pair of hungry eyes in the club. My arms instinctively tried to cover my breasts.

Then he bent me over the nearest table, pulled the belt free from his waist, and brought it down hard on my ass. I gasped, tears spilling, heat pooling low in my stomach.

The crowd roared. Applause, whistles, laughter. They loved it.

The crowd’s cheers still rang in my ears when he dragged me out of the club. My legs trembled, every step a reminder of welts stinging across my ass.

We didn’t speak on the ride back. He sat beside me in the car and I sat naked.

By the time we reached his mansion, my body was humming with fear and shame, and but a part of me wanted more.

He led me straight to the room as the night before. His playroom.

“You humiliated me tonight,” he said softly. “In front of my people. Do you know what that means, Zoe?”

“That I disobeyed…”

“And?”

“That I have to be punished.”

A cruel smile curved his mouth. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

He tied my wrists to the bed, the leather straps biting into my skin. Then he opened a drawer. And inside lay clamps, gags, blindfolds, toys I didn’t even know.

He put the clamp on my nipple making me cry out, the sound muffled when he shoved a gag into my mouth.

Tears blurred my vision. I hated him. I hated what he was making me feel.

And yet, when his hand finally slid between my legs, testing how wet I’d become under his punishment, I felt ashamed of how much I wanted him to continue.

“You see?” His voice was velvet over steel. “See how wet you are? You enjoy being paraded like the slut you are,”

I shook my head, choking on the gag, but my body arched into his touch anyway.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmured. “You want to come.”

I shook my head, moaning.

He pressed the handle of the whip against my clit, grinding just enough to make my back bow. My muffled cries filled the room.

“Say it,” he demanded, pulling the gag down just enough. “Beg me.”

“I..I can’t..”

His hands tugged on the nipple clamps. I screamed.

“Beg.”

“Please!” The word tore out of me. “Please, Mr. Gatsby, I can’t take it anymore! I’ll do anything…just let me….let me…”

His chuckle was dark, satisfied. “That’s better.”

He spanked me hard before sliding his fingers inside me, curling deep. My walls clenched greedily. My own moans disgusted me, but I couldn’t stop them.

The rhythm built, ruthless and unrelenting, until I shattered, screaming his name, my body convulsing around his hand.

When it ended, I slumped against the restraints. Tears stained my cheeks, shame burned me from the inside out.

He stroked my hair almost gently, removing the gag, unclipping the nipple clamps one by one.

“Do you understand now?” His voice was velvet over steel. “I own you.”

I sobbed, “Yes, Mr. Gatsby…”

His hand shot forward, grabbing my chin, forcing my tear-soaked face up to meet his eyes.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Say I own you.”

“You. Own. Me,” I whispered, each word a shackle tightening around my soul.