Chapter 10: Classroom

We walk through the dark hallway again—my neck still bare, Aiden’s jaw clenched tight with anger. I trail behind him, matching his pace but unsure where we’re going. There’s still no sign of classmates anywhere, and a low hum of dread coils in my stomach.

He suddenly stops in front of the Law classroom. Without a word, he unlocks the door and walks in. I hesitate, but as soon as I step inside, the door slams shut behind me. He locks it once, twice, three times—then leaves the key in the lock, sealing us in completely. Nobody can enter now.

Fuck.

The room is dimly lit, shadows crawling across the floor and climbing up the mahogany walls. Aiden turns to me slowly, and I instinctively take several steps back.

This is the first time I’m completely alone with a male—other than the headmaster. The realization makes my stomach twist with panic.

“Over my desk. Skirt up,” Aiden orders sharply.

I flinch at the coldness of his voice, my eyes darting to his mahogany desk. He strides to it and yanks a drawer open with too much aggression.

“You deserve worse,” he says darkly, “but unfortunately, this is all I have.”

I freeze when I see what he pulls out—a short leather whip. My blood drains.

“I gave you an order,” he says coolly, placing the whip on the desk with a heavy thud that makes me jump.

I can barely swallow. My throat feels like it’s closing. I’ve never gone through this before. Yes, Henry’s hit me. So has his father. But that was violence—this is punishment. This is intentional.

“Now!”

His voice snaps through the room like a whip of its own, and my legs move on their own. I walk toward him, heart pounding so hard I feel it in my teeth. Aiden’s dark stare trails me like a predator watching prey, his expression unreadable but filled with furious control. Aimed at me.

“Bend over. Grab the wood. And count,” he commands as I reach the desk.

His presence is so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

My hands shake as I place them on the polished wood. It’s cold and impersonal against my palms. I take two more seconds to gather myself, then bend over.

I lock everything inside. Every emotion. Every fear. Every sliver of pain. I bury it deeper and deeper, reinforcing the mask of silence and submission.

My ass juts out instinctively with my position, and I go perfectly still when my skirt is suddenly flipped up. My breath catches.

Aiden inhales sharply behind me. The black lace of my panties is now on full display.

I’m on my tiptoes, the floor offering no support. No escape.

Then—his hand touches my thigh.

A jolt shoots through my entire body.

“Am I the first man to ever touch you?” he asks, voice low and dark, an undertone rippling through it I can’t name. His hand doesn’t move away—it glides slowly up, fingers sliding over the curve of my ass, possessive and unhurried.

I feel so exposed. So helpless. So fucking vulnerable.

“You’re the first person to ever touch me,” I admit, my voice breathless.

He pauses, his hand on my ass burning through me.

“You’ve never been touched? Not even by a human?” There’s disbelief in his voice. Shock.

“No,” I whisper. I force the tears away.

He goes still. His hand tightens just slightly, his long fingers digging into my ass. My skirt is around my waist, my top itching higher and higher, almost revealing my bra. I feel his stare on my body. “You’ve really never—ever—been touched?”

“No.”

It’s the most fragile truth I’ve spoken in years. The weight of it lands in the space between us like a crack in the air.

Aiden lets out a slow, low laugh. It’s not kind. It’s not soft.

It’s sadistic.

“This is going to be a lot of fun,” he murmurs.

That’s not what I want to hear.

WHIP.

The sound slices through the silence—and so does the pain.

It crashes into my skin like fire, like lightning, like I’ve been ripped open. For the first time ever, a shocked gasp escapes me. My body jerks from the force.

“Count,” he commands coldly from behind me.

I can’t. I can’t even breathe. I don't expect such force.

But then another lash lands.

The second one is as bad as the first one, and I clench my teeth together. Pain burns through me, and my hands grasp the desk roughly, my nails trying to scrape over the polish with pathetic strength.

“Count, Ombra,” he growls. “We redo every hit you don’t count.”

He whips again, my vision blurring for a second, and I'm nearly dying from pain.

This is no hit from Henry. This is nothing like the weak slaps he gives me. My purple bruise is something kind, soft and squishy compared to this.

“One,” I force out in a breathless whisper.

Counting is almost impossible. I'm so used to biting through the pain, to keep my lips sealed and not let any sound out. I don't want to give anyone the satisfaction.

And I will not give Aiden the satisfaction.

Another whip.

“Two.”

Again.

“Three.”

He doesn’t go easy. Doesn’t lighten his hits. He punishes with strength and precision, targeting the same spot over and over. My skin must be ripped apart by now, because it feels like he’s carving into an open wound.

Again. Again. He's gaining strength with every whip.

I lose track of time. My world narrows to pain.

I'm going to die.

”Thirty,” I whisper pathetically. My voice is raw. My entire body trembles.

He steps back. I have no idea if this is it. He didn't say how many times he was going to hit me. I have no idea if this is finally the end.

“Danika,” Aiden says quietly, his breath shallow. “If you embarrass me ever again, mark my words—your body will be the least of your concerns.”

I remain bent over, the wood biting into my thighs. I’m shaking. I want to collapse. I want to scream. I'm in so much pain. I want to fall apart and let all of my locked emotions out.

But I don't.

“Get up.”

I slowly rise. My body screams at the movement, and I wince as my skirt falls back down over raw skin. Aiden moves closer, his chest nearly brushing my back.

I feel defeated.

“Normally,” he says, his tone fighting to get back to normal. “A Dom will perform aftercare.”

I glance at his dark wooden desk, too lost in the pain to focus. His papers are neatly stacked beside an expensive laptop, his phone next to it—something girls like me aren’t even allowed to own.

“But that’s earned.”

“Once you fulfill your duties as a submissive,” he continues, “I’ll fulfill mine as a Dom.”

He reaches for my neck.

I don’t flinch.

I can’t. I don’t have the energy.

The golden collar clicks shut around my throat.

“My Ombra,” he murmurs.

The word catches in the thick air. My head tilts slightly, confused. My gaze stays down, but I know he’s close—his body heat surrounds me like a cage.

“Ombra,” he repeats softly, understanding my look without even asking. “It means shadow. Untouchable. Mysterious.”

He leans closer, lips brushing my ear. “And now… my shadow. My property.”

His hand slides through my hair, trailing down my spine, slow and deliberate. Then he plants a hand beside me on the desk, boxing me in.

“Are you in pain?” he asks.

Yes.

“No,” I lie.

No one will see me in pain. No one will see me that weak.

“I have a few rules,” he says, voice cool and composed again, like the sadist who whipped me thirty times is now some distant version of himself.

His fingers skim my lower back—bare beneath my crop top. I never put on my blazer this morning. There wasn’t time. Just panic.

“I expect perfection from you,” he begins.

Well, that's fucking easy, isn't it.

I stay frozen, looking to the side at the bulging muscles in his arm. He did use his strength.

“I order, you obey. Do not speak unless spoken to. Always look presentable.”

His hand suddenly slaps my ass—right over the punished skin.

I almost scream. The pain is nuclear. Sitting is going to be impossible for days.

“Never lie to me. Ever.”

I glance up.

I don’t know why I do it. I know it's not allowed.

My eyes meet his—and it’s like being struck again. He’s staring down at me, eyes intense, unreadable. We’re so close I can feel his breath on my lips. One more inch and we’d be kissing.

“Are you in pain?” he asks again.

His green eyes search mine, and my own green eyes refuse to look away. We lock in this strange, dangerous dance. My heart is thundering. My body is burning in ways I don’t understand.

I shouldn’t feel this. I’ve been taught not to.

But my body… doesn’t listen. It's the stupid female hormones in me reacting to the close presence of a male.

“No,” I whisper.

I lie. Again.

Aiden Abbott is not going to break me.