Chapter 3: The First lesson

​I didn't sleep. I spent the night staring at the velvet box on my nightstand. The ruby seemed to pulse in the dark, a tiny, red eye watching my every move. By 7:45 AM, I was standing in front of my full-length mirror, my fingers trembling as I fastened the gold chain around my ankle. It felt heavier than it looked. It felt like a shackle.

​I dressed in a conservative sweater and a pleated skirt, trying to look like the student I was supposed to be. But the cold bite of the gold against my skin reminded me I was playing a different game entirely.

​At exactly 8:00 AM, I knocked on the heavy oak door of his study.

​"Enter."

​Julian was seated behind his desk, a laptop open and a stack of documents to his side. He didn't look up immediately. He let me stand there in the center of the room, the silence stretching until my skin itched.

​"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to a leather chair positioned directly across from him. Not in a corner, not at a library table, but right in his line of sight.

​I sat, tucking my legs tucked under the chair.

​"The textbook is on the table," he said, finally raising his eyes. He looked impeccable in a charcoal-grey shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with lean muscle. He looked like he hadn't slept either—not because he was tired, but because he was energized by the hunt.

​He didn't say a word about the anklet. He didn't have to. He just stared at my legs until I felt a flush creep up my neck.

​"Open to page twelve," he directed. "We will begin with the foundations of the language. Translate the first paragraph."

​For the next hour, it was surprisingly professional—if you ignored the way his voice vibrated in my chest every time he corrected my pronunciation. He was a demanding teacher. He didn't accept "close enough." He wanted perfection.

​"Your accent is too soft," he murmured, standing up. He walked around the desk, his presence looming over me like a shadow. "French is a language of the throat and the heart. You’re speaking from your head."

​He stopped behind my chair. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Again. Je t'appartiens."

​"Je t'appartiens," I whispered, my voice cracking.

​"Do you even know what you’re saying?" He leaned down, his hands resting on the arms of my chair, effectively trapping me.

​"I... I belong to you," I translated, my heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it.

​"Correct." His breath brushed against my ear. "A dangerous sentiment, wouldn't you agree?"

​He reached down, his fingers grazing the hem of my skirt. My breath hitched. He didn't move the fabric; he simply hooked a finger under the gold chain of the anklet, pulling it just enough that the metal bit into my skin.

​"You wore it," he observed. His voice was no longer that of a teacher. It was the voice of a man who had just won a bet.

​"I didn't want the consequences," I said, trying to sound defiant, though I was shivering.

​Julian moved around the chair to crouch in front of me. The power dynamic shifted instantly. Even though he was lower than me, he was the one in control. He placed a hand on my knee—a heavy, warm weight that made it impossible to think.

​"Smart girl," he purred. "But don't think for a second that wearing it exempts you from the rules. It just means you’ve accepted who makes them."

​Suddenly, the door handle turned.

​"Julian? Is she in here?" My mother’s voice echoed from the hallway.

​I froze, my blood turning to ice. Julian didn't flinch. He didn't jump back. He took his time, his thumb stroking the skin above my knee one last time before he stood up with agonizing slowness.

​By the time the door swung open, he was standing by the bookshelf, a French dictionary in his hand.

​"She’s a fast learner, Elena," Julian said smoothly, his face a mask of professional calm. "But she needs more practice with the... difficult parts."

​My mother smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "I knew you’d be a good influence on her. Dinner is being moved to the club tonight, so get ready early."

​"We'll be ready," Julian said.

​As my mother walked away, Julian turned back to me. The mask dropped. A dark, predatory glint returned to his eyes.

​"We aren't finished, Elara. Not by a long shot. Go. If I see you in the hallway, act like the perfect daughter. But when you’re in this room..." He paused, his gaze dropping to the ruby on my ankle. "...remember who you belong to."

​I fled the room, the sound of my own pulse roaring in my ears. I was in a house full of people, but I had never felt more alone—or more watched.

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