I breathed through the gag gently pressing my tongue. Knees sore, spine straight, wrists cuffed behind me and secured to the floor ring. The red room hummed with silence.
I’d been in position nearly an hour. Vincent had said thirty minutes. But time lost shape when you gave it away, and I’d given mine to him completely.
My blindfold had started to itch, but I welcomed the discomfort—it meant I was still tethered to something real, something structured. The floor beneath me was cool despite the warmth in my skin, and I shifted slightly to relieve the ache in my thighs.
Submission didn’t come quietly. It roared in your bones, screamed behind your teeth, begged behind every breath you were trained not to release.
The house made no sound. Vincent was supposed to be back. A late business meeting, nothing serious.
I trusted him. Trusted his time. Trusted the weight of his control.
But something shifted. It was the floorboard groan behind me.
Not his stride. Not his scent. My chest tightened instantly. I listened harder. I wasn’t supposed to speak. But I wasn’t supposed to be alone this long either.
A breath. Not mine. A whisper grazed my ear, hot and unwelcome.
“Miss me, sweetheart?”
I screamed through the gag before I even processed the words. My limbs jerked against the restraints, blind panic rising like bile.
Julian. It was Julian.
The fucker had broken in.
I didn’t know how—Vincent’s house was practically a fortress. Reinforced locks. Retinal scans. Motion-triggered floodlights. Heat sensors. Even laser field mapping across the windows at night. No one was supposed to get in. Not without authorization.
But Vincent had disabled part of the system that morning. Just one hallway. Just long enough for maintenance. He told me not to worry. No one knows the gaps. Only me.
Clearly, someone did.
His fingers brushed my hip.
I thrashed.
The cold bite of the gag pressed into my mouth, muffling the scream rising in my throat. My heart slammed against my ribs like a bird trying to claw its way out of a cage. My wrists strained against the cuffs Vincent had locked earlier—tight, high, intentional. For play. For control. But now they pinned me in place for something else entirely.
Not him.
Someone else.
I tried to kick. To twist. But he was bigger. Stronger. And he laughed—low, smug, drunk on power.
“He leaves you like this?” he said near my ear. His breath smelled like smoke and whiskey. “Pathetic.”
Another touch. My thigh this time. Fingers sliding higher.
I bucked, kicked wildly, cursed into the gag. But it all came out in muffled whimpers. Useless.
He grabbed my chin, forcing my head back. “You should’ve picked better.”
I couldn’t see his face—not fully. Just the outline of him in the dark. A mask, maybe. Or shadows playing tricks. But I knew that voice. Somewhere in the back of my brain, in the pit of my gut, I knew I’d heard it before.
He didn’t belong here.
He didn’t belong on me.
I tried to bite. He laughed again.
“Feisty. He train you like this? All tied up and waiting?”
His hand slid between my thighs.
Terror screamed through every nerve.
And then—something shifted. A soft sound. Like a door creaking open downstairs. A floorboard.
The intruder froze.
I held my breath.
A pause.
Silence.
Then—
“Get the fuck away from her.”
Vincent’s voice was a roar. Pure fury. Something heavy collided with flesh. Bone crunched. Julian’s shout turned to a whimper, then to screams.
The blindfold ripped away, and light seared my eyes. When my vision adjusted, all I saw was Vincent, straddling Julian’s chest, fists flying. Blood smeared across both their faces—Julian’s from pain, Vincent’s from something ancient and vicious. His knuckles were raw. Julian was begging now.
“Stop, please—stop!” But Vincent didn’t stop. He wasn’t in the room anymore. He was somewhere else—somewhere darker. Every punch was punishment.
For trespass. For daring. For touching me.
I screamed again, this time with his name.
“Vincent, please!” He didn’t hear.
His face was stone, his body wired with rage, with possession, with vengeance he couldn’t temper. I pulled at the cuffs. Couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“Vincent!” My voice cracked. Blood was on the floor now. Julian’s nose, maybe. Or his mouth. Maybe both. Vincent’s fist rose again. I sobbed. “Stop! You’ll kill him!”
Still, he didn’t stop.
The room blurred.
My limbs trembled as I struggled, forced my body forward, crawling in restraints that cut and bruised. I reached him, collapsed at his side, my knees hitting the ground hard enough to bruise.
I pressed my cheek to his thigh and whispered, “Please. Look at me. I need you. I need you more than I need revenge.”
He didn’t move.
I leaned closer, breathing hard, shaking violently, eyes wide and soaked. My voice dropped to a rasp. “You’re not him. Don’t become him.”
Julian groaned beneath him, already limp.
The rage had nowhere else to go.
I rested my bound hands on Vincent’s shin. “I’m safe now. You don’t have to prove it. I know who you are.”
His fist was still raised.
“Please,” I said again, barely audible. “This isn’t you. And it’s not us.”
Blood dripped from his knuckles.
I wasn’t scared of Vincent. I was scared of what might be lost if he didn’t come back from this.
“You told me I wasn’t broken,” I whispered, forehead pressed against his leg. “Then don’t let him break you.”
A breath passed.
Heavy. Slow. Not Julian’s.
Vincent’s.
He turned his head slightly. His eyes flicked toward me.
I didn’t let go. My knees screamed in protest. My wrists burned in the cuffs.
But my heart slowed the moment I felt his exhale against my hairline.