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CHAPTER 12
Dahlia
“We’re going out.”
It’s purely psychological, I know, but the collar turns anvil-heavy the second Dante says those three words.
It’s not just the snug fit of the gold against my throat, or the subtle heat of the tech embedded inside. It’s the weight of what it means in the absence of distractions.
Obedience. Ownership. Submission.
Inside the penthouse, it’s been a game—a twisted, scorching, beautiful game where the rules are brutal but clear. But out there? In the real world?
Wearing this thing outside feels like surrendering and exposing something I’m not sure I can ever reclaim.
I sit on the edge of the bed, towel wrapped around me, staring at my reflection in the dark glass window. My skin is stilldamp from the shower. My lips swollen. My thighs aching from last night. From him.
And inside, everything’s chaos.
Because I heard what he said. Or more accurately, what hedidn’tsay.
Last night on the terrace, when I pressed him about why a man like him—filthy rich, corrupt, colder than sin—wanted to pull off a heist that smells suspiciously like justice… he cracked.
Just for a second. Enough for me to see it. Pain. Rage. Grief?
Ironveil. Wraith.She died for it…
Who died?
Those were puzzle pieces he didn’t mean to drop. But they’re floating in my brain now, clicking into place whether he likes it or not. And maybe that’s why he clings so tightly to control.
Maybe his darkness isn’t just dominance. Maybe it’sdefense.
A fortress built around a wound he’s never let heal.
Still, when he lays the clothes out for me—black silk mini dress, no bra, leather heels, delicate gold anklet that matches the damn collar—I stiffen.
“You expect me to wearthisout there?” I ask, standing, fists clenched around the towel.
Dante doesn’t even look up from where he’s adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. Dark gray, perfectly tailored. Sharp enough to slice through steel.
“We settled this. You’ll wear what I choose,” he says evenly. “You knew that the moment you signed your limits list.”
I remember that damn list. I remember ticking “Public Play” with my heart racing and my hand shaking.
I didn’t expect towantit. Not like this.
Not after last night. Not after he kissed me like I wasn’t a thief. Like I washis. Not after this morning when he called me addictive like he was alarmed and exhilarated. Not after he came down my throat like he was delivering benediction.
“I didn’t think you’d actually…” I trail off, heat creeping up my neck. “People are going to see.”
He finally looks up.
His eyes are unreadable. Cold. Until they soften, just for a heartbeat.
“Indeed. They’ll see what I want them to see,” he murmurs. “That you belong to me.”
The words lance through me. I should hate that. I should scream at him, spit in his face, slam the door and walk out barefoot just to prove I still can.