Page 2 of A Dove To Break (The Dove Institute Collection #1)

I follow Jax down long corridors lined with portraits of past classes, dead masters, and other members of society that helped build this place.

Not in the literal sense, because we all know they would never do manual labor.

We reach the north-west corner of the Manor, and the gothic vibe continues.

I can see into passing rooms, and they appear more normal as they don’t have the stone walls, but the floors remain polished granite throughout.

We get to a large room with tables, couches, and ottomans.

Everything is covered in soft black leather.

Along the right, there are areas, separated by a stone wall, and they contain a bed, a nightstand, an armoire, and a small desk.

There are no doors or anything to allow privacy.

Everything is in a slate black and deep red, gothic aesthetic.

Along the left, though, there are doors.

I assume those are the master’s quarters. Why do they get privacy, but we do not?

I see that my belongings are on a table in the back, and men are going through them.

That annoys me, but I expected it. I already got rid of everything that would get me in trouble with the school and with my parents.

I stand with Jax and ignore Phillip. After a moment, another man comes over. I recognize him.

“You must be Alania Remington,” the man says warmly. “I am Headmaster Charles Hamilton.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I lie.

“You will be in room seven, it is the last room on the right,” he tells me.

“Room,” I scoff. He raises an eyebrow at me, so I stand my ground. “That is not a room, it’s a prison cell without bars.”

“Would you prefer bars, Alania?” he asks with a dark tone.

“Will it keep you all away from me?” I ask with a sweet smile.

“On the contrary,” he says coolly. “The cells are correction areas where you are stripped, whipped, and used by staff for the duration of your punishment.”

“Rape,” I say. “That’s called rape, headmaster.”

“Call it what you wish, but I’ll be sure to be your first visitor,” he threatens with a smile. “Room, or cells, Alania? Pick.”

“Don’t take your dick out just yet, headmaster. I’ll go to my room ,” I say.

“Good girl,” he says. “Go on and sit on your bed. Your approved items will be brought to you shortly.”

“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. When I go to step past him, he grabs me by the throat and gets in my face. Everyone in the room stops and looks at us, but I still stand my ground and keep a mocking tone. “Yes, headmaster ?”

“I will only be forgiving for so long,” he says simply. “Understand?”

“I understood when you threatened to rape me, headmaster. May I go to my room?” I ask.

“Go,” he says, shoving me away. I smile and walk away from him, feeling his eyes burn into my back as I walk away.

Everyone watches as I walk down to the seventh room and sit on the bed with my ankles crossed.

I keep my head up and remain in control of my emotions.

I refuse to appear weak. I sit here and just do as I am told.

There is a limit of pushback I can give, and I know I am pushing it for my first day, but I am going to make sure everyone knows I do not want to be here.

I look over and see Jax walking into my room with my books, journals, and my art supplies. He sets the box on my desk before turning to me. “Put these items away, and then meet the other girls in the common area,” he says.

“Okay,” I reply simply. I stand and go to the box so I can organize it on my desk and in the nightstand.

I put all of the books on the shelf at the bottom of the bedside table, but arrange everything in the drawers of the desk.

Once I am done, I leave the room and see six other girls sitting on the couches and ottoman.

They look up and smile when they see me.

“Hi!” A woman says happily. “You must be Alania Remington. I’m Fiona Furgeson.”

“Hi,” I say simply and sit on the couch next to her.

“That is Clara Jacobs, Rose Chambers, Talia Holcomb, Daphne Peters, and Gemma Caldwell,” she explains. “What school did you come from?”

“Harvard,” I say. “I have a master’s in English Literature with a minor in Psychology.”

“Nice! I have a master’s in business administration. I think we all do, but you,” she says. “I wanted to do psychology but…”

“But Daddy didn’t want you to,” I say. She grins, but the others look shocked. “I was also forced to come here, but I was given a choice between English and business.”

“You are room seven, right? I am six,” she says.

“I am. Do you always talk this much?” I ask.

“Only when I am nervous,” she laughs. “Also, you were a brat to the headmaster, and I nearly came. I’m going to make you my best friend.”

“I might get you in trouble,” I warn.

“That’s okay,” she replies, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Ladies,” the headmaster says, clapping his hands together. “You will be following the guards to the restroom, where you will shower and change into your uniform. Afterwards, you are free to socialize and settle in.”

I stand up with Fiona and navigate toward Jax instead of Phillip. I know better than to get trapped by him. He is leering at me like I am a piece of meat, and I’ve been cornered by too many men to not recognize a predator when I see one.

“Scared?” Jax asks me with a smile. Fiona looks at me curiously.

“Scared that baldy is going to rape me? Absolutely. I called him a good boy and made him say please. I know a predator when I see one,” I say matter-of-factly.

“He knows the rules, Alania,” Jax chuckles. “We aren’t allowed to touch you girls like that. The most we can do is spank you with an open hand. Even then, he can't punish you for something that happened before you arrived. We all knew you’d be a handful.”

“And if you’re wrong?” I ask.

“You let a master know right away, even if it’s just a threat,” he says seriously.

“Wait. How did you know?” I ask.

“Your father warned us that you were less than willing. Plus, your mother was apparently just like you,” he says, making me grin.

I don’t know why I am proud to know that my mother was also a giant brat, but at least I know it came naturally.

This begs the question, though. Will I break and be stuck with a man who only knows anger and violence?

We walk to the doorway centered on the back wall and file in.

There is a wall jutting out that leads you around it before it opens up into a massive bathroom.

There are bathroom stalls with doors along the left wall, open shower stalls along the right, sinks and mirrors on the back wall, and an open shower in the center.

It’s something that looks like a support beam with shower heads coming out of the top to surround the pole.

There are shackles attached, and I am assuming this is a form of punishment.

“Girls!” Jax says. “Find a shower stall and take all of your clothes off. Toss them out. We will collect them and hang up your uniforms. You should have everything you need in the stalls.”

Fiona and I take the stalls at the very end and follow the given instructions.

I get the shower on and it warms fast, so I can step under the hot water.

It relaxes me, and I just focus on the task at hand and try not to think about Phillip staring at me.

Jax comes by to grab my clothes and scans my body for a moment as he hangs my uniform next to the towels, but continues to the other stalls.

When I’m done, I wrap myself in one towel as I use the other to gently dry my mid-length reddish-brown hair. It’s wavy and prone to frizz, so I am sure to not do anything that might irritate it. Next, I look at the uniform that Jax left.

The uniform isn’t much. A simple black skirt that barely hits my mid-thigh and is cinched at the waist just enough to suggest shape before flaring out.

With it, there’s a short-sleeved, baggy, sheer white blouse, like it’s pretending to be modest. It does nothing to hide the black lace bra beneath it.

Not that the bra does much either. My nipples show through both.

There aren’t any panties included, of course.

This is for easier access, I assume. Functional degradation at its finest.

There is still a slight dampness to my skin as I step into the simple black flats. The cool air causes goosebumps to rise on my skin, and a shiver trembles through my body as I wrap my arms around myself.

I’ve always been okay with my body. I love my thick thighs and wide hips.

Dad would call me fat, but it never stopped men from wanting to bury their faces in my cunt.

Growing up as Daddy’s nighttime fuck toy had its advantages, or at least that’s what I tell myself to avoid blowing my brains out.

I’ve been having sex consensually since I was thirteen, and by that I mean I just always said yes.

I practiced sucking dick on the older boys before letting grown men fuck me in secret.

They made me feel older and more mature, but they just wanted to get their dicks wet.

The psychology professor told me once that trauma made me hypersexual, but he was also the one who fucked my ass after class several times a week.

We all go back to the common area to sit and chat. I’m already over this day, and I cannot wait to go to bed.