Page 6

WILLOW

I ’m in Raekon’s office, but it’s different—larger, darker, the air thick with the scent of leather and something metallic.

I’m naked, my skin prickling under the cold, sterile light pouring from the ceiling.

A leather collar hugs my neck, smooth and unyielding, and the leash attached to it dangles in Raekon’s scaled hand.

He’s towering over me, his red eyes glowing like embers, and there’s that bulge in his trousers.

I can’t stop staring at it, even as my face burns.

“You must grow acclimated to the fact you’re my sex slave now, Ms. Christian,” Dream Raekon says in an almost casual way.

“B-but I don’t know anything about being a sex slave,” I stammer. My voice sounds small, tinny, like it’s coming from someone else.

He smirks, sharp teeth glinting. “I’ll train you. I’m sure you’ll be a natural.” His free hand moves to his fly, and my blood rushes through my body like quicksilver. “Now, for your first lesson.”

The zipper slides down with a metallic snick, and my heart is pounding so hard I’m half-convinced it’s going to crack my ribs.

My clit throbs, a pulse of heat radiating outward, and I feel myself getting wet despite the fear clawing at my throat.

I don’t want to look, but I can’t look away.

He’s fishing it out now, his hand moving deliberately, and I’m frozen, caught between terror and something far more dangerous.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he commands, his voice cutting through the haze in my mind. I obey, dragging my gaze upward to meet his. His smirk deepens, and there’s a glint of approval in those red eyes. “Good girl.”

The word sends a throb through my core, and I feel my thighs clench involuntarily. He’s pulling it out now, and I can’t help it—my eyes flick downward just as it comes into view.

My heart is pounding, my skin damp with sweat, and my throat is dry as I bolt upright in bed.

The alarm on my phone is blaring—some obnoxious pop song I set months ago and never bothered to change.

I fumble for it, nearly knocking it off the nightstand.

The screen lights up my dark room, and for a split second, I’m disoriented.

Where am I? Who am I? What the hell was that dream?

I silence the alarm and slump back into my pillow, staring at the ceiling.

My pulse is still racing, and I can’t tell if it’s from the abrupt awakening or the lingering…

intensity of the dream. My cheeks burn as I replay the details.

Raekon. The collar. That look in his eyes.

And then…my phone. My phone. I groan and bury my face in my hands.

“What is wrong with me?” I mutter into the darkness. My voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming in my sleep. Maybe I was. My neighbor probably thinks I’m being murdered over here.

I flop onto my side, tugging the blanket up to my chin. The room feels too quiet now, the silence pressing in on me. I can still feel the phantom weight of that collar, the way his voice had wrapped around me like a vice. Good girl. I shiver, and it’s not entirely unpleasant.

“It was just a dream,” I whisper, as if saying it out loud will make it true. “A stupid, ridiculous, mortifying dream.”

I glance at the clock. 4:03 a.m. Great. I have to be at Raekon's office in two hours, and now I’m wide awake, my brain spinning in frantic circles. I throw off the blanket and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet hit the cold floor, and I wince.

“Coffee,” I announce to the empty room. “Lots of coffee.”

As I pad to the kitchen, I can’t shake the image of Raekon’s smirk, the way his eyes had gleamed with that dangerous mix of authority and…something else. Something that makes my stomach flip. I fill the coffee machine with shaking hands and lean against the counter, waiting for the first drip.

“It’s just stress,” I mutter. “Stress and sleep deprivation and…whatever the hell is happening at work. Of course my brain would turn him into some kind of…of…”

I trail off, staring at the coffee pot like it holds the answers. It doesn’t. I’m on my own here.

The coffee pot gurgles its last drop, and I pour myself a mug, black and strong enough to strip paint.

I nibble on my avocado toast, the creamy green mash on whole-grain bread feeling indulgent in the pre-dawn hours.

My reflection in the kitchen window stares back at me, hair a mess of fiery tangles, eyes wide and shadowed.

I look like I’ve been awake all night. Which, technically, I have.

Showering is a blur of steam and soap, but even the scalding water can’t wash away the memory of that dream . I scrub harder, as if I can scrub the thoughts right out of my head. It doesn’t work.

Dressing is no better. I yank on my most conservative outfit—a navy blue pencil skirt that brushes my ankles and a long-sleeved white blouse buttoned all the way up to my collarbone.

The high neckline feels suffocating, but it’s better than the alternative.

I can’t risk Raekon getting any… ideas .

Not that my clothes seem to make a difference.

His gaze always finds a way to linger, a scalding brand on my skin no matter how much fabric I pile on.

I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the waistband of my skirt. My reflection frowns back at me, a stern you’re-being-ridiculous expression etched across my face.

“It’s never going to happen,” I tell her, my voice firm. “He’s a seven-foot alien hunk who also happens to be insanely wealthy. He can have whoever he wants—movie stars, pop musicians, supermodels. His whole staring at me thing is probably just another stupid test anyway.”

My reflection doesn’t argue. She just raises an eyebrow, like she knows I’m full of it. I glare back, but she’s got a point. Deep down, I know I’m not fooling anyone, least of all myself.

I grab my bag and head for the door. The taxi ride to 1 Keong Plaza is quiet, the city streets a blur of neon and headlights. My mind keeps drifting back to Raekon’s smirk, the way his eyes had gleamed in my dream. Good girl. The words echo in my head.

The cab pulls up to the curb, and I hand the driver a ten-dollar bill before stepping out.

The morning air is crisp, the kind of cold that makes you feel alive.

I tilt my head up, staring at the towering spire of Keong Plaza.

The saucer-shaped top house looms overhead, glowing faintly in the dawn light.

I square my shoulders. “You’ve got this,” I mutter under my breath.

The revolving doors spin me into the lobby, and I head for the elevators, my heels clicking on the polished marble floor. The ride up to Raekon’s office feels like an eternity, but when the doors finally open, I step out with my head held high.

He’s already there, of course, sitting behind his desk with a stack of papers in front of him. His eyes flick up as I enter, and the corner of his mouth twitches in what might— might —be a smirk.

“Ms. Christian,” he says, sending a thrill through me.

“Mr. Keong,” I reply, my voice steady despite the way my heart is racing.

His gaze sweeps over me like he’s trying to peel back the layers of my outfit. I fight the urge to fidget, to cross my arms or adjust my skirt. Instead, I stand tall, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Ready for another day of… training ?” he asks, the word dripping with double meaning.

“Always,” I say, my voice just a little too breathless.

His smile widens, sharp and knowing. “Good.”

And just like that, the day begins.

The headphones clamp over my ears like a vise, and the heavy metal music explodes into my skull.

It’s not ear-splitting, but it’s enough to make my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I stare at the lines of Vakutan code on the screen, my brain struggling to untangle the alien symbols.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice sharp with annoyance.

Raekon leans against the edge of my desk, arms crossed, his golden scales catching the light. “You must learn to deal with distractions,” he says, his tone as calm as if he’s discussing the weather. “I once had to disarm a plasma detonator in the middle of an exploding starbase. Adapt.”

I glare at him, but he just smirks and taps the side of the headphones. The music pulses louder, and I grit my teeth. Fine. If he wants me to work under pressure, I’ll work under pressure.

My fingers start moving again, typing out corrections and debugging the code.

It’s slow going, the music a constant thrum in my head, but I manage to focus—until I make a typo.

My hand freezes mid-air, and before I can hit the backspace key, Raekon’s fingers tangle in my hair.

He yanks my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

“Careful,” he says. He pulls one of the headphones away from my ear just enough to speak directly into it. “Mistakes are unacceptable.”

His breath is warm on my neck, and I swallow hard. His eyes dart down, lingering on my exposed throat, and I feel a flush of heat spread through me. My thighs press together instinctively, and I hate how aware I am of his proximity, of the way his fingers tighten slightly in my hair.

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

He releases the headphones, and they snap back into place, the music roaring in my ears again. But he doesn’t let go of my hair completely. His fingers stay tangled, a subtle reminder that he’s in control, that he can yank me back anytime he wants.

I try to focus on the code, but it’s impossible. My mind keeps drifting back to the feel of his hand in my hair, the way his voice had caressed my ear. My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I hesitate, my pulse quickening.

This time, the typo is intentional.

His grip tightens immediately, and he yanks my head back again. My breath catches as our eyes meet, and there’s a flicker of something dark and hungry in his gaze.