The collar around her neck felt tighter with every passing day.If she didn't try—if she didn't push back, even once—she would shatter.
Elara Larsen sat in the hollow silence of Damien Vance's penthouse, the diamond-studded choker biting into her throat like a chain made of glass.Every sparkle of it reminded her what she'd become: owned, adorned, restrained.
The night before still haunted her.The way he'd taken her—clinical, brutal, deliberate—had left her raw inside and out.The bruises weren't just on her skin; they lived beneath it, where no one could see.
Beyond the massive windows, Manhattan glimmered, alive and unreachable.A world of lights and movement she could see but never touch.
She was his prisoner.His possession.Her days now a rotation of obedience, staged smiles, and quiet breaking.
But deep beneath the fear, beneath the exhaustion and humiliation, something small and defiant still lived.A spark. A pulse of rebellion that refused to die.
That morning, he was gone—some meeting, some empire to command—and the silence he left behind felt almost like freedom.
The penthouse stretched around her in perfect stillness: marble floors gleaming like mirrors, glass walls glinting coldly in the daylight. Everything pristine. Everything controlled.
The team of stylists and nutritionists had already come and gone, their presence as polished as the surfaces they left behind. Their soft hands and rehearsed smiles had shaped her into exactly what Damien demanded—flawless, silent, ornamental.
Her new phone sat on the counter, a sleek, gleaming mockery of connection.One number. Only his.
He'd built her a cage and called it luxury.
But she wasn't just his wife.She was still Elara Larsen—clever, calculating, capable.The woman who'd once managed his entire empire before he'd claimed her.
She couldn't just sit here and rot.
Her gaze flicked toward the hallway.Yesterday, she'd noticed something—a landline in his private study, hidden away on a modern black desk.
It was nothing special.Just a phone.But to her, it was a lifeline.
Her heart began to race.
It was a risk, a stupid one.But the need to hear someone—anyone—who loved her was stronger than her fear of what he'd do if he found out.
She needed to remember that she existed beyond him.
Barefoot, she moved quickly through the hall, her silk dress whispering against her skin.He'd chosen it for her, of course. Another invisible collar disguised as elegance.
The study door stood slightly open. The room inside was dim, lit only by the glow of the city through the glass.
Her pulse thundered as she stepped inside.The phone waited on the desk, sleek and black, like temptation itself.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the receiver. The weight of it felt like hope.
She dialed her mother's number by memory.Each beep felt like rebellion.
Once.Twice.Then—
"Elara?"
Her mother's voice. Warm. Familiar. Real.
Elara's knees nearly gave out.
"Mom," she breathed, tears instantly burning her eyes. "It's me."
"Oh, sweetheart!" Her mother's voice was full of joy, laughter threading through her words. "I've been dying to hear from you! The news—my God, Elara, a whirlwind romance with Damien Vance? And the company! The bank reversed everything. Your father says some mysterious investor saved us. You did this, didn't you?"
Elara's throat closed.
The sound of her mother's pride was both salvation and torture.
She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.
If her mother knew the truth—that she'd signed herself away, body and soul, for that "investment"—the pride in her voice would vanish.
But her father's relief.Her mother's happiness.That was why she'd done it.
She couldn't destroy that illusion.
"I'm so proud of you," her mother continued, blissfully unaware. "Strong, brilliant Elara—married to a man like Damien Vance! It's like something out of a dream. Tell me—how did you fall in love?"
Love.
The word hit like a slap.
She closed her eyes, tears slipping free as she clutched the receiver tighter. "It's… complicated," she whispered. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you, Mom."
"Oh, honey, we miss you too! But you're living the dream now! Your father wants to visit, to meet Damien—maybe throw a celebration—"
Elara froze.
A shadow stretched across the desk.
The air turned heavy, cold.
She turned slowly—her heart dropping to the floor.
Damien stood in the doorway.His gray eyes burned with restrained fury, his expression carved from ice.In his hand, the small key to her choker glinted under the city lights.
"I told you the rules," he said, voice low, controlled, deadly. "Did you really think you could disobey me in my own home?"
Her mother's voice still echoed faintly through the line, sweet and oblivious.
Elara's fingers shook as she lowered the receiver. "Damien," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I just… I needed to hear her."
He stepped into the room, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in.The key dangled from his fingers, catching the light as he spoke.
"You needed?" he repeated, mocking her. "You don't get to need, Elara. You get to obey. That was the deal."
Her chest rose and fell, panic battling fury.
She set the phone gently on the desk, the sound of her mother's voice dying with the click.The silence that followed was suffocating.
"I'm not a machine," she said, her voice trembling but defiant. "I'm a person. I have a family. You can't take that away from me."
His expression darkened.
In two strides, he was in front of her, his hand gripping her chin, forcing her gaze up to his.
"I can take anything I want," he said softly, his tone more terrifying than a shout. "You gave me that right when you signed your name. Your freedom. Your family. Your body. All mine."
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.She forced the words out, sharp as glass.
"You don't own my heart."
His lips curved into a smile—a cruel, quiet thing.He lifted the key, brushed it against the choker. The metal chimed softly.
"Your heart will learn," he murmured. "You'll bend, Elara. You'll break. And when you do—you'll thank me."
Her pulse thundered. Her hands clenched at her sides.
She wanted to tear the collar off, to scream, to fight.But his grip on her chin tightened, his thumb pressing against her throat, feeling her heartbeat race under his touch.
The air between them pulsed with heat and fear and something darker she couldn't name.The city lights flickered outside, mocking her from a distance she could never cross.
"What are you going to do?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Punish me?"
His smile deepened. "Oh, Elara," he said, his tone velvet and venom. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
He released her suddenly. She staggered but stayed upright, her chin high even as her knees threatened to buckle.
She'd risked everything for that one call.For the sound of her mother's voice.And though she knew she'd pay for it, she didn't regret it.
Because for a few precious seconds, she'd been free.
"Go back to the bedroom," Damien ordered, his voice cold as steel. "We'll discuss your disobedience there."
Her heart pounded. But this time, she didn't move.
For a long, electric moment, their eyes locked—hers burning with defiance, his with warning.
Then his hand twitched, the key flashing again under the light.
Elara swallowed hard.
With one last look at the phone—the fragile thread to the life she'd lost—she turned and walked past him, her back straight, her steps steady.
His shadow followed close behind, dark and inevitable.
And though fear coiled in her chest, something fierce and unbroken still burned inside her.
She had rebelled.And no matter what he did next—He couldn't take that away.