Strip. Here. Now
Nora's POV
The door hung crooked on its hinges, kicked clean off its frame by Callum Mercer. Vivienne and her associates had scattered within seconds of his arrival, leaving behind nothing but the stench of fear and my own shame soaked into the carpet beneath my feet.
I stood there swaying, my torn blouse hanging open, urine still warm on my thighs, watching Callum approach with the careful deliberation of someone closing in on a wounded animal. His eyes had returned to their usual silver-gray, but something predatory remained in the way he looked at me—not disgust, but assessment. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Knees bent, weight shifting back, every instinct screaming to run or fight. But he was already between me and the door.
"Ms. Ellison." His voice was softer now, almost gentle, though the steel underneath it was unmistakable. "I believe we have some things to discuss."
He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders without touching me. The fabric was warm from his body. "Reid," he called toward the doorway, and a broad-shouldered man in his forties appeared. "Clear the building."
My stomach turned. "What—"
"Sit down before you fall," Callum said, cutting me off and gesturing to the chair across from my desk. "We have a great deal to cover, and I'd prefer you conscious for it."
I stumbled to the chair, his jacket slipping down one shoulder. My vision kept doubling, the room tilting in slow, nauseating rotations. Through the haze, I watched him pull a leather portfolio from the briefcase Reid had set on the desk.
"I've purchased your company's debt," Callum said, his tone shifting into something businesslike and flat. "All twelve million, four hundred seventy-three thousand dollars of it. Ellison Trade and Logistics belongs to me now—every contract, every asset, every liability."
The words cut through the alcohol fog with unexpected clarity. "You... bought it?"
He slid a document across the desk. "These are my terms."
My hands shook as I reached for the papers. The words blurred, but certain phrases surfaced through the haze—submissive, dominant, safe word, physical discipline—and sent a chill through me that the whiskey couldn't touch.
"This is a BDSM contract," I said, and my voice came out harder than I expected. "You know this has no legal standing. Any court would—"
"A court." Callum leaned forward, the faint curve of his mouth telling me he'd anticipated this argument before I'd finished forming it. "Do you think a court could stop someone like Vivienne? Could it save your employees' jobs?"
No. It couldn't. The certainty settled cold in my chest.
His silver eyes held mine, steady and unrelenting. "If you agree, you submit to me completely—your body, your time, everything. In exchange, I save your company, guarantee your employees' positions, and pay you a personal stipend of ten thousand dollars a month for the duration of our arrangement."
"You're asking me to be your sex slave." The words tasted like bile.
"No," he corrected, his voice hardening. "That's not what this is. You'll be protected, provided for, and when our arrangement ends—provided you fulfill the terms—you'll walk away with your debts cleared and your company intact."
"How long?" I asked, buying time. Under the desk, my fingers dug into my palm. I was stalling, searching for any angle I hadn't considered yet.
"One year."
I forced myself to read through the clauses, even as tears blurred my vision. Each one snapped into place like a link in a chain—precise, interlocking, suffocating. This wasn't a contract. It was a carefully engineered cage.
I looked up. "What if I just repay the debt? A payment plan. I restructure the company and—"
"With what?" His tone didn't change. "Your company is insolvent. Your properties are mortgaged. Your accounts are frozen. You can't cover next month's utilities."
The room tilted again. He wasn't wrong. I ran through every remaining option in my mind—banks, lawyers, regulators—and each one collapsed before I could finish the thought. There was nothing left.
My hand found the pen. I pulled the contract toward me, and it felt impossibly heavy. Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice was still screaming: stop, think, find another way. But I'd already exhausted every other way. So I told myself this wasn't the end. It was only the first move. I would find a way out.
I signed my name on the final page. The pen slipped from my fingers.
Callum drew the contract toward him, examining my signature with the same unhurried precision he might give a business acquisition. When he looked up, something in his expression had shifted—deeper, hungrier.
"Good girl," he said quietly. "Your body belongs to me now. Every inch of it. Before I take possession, I need to confirm it's clean and healthy." He stood, moving around the desk with a predator's unhurried ease. "Get dressed. We're going to St. Michael's Hospital. Full examination—gynecological included."
Horror cut through the fog. "You can't be serious—"
"Completely serious." His hand closed around my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. "You signed the contract, Nora. You're mine now. And I take very good care of what belongs to me."
The private wing of St. Michael's was hushed and expensive—marble floors, art on the walls, staff who moved with the quiet efficiency of people paid to forget what they saw. Callum kept his hand at the small of my back the entire way, his touch possessive and inescapable.
Dr. Yuen was waiting in the examination room, a petite woman in her fifties with kind eyes that contrasted sharply with the cool efficiency of her handshake. "Mr. Callum, Ms. Ellison. Everything is prepared as requested."
Callum nodded once. His silver eyes settled on me. "Nora. Take off your clothes."
"No." I stepped back, my lower back hitting the examination table. My voice was rough from the alcohol, but the word came out clean and clear. "Not in front of all of them. That's a basic—"
"Nora." He cut me off without raising his voice, the way someone corrects a simple arithmetic error. "You agreed to obey. That's what the contract says."
He paused, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Or I can have Reid do it. He won't mind."
I glanced at Reid. His face was stone, but he took a half-step forward, positioning himself as though waiting for the word.
My fingers tightened around the fabric of my skirt. Every instinct I had was screaming. But there was nowhere to run—and we both knew it.
I chose to do it myself. At least that way, I kept control over one thing: how I let go.
I looked toward Reid and the second guard. "Make them leave. At least do that."
Callum studied me for a moment, something moving behind those silver eyes. Then he turned. "Reid. Wait outside."
Reid nodded and withdrew, taking the other guard with him.
It wasn't a victory. I knew that. But it was the first half-inch of ground I'd taken back from him all day, and I held onto it.
My hand found the zipper at the back of my dress. The sound it made dragging down my spine was unbearably loud in the silence of the room.
Callum's gaze never left me, and in his expression I saw something that frightened me more than Vivienne's cruelty ever had—absolute certainty. The certainty that I would obey. That I had already surrendered. That every humiliation still to come was simply inevitable.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Now show me what's mine."
