Chapter 4: The Collar and the Crown
She expected punishment.
Chains. A whip across the back. A cold cell deeper than the last.
But when Callan returned the next morning, he didn't smirk. He didn't speak.
He just said, "The Duke has summoned you."
No guards. No bindings. Just that quiet tension—like the whole estate was holding its breath.
They took her to a different wing.
Not the throne room. Not the dungeon.
His study.
The doors opened without announcement.
And there he was.
Bryant Kings.
Standing behind a desk carved from obsidian wood, his sleeves rolled, his fingers stained with ink and control. The fireplace crackled behind him. The scent of ash, parchment, and something darker lingered in the air.
He didn't look up.
Evelyn stepped inside.
The doors shut behind her.
Silence stretched.
One heartbeat.
Two.
"You cut Callan," he said finally, without glancing her way.
"I did."
"You broke the first rule."
"I know."
His gaze lifted—sharp, gray, unblinking.
"You weren't provoked."
"I was watched. Like prey."
He studied her in silence.
Then walked around the desk.
No guards. No weapon.
Just him.
And something velvet in his hand.
He set the box down and opened it.
Evelyn's eyes flicked downward.
A collar.
Thick. Black leather. Polished silver buckles. Not decoration—possession.
"Am I your pet now?" she asked flatly.
"Not unless you bite," Bryant said smoothly.
He lifted the collar in both hands, held it between them.
"This is your trade."
"For what?"
"Freedom. From the rules. From Callan. From the shadows you're being kept in."
She raised a brow.
"In exchange," he added, "you wear this. You kneel. You answer to me. No games. No resistance. I make you mine."
"You already bought me."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "I haven't touched you. Haven't claimed you. That collar is the line. Once it's on, there's no going back."
The air thickened between them.
Evelyn's chin lifted. "And if I say no?"
"You go back to the shadows. Alone. Forgotten."
He stepped even closer.
"Wolves will know you're mine. You'll eat with me. Sleep near me. Touch what's mine. But cross me…"
His voice dropped.
"…and I'll rip the collar off myself."
The flames behind him snapped like teeth.
Evelyn looked down at the collar.
It wasn't about leather or metal.
It was a crown in disguise.
A test.
A war dressed like surrender.
He raised it. "Kneel."
And for the first time… she hesitated.
Just slightly.
Because part of her didn't want to kneel out of submission.
She wanted to kneel...
Not to submit—
But to win.
To get inside his mind.
To turn the collar into her crown.
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[End of Chapter Four]
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