I trace the pulse at my throat every time I think about the collar waiting beneath my blouse, because signing this contract feels like handing over the last piece of myself that Malcolm has not already claimed. His heavy deliberate stride fills the hushed library as he leans over the open pages, demanding I yield to the ownership he needs to guard against being left once more. The rival's threat of exposure looms if we do not meet the deadline, yet the real danger is how much of my defiance will remain once I kneel.

In the locked storage room he tells me to kneel, and the command is not a question. Signing those pages means wearing his collar where the rival and everyone else can see it. I still do not know whether fear or desire will break first.