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I stared at the mirror, fingers trembling as they hovered over the thin leather band wrapped around my throat.
The collar felt deceptively light, like it wasn't even there—until I thought about what it meant.
A leash.
A claim.
A warning.
Lucien hadn't shouted. Hadn't raised a hand. He hadn't needed to. One glance, one soft threat disguised as a gift, and now I sat in my gilded cage, collared like a pet.
Fuck him.
I gritted my teeth and gripped the clasp at the back of my neck.
It didn't budge.
I tried again—twisting, pulling, even pressing gently against the tag like maybe it had some hidden release.
Nothing.
It didn't break. It didn't even bend.
The metal didn't feel like normal silver. It was cooler than it should've been. And when I yanked at it with a bit more force, pain lanced across the back of my neck—hot and sudden, like the bite of a live wire.
I gasped and stumbled back from the mirror, heart hammering.
A smart collar?
A trap?
I sank to the edge of the bed, panting. He knew I'd try to take it off. That smug bastard probably counted on it.
But that wasn't what unsettled me the most.
It was the way my skin still tingled. Not just from the pain—but from the memory of how gently he'd fastened it. The way his fingers had brushed my nape. The warmth of his breath.
I hated it.
I hated him.
And I hated that some part of me was beginning to wonder if survival meant letting him win.
The door creaked, and I flinched.
It was just the maid again. "Miss Reyes, the master has sent a dress. For tonight."
"Tonight?" I asked stiffly.
She nodded, holding out a hanger draped in black silk. "There's a gathering. He says you're to make an impression."
The dress was stunning. Sleek, sheer in places it shouldn't be, slit high on one thigh. Made to seduce—or be paraded.
"Tell him I don't perform," I snapped.
The maid bowed slightly. "He said you'd say that. He also said the collar looks beautiful on you."
My breath caught.
He was watching.
Always.
I waited until the maid left before I crumpled the dress into a heap on the floor and kicked it under the bed. But I knew I'd wear it.
Not because he asked.
Because I needed to see the game board. Needed to learn who his guests were. Who he was. What held this place together.
And how to burn it down.
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Chapter — Lucien Valentini (The Game Begins)
Lucien's POV
The air in the manor shifted the moment she stepped into the ballroom.
Camila Reyes.
Wearing the dress I had chosen.
Looking like sin wrapped in silk, with fire behind her eyes.
She hadn't said a word since last night. No questions. No apologies. But I already knew she'd wandered where she shouldn't have. Heard what she shouldn't. Maybe even saw it. But she returned to her room. Quiet. Obedient. For now.
That was the problem with girls like her. They mistake silence for power.
I watched from the shadows of the upper landing, nursing a glass of red. Not wine—blood, laced with aged bourbon. My men mingled below, as did a few carefully selected guests from the city. Camila stood near the edge of it all, trying to look invisible in a room full of wolves.
Good. Let her feel surrounded.
Tonight wasn't about punishment.
It was about pressure.
I descended slowly, each step a deliberate echo. She turned before I even reached her. The collar around her neck—thin, delicate, and beautifully locked—glinted under the chandelier light.
I had seen the scratch on her skin this morning, where she had tried to remove it.
"How are you enjoying your second evening, Camila?" I asked smoothly.
Her lips parted. "It's... quieter."
She was lying. I could hear her heartbeat. Fast. Controlled. Like someone walking through a minefield pretending not to know where the bombs were buried.
I offered her my arm.
She hesitated.
Good. She still understood danger.
But then, she took it.
I led her through the crowd, saying nothing, forcing her to feel my presence, my control. We passed a man being escorted out for getting too handsy with one of the dancers. She flinched when he was dragged away, screaming.
"It's a shame," I murmured in her ear. "Some people forget what happens when they break rules here."
She stiffened. Her fingers curled slightly around my sleeve.
I smiled, inwardly.
We reached the center of the ballroom, where the music softened. I stopped. "Dance with me."
She looked at me like it was a trap.
It was.
She placed one hand on my shoulder, the other in my palm, her touch light. Too light.
I pulled her closer. Just a breath away from her lips.
"You tried to take off the collar," I said softly.
She blinked.
"I didn't say you couldn't," I added, voice low. "But you should have asked."
She pulled back slightly. "I didn't think you'd say yes."
"Correct," I said with a smile. "But I would've respected the honesty."
The music played on. So did the silence between us.
"You're testing me," she said finally.
"And you're not failing," I said. "Yet."
Her eyes burned. Not with fear—but frustration. I leaned closer, nose brushing the shell of her ear.
"There's a reason you're still wearing that collar, Camila. And it's not just to remind you who owns you."
She swallowed.
"It's because you haven't earned the right to take it off."
We moved slowly across the marble, two shadows circling each other under the light. No one else mattered in that moment. Just her breath, her anger, and the way her body reacted to being this close.
"Fight me," I whispered again, repeating the words from last night. "Or survive me."
She didn't answer. But she didn't look away.
Good. She was learning.
And I wasn't done testing her yet.
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