The Voice

V is calling me, and I'm too broken to answer. My phone screen lights up my darkened apartment—incoming video call, the letter V stark and accusing in the notification. It's been three days since Paris. Three days of hiding in my apartment, ignoring his increasingly desperate messages, pretending I can go back to the woman I was before I let a stranger control me from the shadows. The phone keeps ringing. I'd called in sick the morning after we returned. Then the next day. Then the next. Victor had responded to my email with a curt Take the time you need, and I'd read those five words a hundred times, searching for hidden meaning that probably wasn't there. Did he know? Could he tell? Or does he just think I'm incompetent, unreliable, exactly the kind of secretary who gets drunk at client dinners and nearly collapses in elevators? The ringing stops. Blessed silence. Then immediately starts again. My hand moves before my brain can intervene, accepting the call. The screen fills with complete darkness—no image, just black—but then I hear it. His voice. "Amelia." Deep, commanding, with an edge of relief that catches me off guard. "Finally." I should hang up. Should block him. Should do anything except sit here in my pajamas with unwashed hair, clutching my phone like it's the only real thing in the world. "I'm listening." My voice is hoarse from disuse. "But I'm angry." "You have every right to be." The voice is smooth, cultured, with an accent I can't quite place. It sounds familiar somehow, like an echo of something I should recognize. "I owe you an apology." "You promised." The words come out sharper than intended. "You swore you wouldn't activate it during dinner." "I know. And I didn't—not during dinner. I thought you'd finished, that you were safely back in your room." A pause, weighted with something I can't identify. "I didn't realize you'd be in the elevator. Trapped. With your boss." The way he says your boss makes my skin prickle. There's something underneath it, something almost like jealousy. "You humiliated me." I pull my knees to my chest, making myself small. "I nearly—in front of him, I almost—" "I know." His voice softens. "And I'm sorry. Truly. That wasn't my intention." "Then what was your intention?" Silence stretches between us, filled only by the sound of my own breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside my window. "To push you," he finally says. "To see how far you'd go. How much you could take before you broke." Another pause. "I didn't expect you to break quite like that." "You're not forgiven." But even as I say it, I feel my anger wavering. Because despite everything, despite the shame and the tears and the three days of hiding, part of me—the dark, secret part—had never felt more alive than in that elevator with Victor's arms around me and pleasure tearing me apart. "I'm not asking for forgiveness yet." His voice drops lower, intimate in a way that makes my core clench despite my anger. "I'm asking for a chance to make it up to you." "How?" "By breaking one of our rules." My breath catches. "What?" "Rule One. The one that says we never meet in person." The words hang in the air like a dare. "I want to break it, Amelia. I want to meet you. In the flesh. No screens. No distance. Just you and me and everything we've been building together." My heart slams against my ribs. This is insane. Dangerous. Everything we agreed we wouldn't do. "Why?" I whisper. "Why now?" "Because watching you from afar isn't enough anymore." His voice is raw now, stripped of its usual control. "Because I need to touch you. To see you submit in person. To prove that what we have is real, not just pixels and promises." "What if..." I swallow hard. "What if you're disappointed? What if I'm not what you imagined?" "Impossible." The certainty in his voice sends heat spiraling through me. "I know exactly who you are, Amelia. I've studied you. Learned you. Every response, every hesitation, every moment you chose to obey despite your fear. You're perfect." "I'm not." Tears prick my eyes. "I'm a mess. I can't even face my boss after what happened. I'm hiding in my apartment like a coward." "You're not a coward. You're processing. Integrating. Accepting what you need." He pauses. "And what you need is me. In person. Claiming you properly." The words should terrify me. Instead, they ignite something deep in my core—a desperate, aching want that I've been trying to suppress since Paris. "When?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "This weekend. Saturday night. I'll send you an address." His voice turns commanding again, the Dom returning. "You'll come alone. You'll wear the pearls and nothing else beneath your clothes. And you'll submit to me completely. Do you understand?" "I—" My mind races. This is too fast, too sudden. But also exactly what I've been craving since the moment I downloaded that app. "What if I say no?" "Then I'll respect your choice and we'll continue as we were." A pause. "But we both know you won't say no. You need this as much as I do." He's right. God help me, he's right. "The pearls," I say slowly. "And what else?" "Just you, Amelia. Just your beautiful, broken, perfect submission." His voice turns almost gentle. "I promise I'll take care of you. I promise it will be worth every risk." I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Meeting him means crossing a line I can't uncross. It means giving up the safety of anonymity, the protection of distance. It means trusting a stranger with not just my body but my deepest, darkest needs. But it also means finally, finally getting what I've been desperate for since Victor rejected me at that Christmas party—someone who sees me. Wants me. Claims me. "Okay." The word is barely a whisper. "Saturday night. Send me the address." "Good girl." The approval in his voice makes my core clench. "One more thing, Amelia. Before we meet, I need you to do something for me." "What?" "Go back to work. Face your boss. Show him you're not broken by what happened in Paris." His voice hardens slightly. "Because you're not broken. You're mine. And what's mine doesn't hide." The command settles into my bones, giving me something to hold onto. "Yes, Sir." "That's my girl. I'll see you Saturday. And Amelia?" He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice sends shivers down my spine. "Prepare yourself. Because when we meet, I'm going to make you forget every man who came before me." The call ends, leaving me alone in the darkness with my racing heart and a decision that might destroy me. Saturday. Three days away. Three days to prepare for the moment everything changes.