Eighteen candles flickered on the chandelier. The ballroom glowed in gold and glass, every inch of it curated, polished, watched.
Sera stood just behind the curtain, gloved hands shaking. Her debutante dress—a pale champagne silk with pearl detailing—fit perfectly, but her nerves buzzed under the fabric like a swarm.
Her hair was coiled high. Her skin flawless. Everything about her screamed ready.
Except her heartbeat.
Then—
"Hey, birthday girl."
She turned.
Callahan leaned in the doorway, slightly off-balance, smiling like he owned the whole venue.
He wore a custom velvet tux, dark navy. Cufflinks like polished obsidian. In his hands: a slim, dark gift box wrapped in black ribbon.
"I'm late," he said. "Had a good long talk with the kids."
Sera's heart stuttered.
"You mean your friends from prep school?"
He stepped forward. Tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"They'll be treating you as part of our circle now. If anybody gives you any attitude, tell me. 'Cause I'll make sure they're the ones that get kicked out the group."
Sera smiled. "Always my hero…"
Cal grinned then stepped closer.
She caught a whiff of something sharp—alcohol laced with cologne—but his tone was warm. His eyes glinted. He held out the box.
"Happy birthday, Princess."
She opened it.
Inside: a vintage diamond choker necklace, framed in platinum. Heavy. Stunning. From a royal estate collection she'd once mentioned in passing.
Sera blinked. "Cal…"
"I remember what you like," he said. "Told the guy in Geneva to ship it overnight."
She felt her throat tighten.
"Don't cry," he teased. "You'll ruin the lashes."
He leaned in. Kissed her softly on the cheek.
"I'll see you after. Go make the room fall in love with you."
Then he stepped back into the dark, just as the curtain pulled open.
The emcee's voice rang through the ballroom:
"Introducing Miss Seraphina Estelle Shaw. Daughter of Mr. Alaric Shaw, of the Shaw Biotech Foundation. This evening marks her formal welcome into society."
A spotlight hit her.
Applause followed.
Her name echoed.
And as she stepped out, alone, into the center of the floor, she stood tall. Shining. Her nerves faded into radiance.
Her escort appeared—Sebastian Graye, Viscount of Elmsbury, nineteen, heir to old mining fortune, clean-cut and awestruck.
He took her hand gently. Bowed.
"You look…" he smiled, almost breathless, "You're so pretty tonight, Sera."
She smiled back.
They moved into the first waltz.
In the VIP section, Callahan leaned back in his chair, tie already loosened, glass in hand.
"That's my girl," he said, smirking. "Fucking vision, right?"
One of his trust-fund friends whistled. "You gonna make it official now that she's legal?"
Cal grinned. "She was mine before the ink dried on the invite."
He raised his glass. "And tonight, I'm taking her home."
The others laughed.
But Cal's eyes didn't leave the dance floor.
Not when Sebastian's hand settled on the small of Sera's back.
Not when Sera laughed—light and real—at something he whispered in her ear.
Cal's grin faded.
His fingers tightened on the glass.
He took another long drink.
And watched the boy with his hand on his girl.
LATER THAT NIGHT
The music slowed.
Sera stepped off the dance floor, cheeks flushed from the champagne and compliments. Everyone had looked at her like she belonged. The girls who once whispered behind manicured hands were now watching her like she'd always been one of them.
She was finally in.
Finally enough.
"Enjoying yourself?"
She turned.
Cal stood by the column near the garden doors. Smile tight. Jaw tighter.
"I—yeah." She tucked a curl behind her ear. "It's been perfect."
"I saw you out there with Graye," he said.
Sera blinked. "He's my assigned escort."
Cal took a step closer.
"You looked real cozy."
"Cal…"
"You laughed."
His voice was low now. Private.
"You laughed at something he said."
Sera frowned. "I was trying to be gracious. It's a ball."
He leaned in, breath warm and sharp. "Did you like the way he touched you? Hand on your back like that?"
Her stomach dropped.
"No. It wasn't like that—"
"You smiled."
"Cal, stop—"
"Say it," he hissed. "Say you didn't want him."
"I didn't."
He stared at her. Silent. For one long second.
Then grabbed her arm.
"Let's talk somewhere else."
She glanced around. Eyes. Guests. Too many people.
"Cal, wait—"
But he was already pulling her through the garden doors, down the stone path, past the hedge.
No one stopped them.
GARDEN HALLWAY – SERVICE CORRIDOR
He slammed her into the wall before she could say another word.
The cold bricks hit her spine.
"Tell me the truth," he snapped. "Did you want him?"
"No," she said, breath catching.
"Then why the fuck were you glowing like that, huh? You think I didn't see it? You couldn't stop smiling. Like you forgot who you fucking belong to."
"I didn't—"
He grabbed her chin, forced her to look at him.
"I give you everything," he growled. "I walk into a goddamn snake pit of old money assholes just to shut them up for you. And that's how you repay me?"
"I wasn't—Cal, please—"
"You're mine."
His voice dropped.
"That's not for show. That's not for the ballroom. That's forever. You understand me?"
She nodded, barely.
His grip tightened.
"Say it."
"I'm yours," Sera whispered.
Cal kissed her—deep and slow, like she was something precious. When he pulled back, he was already shaking his head, like the words were bursting out before he could stop them.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to lose it, I just—"
He looked at her, eyes bright, mouth unguarded.
"I hate that we can't go public. I hate that my parents are planning to send me into that fucking marriage. I hate pretending like you're not mine. I hate watching people look at you like you're free to touch. I hate having to act like I don't love you every time we're in a room with them."
He took a shallow breath, voice softer now—bare, trembling.
"I just want to be with you."
Sera's chest caved in.
That was her Cal—the real one. The one only she got to see.
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, pressing her cheek to his chest.
He held her like he never wanted to let go.
They kissed again. Warm. Hungry. Younger than they felt.
When he pulled back, he smiled—soft, hopeful.
"Wanna come with me? I picked somewhere special for us. Just for tonight. No one else."
She nodded, breathless. "Yes. Just let me tell my dad. I can say we're going with everyone else for an afterparty."
"Okay…" Cal said softly, squeezing Sera's hands. Then smiled. "I'll wait in the car."
"I won't take long."
"You know where to find me," he teased.
She smiled. Then turned and ran—gown catching on her heels, heart full, lit by something that felt like forever.
FLASHBACK — "THE SPECIAL PLACE"
It was a villa on the hill, just outside the city—one of those old stone estates with ivy-covered walls and panoramic views of Florence. Cal said his family kept it in escrow for their summer visits. That tonight, it was hers.
The candles were already lit. Wine chilled. Music low.
Sera glowed.
She twirled once in the entryway like she was in a movie.
Cal watched her with that soft grin, jacket over his shoulder, drink in hand. "Look at you," he said. "God, you're beautiful."
She flushed. "This is perfect."
"You're perfect."
They kissed again. Slower. Hungrier. He tasted like bourbon and adrenaline.
"Take the dress off," he whispered against her neck. "I've been waiting all night."
She laughed—shy, dizzy.
"I thought we'd talk a little first."
His smile flickered. "We'll talk after."
LATER – VILLA BEDROOM
The lights were low.
Her dress was off. He kissed her hard. Pushed her onto the bed.
She reached to cup his face, but he grabbed her wrists. Pressed them to the mattress.
"Don't," he said. "Just let me."
She nodded.
He kissed her again. Rougher.
"Were you thinking about that boy?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked. "What?"
"Your escort. What's-his-name. Graye."
"No—Cal, I'm not—"
"I saw the way he looked at you," Cal muttered, voice darkening. "Like he already had his hands on you."
"I didn't—he didn't—"
"You smiled at him."
Sera's stomach turned.
"You wore that dress for me," Cal growled. "Not him. Not them. Me."
He flipped her onto her stomach.
Her breath caught.
"Say it," he said.
"I—I wore it for you."
"Louder."
"I wore it for you."
Cal sighed, then tenderly hugged her from behind.
"Sera… You're my world right now, you know that, right? I've been waiting so long to hold you like this… away from everyone…"
She could feel his breath on her neck as she reached out to cup his face behind her.
"Sometimes, you scare me when you get like that…" Sera said softly, turning to face him.
"Sorry, babe. Guess you make me unstable," Cal said, kissing her. "Did you know I once dated a girl whose name I forgot? Well, I mean not just one. I think I forgot them all…"
They laughed.
"But you…" He pulled her closer. "Can't get you off my mind. All the time…" He sighed.
Sera sighed and melted into his arms.
"Hey, want to try something with me?" Cal said suddenly, holding her face up to look at him.
Curious, sera nodded.
Cal bent over to the side and took out a velvet box. From inside, he took out…
"Handcuffs?" Sera giggled. "For our first time?"
Cal's eyes darkened when he heard her confirm what he's been waiting for all year.
"Because it's special! Right?" He said, voice dropping lower, cupping her face with his free hand and drawing her forehead to him.
"What do you say, princess?" He whispered. "Let me show you something special."
Curious, sera nodded.
Cal bent over to the side and took out a velvet box. From inside, he took out…
"Handcuffs?" Sera giggled. "For our first time?"
Cal's eyes darkened when he heard her confirm what he's been waiting for all year.
"Because it's special! Right?" He said, voice dropping lower, cupping her face with his free hand and drawing her forehead to him.
"What do you say, princess?" He whispered. "Let me show you something special."
"I trust you, Cal." Sera whispered back.
That's how it all began. And escalated.
Bound. Gagged.
She thought it would feel good.
But it just hurt.
Eventually, he took her from behind. No warning. No prep. Just force and frustration and possessiveness wrapped in lust.
Her face hit the pillow.
She didn't say no.
She never did.
Because that's what love was supposed to be, right?
BACK TO DREAM, INC SCENE — SIMULATED VILLA, NIGHT
The lighting was identical. Dream Inc. had recreated every detail from the memory Sera submitted.
The stone villa.
The low lighting.
The silk sheets.
Her hair and dress undone. A mess. Just like the archive image she submitted as reference. The image Cal took of her.
Now, in this scene, Ryden—no, the version of Ryden she ordered—was behind her.
She waited for him to say the same lines.
He shoved her forward. Onto the mattress.
She gasped as her knees hit the bed. Her hands caught the silk. Her body tensed.
She braced herself.
Waited for it.
But Ryden didn't follow the script.
Not exactly.
Instead—he slowed.
One palm pressed against her lower back. Firm, grounding. Not cruel.
His other hand ran slowly, deliberately, from the back of her thigh to her hip. Tracing.
Exploring.
She tensed again.
Confused.
This wasn't in the brief.
This wasn't what Callahan had done.
This wasn't what she asked for.
And Ryden leaned down, voice quiet near her ear.
"You alright?" he asked quietly.
Her breath hitched. "You're not—"
"I'm improvising," he said, voice low.
Simple. Dry. Like it wasn't a rebellion.
Just a choice.
Sera turned her head slightly, stunned.
She was waiting for the roughness. The shove. The voice telling her she was his and only good for one thing.
But it didn't come.
He was still behind her. Still in character. But his grip felt different. The sensations Sera felt were different.
A warm tingling started to grow from her core. Spreading.
Ryden's fingers slid down again—this time slower, more curious. Like he was reading her.
Facedown on the bed, dress bunched around her waist, breath unsteady, Sera realized it wasn't dread she was feeling anymore.
She was waiting.
This was different…
This was exciting.
Ryden's hands slowed. One at her waist. The other pressing lightly to her shoulder.
He sighed. Quiet. Almost… conflicted.
Then his hands shifted, guiding her gently as he turned her over.
Sera turned, blinked up at him, confused. Exposed. The script didn't call for this.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice small.
Ryden met her gaze. Calm. Certain.
"Still improvising," he said. Lips curved—barely, into the ghost of a smile.
Her stomach flipped.
He leaned in slightly, tone low, almost amused. "You can stop me if you really don't like it."
His hand brushed a hair from her face. "And if you really hate it… you can fire me too."
Sera didn't move.
She didn't want to stop him.
Didn't want to fire him.
She was too busy wondering what he'd do next.
She nodded—barely.
And let him lead.
Ryden hovered above her now—calm, unreadable, eyes locked on hers.
Sera stayed still beneath him, unsure.
Then slowly, deliberately, he reached up and touched her lips with his thumb. A gentle sweep—like he was trying to memorize the shape of her mouth.
Sera's breath caught.
His hand moved again—across her jawline, down the side of her neck, slow enough that she felt every degree of heat in his fingers. Then lower. Across her collarbone. Then her chest. Lower…
She watched him, wide-eyed. The heat rising all over her body.
He leaned in—close. So close she could feel his breath on her cheek. On her mouth.
Her lips parted.
But he didn't kiss her.
Just hovered, barely touching.
Ryden's fingers slid down her waist, grazing the edge of her dress. He drew the fabric up—inch by inch. No yanking. No ripping. Just unwrapping her like he was allowed to take his time.
When he reached her thighs, he paused.
He moved to position himself, and gripped her.
Just enough to make her hips twitch.
She arched—barely.
He felt it.
And instead of diving in, he shifted.
Ryden's fingers slipped to the back of her dress.
Slow.
Careful.
He found the clasp—unhooked it one quiet notch at a time, never breaking eye contact.
The fabric loosened at her chest, but he didn't rip it away.
He pulled it down slightly. Just enough to bare the slope of her shoulder. Her collarbone. The top swell of her breast.
Then he kissed her there.
Once.
Soft.
His mouth hovered—warm breath against her skin—before he moved lower.
Her back arched before she even meant to move.
He looked up at her.
Said nothing.
But his eyes stayed locked on hers as his thumb brushed just under the curve—still over fabric.
She gasped again.
And this time, he smirked—just barely.
Like he'd found a button.
"Right there?" he asked.
She swallowed. Nipples suddenly hardening through the fabric.
That was enough signal for Ryden to continue.
His hand slid over the bodice, following the curve with intention. Then stopped. Pressed the pad of his thumb lightly over the fabric—just where her nipple was.
Sera gasped—sharper than before.
He didn't press harder.
He just held it there. A little pressure. Enough to make her body spark.
Then his lips followed—kissing the fabric over the same spot.
She arched again.
And he pulled away.
He moved lower, kissing just below her breasts, and whispered against the fabric separating her skin from his lips—"You've never felt this before, have you?"
She didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Her breath trembled. Her thighs straining to open up.
He looked up again.
"Has anyone ever touched you like this?"
Sera shook her head once.
Quiet. Embarrassed. Bare.
He leaned back in and kissed her breast again—still through the dress, still slow, still maddening. His fingers slid between her legs, just pressure over the fabric. Warm. Careful. Intentionally not enough.
And Sera—God, her hips lifted.
Chasing.
Her mouth opened.
She didn't even know she'd made a sound until he froze—just long enough to look her in the eye and say:
"Do you want more?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
He hovered his lips on her collarbone—then trailed his mouth up her shoulder and down again, mouth and breath and restraint working together to set every nerve on fire.
He pressed his palm right at the corner of her thighs gently, slow and deliberate, where he already knew she was soaked.
Her breath broke.
Her hips lifted into it.
And then—he stopped.
Let go.
Pulled her dress smooth again.
Sat back like nothing happened.
Sera stared, panting, eyes wide, chest heaving under silk.
"You're not going to—" she started.
"Nope."
"Why?"
Ryden adjusted his sleeves.
Then leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"Because now you're thinking about it."
He paused. Smiled—quiet, crooked, dangerous.
"How's that for an A/B test?"
He stood up. A small smile.
"Tell me later what you liked more."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving her flushed, aching, soaked—and more awake than she'd ever been.
DREAM SESSION OVER.