Naomi stood in front of the mirror, collar in hand. It glowed red beneath the moonlight like it had a pulse.
Her reflection wasn't trembling anymore.
It was calm. Cold.
Crowned.
She fastened the collar around her neck, each click of the clasp sealing a version of herself inside.
A student.
A submissive.
A lover.
Now only the predator remained.
---
Vera was waiting in the Moon Room — the heart of the Velvet Order.
It wasn't a place for flesh and lace.
It was for final decisions.
Where bloodlines of pleasure and power twisted into verdicts.
The room was silent. Circular. Black floors. A domed glass ceiling under which Vera stood alone, draped in silver silk that clung to her like armor.
Naomi entered without hesitation.
Vera turned, eyes flickering to the collar on Naomi's throat.
"So it begins," Vera said.
Naomi didn't bow.
Didn't speak.
She walked straight up to her Mistress and whispered, "Did you kill her?"
Vera's face didn't shift. "Which one?"
Naomi's hand snapped out, fingers curling around Vera's throat. Not hard. Just a warning.
"Don't mock me."
Vera's lips twitched. "Ah… so you found Room 7."
"You left it for me."
"No. I left it for the woman who would rise after I fell."
Naomi's grip tightened.
"I'm not waiting for you to fall. I'm here to push you off the throne."
---
Vera laughed.
It wasn't warm.
It was beautiful and bloodless.
"Amara begged to belong. But in the end, she didn't want me. She wanted the Order. She wanted permanence."
Naomi snarled. "You erased her."
"I preserved her," Vera said, brushing Naomi's hand away. "In every room, every rule, every scream. The Order remembers those we bury."
"Convenient."
"No," Vera whispered, stepping forward, pressing her body against Naomi's, voice soft and poisonous. "Necessary."
---
Suddenly, the room dimmed.
Lucienne entered with Taélis. Behind them, the other high initiates — masked, robed in black — circled the room.
A tribunal.
Naomi turned slowly.
Vera moved to the center of the circle and raised her voice.
"I summon the Rite of Reclamation."
The Order gasped. Even Lucienne's lips parted.
"You mean to pass your title?" Taélis asked.
"No," Vera said.
"I mean to defend it."
Her eyes met Naomi's.
And now… the game changed.
---
The Rite of Reclamation was ancient.
Not won by vote. Or inheritance.
But by dominance. Pain. Mind.
Two contenders enter.
Only one leaves with the power to command the Order.
And the other?
Buried in memory. Like Amara.
---
They stripped to bare skin.
The circle closed.
The rules were clear:
No safewords. No bindings. No mercy.
Naomi stood unflinching.
Vera approached her slowly, eyes locked, voice low:
"If you lose," she said, "you belong to me again. Body. Voice. Will."
Naomi's voice was like steel wrapped in silk.
"And if I win?"
Vera's smile was almost… reverent.
"You own me."
---
The first touch was a slap.
Naomi struck Vera across the face, leaving a welt of red. Vera's eyes flared, but she didn't retaliate. Not yet.
She stepped forward instead, grazing her nails down Naomi's chest, leaving five red trails across her skin.
Naomi grabbed Vera by the hair and kissed her savagely, teeth clashing.
Their bodies collided—sweat to sweat, rage to lust.
---
Then Vera shoved Naomi down to her knees.
"Still so soft inside," she murmured, sliding her fingers into Naomi's mouth. "You think you can lead when you still moan like a girl begging for permission?"
Naomi bit down.
Vera flinched—just once.
But that pain turned to pleasure in her eyes.
Naomi pushed her back, straddled her, pinning her wrists above her head.
"You broke every girl who touched you," she growled. "But I'm not here to touch you."
She slid two fingers into Vera without warning—deep, hard. Vera's breath hitched.
"I'm here to remake you."
---
It wasn't sex.
It wasn't punishment.
It was a war of will.
Naomi drove Vera to the edge—each thrust, each whisper, each command—a rewriting of power.
"Say my name," Naomi demanded.
Vera's voice cracked. "Naomi."
"No. Say my title."
Vera trembled. "Mistress."
"Louder."
"Mistress Naomi!"
---
The circle gasped.
Vera came undone beneath her, trembling, moaning, broken open.
Naomi kissed her again, slow this time. Gentle. Victorious.
When she stood, Vera remained on her knees.
For the first time.
Defeated.
But free.
---
Lucienne stepped forward, draped a crimson robe over Naomi's shoulders.
"She is chosen," Lucienne declared.
"The new Mistress of the Velvet Order."
Naomi raised her chin.
The collar burned hot against her skin.
---
Vera stood, body swaying, but her eyes… were at peace.
"You didn't take the throne," she whispered.
"You earned it."
Naomi walked to her.
Whispered back:
"Then give me the last room. Room 9."
Vera's smile faded.
"That room holds what even I couldn't face."
Naomi touched her cheek.
"Then it's time I face it for us both."
——