Chapter 2

Aria's POV:

"Nowhere important."

"Mmm." She popped a bite of banana into her mouth. "You're going to explode one day, Aria. You know that, right?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Not when the thought of seeing him again made my stomach twist.

Dean Wolfe's office was less "administrator" and more "CEO who moonlights as a villain."

Dark oak bookshelves, leather chairs, and a glass decanter of something expensive on the corner of his desk. I stood outside for almost two minutes before knocking.

"Enter."

His voice didn't sound surprised. It sounded rehearsed.

When I stepped in, he didn't look up right away. He just kept writing with a fountain pen like he wasn't the same man who'd ordered me to my knees twelve hours ago.

"You've made quite an impression," he said flatly. I could sense in his voice that he meant more than that.

I didn't know if he was angry or trying not to be.

"I didn't know it was you," I said quickly.

"That's not the point." He set the pen down and finally looked at me. Same eyes. Same intensity. But this time, no leather gloves or blindfolds. Just power. The intensity in his eyes was telling me something else entirely; I could not understand. There was something in me that wanted more than what I was seeing.

The way he was looking at me from head to toe and then stopped at my breasts for a few seconds.

With a smirk on his face, I knew what he wanted. And my body responded in a way that indicated the answer to what he was asking.

"You could have ruined everything," he said. "There are rules here, Aria. Ones you don't get to break because you're bored or acting out."

I clenched my jaw. "I didn't mean to—"

"You meant to sneak into a private event, dressed like a whore and a stripper, your breasts pointing towards me, ready to be sucked, looking to be punished?"

My face flushed; I felt embarrassed, but with the way he was talking about how I dressed that night, I could feel the heat between my thighs, wetness pooling as he spoke.

"No. I didn't know what that room was."

"You knew enough to stay," he snapped. "You liked it."

My silence gave me away.

He stood slowly, walking around the desk until he was in front of me. Tall. Imposing. Familiar in a way that made my skin hum. I closed my eyes as he was about to touch my face. I was waiting for the moment to feel his touch. I should not be feeling this way towards this devil, but I couldn't control my body.

Instead, I felt nothing. I opened my eyes; his hand was still there, hanging in the air, and then he held back.

"I'm not here to teach you about curiosity," he said. "I'm here to teach you control."

"And if I refuse?" I asked.

"Then you won't last a week at Bellmere."

The silence between us was electric.

"You'll report here next Wednesday," he said. "A private session. You'll follow instructions, and you'll keep your mouth shut."

I stepped forward. "And if I don't?"

He smirked. "Then I'll find a punishment that fits."

I didn't breathe again until I was out in the hall.

What kind of punishment? I wondered. I couldn't wait to get out of the room so that I could come out of my fantasies of him touching me.

Dean Wolfe wasn't just dangerous.

He was addicting.

And I'd just walked into the fire.

It was finally Wednesday. I couldn't stop imagining what he had in store for me. Bellmere's hallways were designed like a maze, but this morning, they felt like a funnel—every corridor pushing me toward the inevitable. Toward him.

Dean Sebastian Wolfe.

The name had been etched into Bellmere's glossy website and whispered through dorm rooms like he was a myth. Tech billionaire. War veteran. Academic savior. And now, apparently, disciplinarian of the year.

None of them knew what I knew.

None of them had knelt on the rug in his Red Room, tied up and blindfolded, mistaking domination for curiosity.

I should've worn something sexier, maybe something black and backless like the girls Sloan Maddox hung out with. But my brain short-circuited trying to dress for a man who had seen me on my knees. So I wore denim and a hoodie. The opposite of submissive.

When I reached his office door, it was already open.

"Close it behind you," Wolfe said without looking up. He was sitting behind the same dark oak desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pen in hand.

I shut the door. Click. Like the start of a countdown.

"Sit."

I sat. Hard.

He still hadn't looked at me.

"You've managed to attract quite a bit of attention," he said, flipping through papers. "Professors don't like surprises. Neither do deans."

"Guess I'm special."

Now he looked up. That silver gaze hit like frostbite. "You're not special, Aria. You're impulsive. Reckless. And infuriatingly entitled."

"And yet, here we are."

Something flickered across his face. Not amusement. Not quite anger either. Something in between.

I knew what his face was talking about, but I couldn't think that between us.

"I'm giving you a chance to stay here," he said. "That's more than you deserve."

"Why?"

"Because I saw something in you."

He stood, walking around to lean against the front of the desk. "Most students here follow the rules because they were raised to obey. You disobeyed on instinct."

He crouched in front of me.

"That makes you dangerous. And potentially useful."

"To who?"

"To me," with a lustful voice.

My breath caught.

"You'll continue to meet me here every Wednesday afternoon," he said. "We'll discuss your progress. Your behavior. And when necessary—your punishment."

"You can't be serious."

His smile was razor-sharp. "Oh, I'm dead serious."

I stood up, but he didn't move.

"Let me guess," I said. "You'll call it detention?"

"If you like. Or we could just call it obedience training."

I flushed. "You're insane."

"Only about things that matter."

"And I matter now?"

He stepped closer, voice lowering. "More than you should."

The room shrank around us.

He reached behind me and plucked a sealed envelope from the desk.

"Your first assignment."

I took it with shaking fingers.

"Read it. Complete it. Bring it to me next Wednesday."

I looked down at the envelope, then back up at him. "And if I don't?"

He smiled.

"Then we escalate."

I opened the envelope in my room with Jules peeking over my shoulder like we were cracking open top-secret files.

Inside was a single sheet of thick parchment.

Assignment #1: Obedience Exercise

Instructions:

1. Wear a dress with no underwear; your breasts bare , and your nipples exposed.

2. Submit a five-page essay on the experience: emotional, physical, psychological. Wetness.

3. Deliver it by hand—sealed—in my office by noon.

Failure to comply will result in formal disciplinary action.

Signed, Dean Sebastian Wolfe

Jules whistled. "Girl. That's not detention. That's foreplay."

I sat back on the bed, heart racing.

"This is blackmail, right?"

Jules shrugged. "Only if you didn't like it."

I didn't answer.

Because the worst part wasn't the envelope.

It was how wet I already was just reading it.

I imagined him looking at me like that. Dressed as if I were his whore, ready to be slain or fucked.

Friday morning, I stood in front of my closet with trembling fingers and a war in my head. I could wear tights and technically still obey. But I knew that wasn't the point.

Wolfe didn't want me to hide.

He wanted me exposed. Humiliated. Hyperaware of my body with every step I took.

So I chose the green wrap dress. Low-cut. Bare-backed. And made of silk that would stick to every curve.

I didn't wear anything underneath.

The walk to class felt like an out-of-body experience. Every gust of wind made me flinch. Every glance made me paranoid. But the worst part?

I liked it.

The adrenaline. The secret. The fact that I was obeying him.

By noon, the essay was printed, sealed, and in my bag. Five pages of raw truth, handwritten in careful script. I didn't sugarcoat it.

I told him everything.

The thrill.

The shame.

The heat between my thighs that wouldn't go away.

When I stepped into his office, he was already waiting.

"Close the door."

I obeyed.

"Did you complete your assignment?"

Wordless, I handed him the envelope.

His fingers brushed mine as he took it. Slow. Deliberate.

His touch sent shivers down my spine.

He placed it on the desk without opening it.

"Did you obey every instruction?"

"Yes."

His gaze dipped briefly to my dress, then back to my eyes.

"No underwear?"

I swallowed. "None."

He stepped forward, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of leather and bergamot.

"Lift your skirt," he said softly.

My heart stopped.

"Now."

I did.

The silk slid up my thighs, baring me completely.

He didn't touch me.

He didn't even move.

He just stared. Like I was something rare. Wild.

But I could see it in his eyes; he wanted something more than just to stare.

I couldn't think straight, or look at his eyes all I want is for him to touch me.

"Do you want me to—"

His jaw clenched.

"Lower it," he said finally.

I obeyed.

"This is the last time I ask," he said, voice hardening. "Are you ready for this?"

I nodded.

He stepped even closer, lips at my ear.

"Then next week, we begin."

And just like thatI was his.