I OWN EVERY INCH OF HIS ARROGANCE. Desmond Roberts used to run empires. Now he crawls to my feet begging for a place to hide. He thinks he is returning to his ex-wife. He is mistaken. He is returning to his master. The moment he entered Vanderwall, his dignity stayed at the door. My decree is simple and absolute. I remain impeccably dressed while he remains exposed and vulnerable. He is no longer a man of status. He is a domestic asset. The Iron Gates stay locked around his desire. I control his every breath and every release. He scrubs my floors on his hands and knees while I watch the pride leave his eyes. The sting of my discipline is the only thing that keeps him grounded. He serves my guests as a silent ornament and functions as my footstool. His shame is the price of his sanctuary. I will refine him until his only purpose is my satisfaction. The contract is waiting in the Great Hall. Once he signs his life away, there is no turning back. He will trade his freedom for the peace of total obsolescence. He will belong to me in every sense of the word. I will strip away his name and his will until he is nothing but my perfect property. I will ruin the man to create the perfect servant.