Willa Seymour commands ballrooms with a lifted brow, yet one midnight collision with billionaire enigma Drake Crane ignites her need to break him open and keep every jagged piece. She corners him in the velvet-dark library, voice velvet-wrapped steel, ordering him to strip while champagne still chills his lips. His tailored suit hits the floor. His cock throbs against her palm. She laughs softly, cruelly pleased, then locks a discreet platinum cage around his straining length, claiming his release as her private property from that second forward. What starts as wicked sport turns lethal. By day they hunt a shared enemy through glittering galas and shadowed backrooms, and by night she dismantles him: slow edging sessions that leave him sobbing into silk sheets, public whispers that force him to bite back moans in crowded rooms, punishments that paint his skin scarlet and his mind blank with desperate worship. She didn't just want a husband, she wanted a beautifully broken toy who would beg to stay locked and hers forever.