Velvet Chains: Owned by the Billionaire Dom

Chapter One: Fired

Aria Quinn’s heels clicked sharply against the cold marble floors of Renshaw & Pierce Advertising, the sound swallowed by the hush of the morning office rush. Each step was a fight to keep herself steady, to pretend she wasn’t unraveling inside. Outside, the storm was in full rage—lightning cracking across the sky like the world was splitting open, rain pounding the glass walls of the fifteenth-floor building. The city below was a blurred canvas of movement, a chaos that mirrored her mind.

She should have called in sick. Hell, she should’ve quit the moment Grant Halvorsen placed his hand on the small of her back last night at the company gala and whispered filth behind a champagne smile. But Aria had grit. She always had. She didn’t run from storms—she survived them.

Even if they drowned her in the process.

Whispers followed her as she stepped off the elevator. Heads ducked. Eyes avoided. Something was wrong. More wrong than usual.

The receptionist, Mia, straightened in her seat, her mouth tight with concern. “Mr. Halvorsen wants to see you. Now.”

The tone—too sweet, too strained—sent a chill down Aria’s spine.

Still, she nodded and moved forward, past glass-paneled offices where coworkers she once laughed with at lunch now stared at their screens like cowards. Her heart thumped a little harder with every step.

She wore her favorite black pencil skirt and a soft pink blouse—an outfit that had once made her feel strong, in control. But now she felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like prey entering the lion’s den.

She paused outside the door to his office, inhaled deeply, and then knocked.

“Come in,” came the clipped reply.

She stepped inside. The space smelled of expensive leather and arrogance. Books lined the shelves in perfect order, though she doubted he’d ever read a single one. Grant Halvorsen stood behind his desk, suit immaculate, silver hair slicked back like always. He looked like a man accustomed to control. To obedience.

“Close the door, Aria,” he said without looking up.

Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob, then she shut it with a soft click.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” he said as he circled the desk and leaned against it, arms folded. His tone was smug, practiced. The same one he used when telling interns they weren’t good enough.

“I assume it’s not for a promotion,” she said coolly.

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “Still sharp-tongued. That’s always been part of your problem.”

“I don’t have a problem,” she said, lifting her chin. “But you do.”

Grant smiled, slow and wolfish. “Last night was a misunderstanding.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Aria snapped. “You propositioned me at a company event. With your wife ten feet away.”

“I offered you an opportunity,” he said with a shrug. “You declined. That was your choice.”

“And now I’m being punished for it?” Her voice sharpened.

He shrugged again, strolling to the large window behind his desk, watching the rain like it calmed him. “No one’s punishing you, Aria. But let’s be honest—you’ve hit your ceiling here. Your performance hasn’t exactly been… exceptional.”

A laugh bubbled from her throat—sharp, bitter. “Bullshit. I’ve outperformed everyone in my department for the last year. I landed the Maddox account when no one else could.”

“Yes,” he said, turning back to face her. “But being competent doesn’t mean being irreplaceable.”

Aria stared at him. “You’re firing me?”

“I’m letting you go.”

“For what? Not letting you feel me up like some desperate intern?”

His expression didn’t change. “For poor attitude. Insubordination. Disrupting workplace harmony. HR already has the documentation.”

She blinked. “You planned this.”

He didn’t deny it.

“You really think I won’t fight back?”

Grant tilted his head, pitying her. “With what money, Aria? What lawyer? You’re barely scraping by, aren’t you? What was it you said the other day—your mom’s medical bills? Cancer, was it?”

Her breath caught. Rage shot through her.

“Don’t you dare—”

“I’m just saying, if you were smarter, you would’ve taken what was offered. You’d have had job security, bonuses, maybe a better health plan.” He smirked. “But pride is expensive, isn’t it?”

She took a step forward, fists clenched. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re unemployed.”

He moved to sit behind his desk, dismissing her with a wave. “You can clear out your desk by the end of the day. HR will escort you. Don’t make this uglier than it has to be.”

Aria didn’t say another word. She refused to give him the satisfaction of tears or begging. Instead, she turned and walked out, shoulders back, head high—even though her entire world was crumbling.

Outside, the air in the office was suffocating. Conversations halted. People looked away. No one stood up. No one defended her.

Cowards.

Her friend Lena, a junior copywriter with a heart too big for corporate life, rushed over.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“I was fired,” Aria said. Her voice barely wavered.

“Oh my God. Did he—?”

“He did. And now it’s done.”

Tears threatened, but she shoved them down. She wouldn’t cry here. Not in front of them.

She spent the next hour boxing up her things—her coffee mug, her notepads, the photo of her and her mom in sunhats at Coney Island. Her fingers lingered on the frame. Her mother’s smile—frail but bright—shone from behind the glass like a beacon.

She remembered the way her mom had laughed when the wind knocked her hat off that day. A rare laugh, rasped from lungs scarred by chemo. That memory was worth more than anything in this building.

“Are you okay?” Lena asked, wrapping an arm around her.

“No,” Aria said honestly. “But I will be.”

She left without a backward glance.

Outside, the rain fell harder. Aria didn’t bother with her umbrella. She walked straight into the downpour, letting it soak her blouse, plaster her hair to her face, and sting her skin. Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She pulled it out, the screen glowing with a hospital notification.

Reminder: Balance due – $6,440.00. Due May 15.

Her stomach twisted. That number—looming, impossible—had haunted her for weeks. She’d maxed out her credit cards, drained her savings. Every dollar she had went to keeping her mother alive.

Now this.

She wandered into a nearby café, dripping water and heartbreak. The barista gave her a look but didn’t say anything as she collapsed into a corner booth and pulled out her phone again. She scrolled through job listings. Nothing. Nothing immediate. Nothing that paid enough.

She set the phone down and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

She had nothing left to sell.

Except herself.

And that terrifying thought… lingered.

When she opened her eyes, a card lay on the table.

She blinked.

She hadn’t seen anyone come near her.

The card was black, sleek, thick as velvet. No name, no logo. Just a silver emblem—a mask, half-shadowed—and a phone number.

On the back, in delicate cursive:

“When you’re ready to surrender, call.”

Her heart pounded.

She looked around the café. No one was looking her way. No shadows lurking. No familiar faces. Just steam and chatter and the quiet hum of life moving on.

But something had changed. Something had shifted.

She tucked the card into her coat pocket with trembling fingers.

The storm wasn’t over.

It was only just beginning.

Aria sat there, staring at the card for what felt like an eternity. The silver mask on the front seemed to mock her, a symbol of something she couldn't quite grasp. The words on the back lingered in her mind like a whisper, tugging at the very edges of her sanity.

“When you’re ready to surrender, call.”

Surrender. The word hit her like a punch to the gut.

She had always prided herself on being strong. Independent. In control. She had fought for every inch of success she’d earned at Renshaw & Pierce. But now, in the wake of Grant’s betrayal, she felt anything but in control. She was adrift, a ship caught in a storm with no anchor.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, it wasn’t just a reminder about her mother’s medical bills. It was a message from Lena.

Lena: “I’m so sorry, Aria. I’m so f*****g pissed for you. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

Aria stared at the screen for a moment, but the words didn’t comfort her. They never did. No one could fix this. No one could change the fact that she was now unemployed and humiliated.

Her phone buzzed again. A call this time. The number was unfamiliar, but somehow, she knew it was connected to the card.

She hesitated, then answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was shaky, unsure.

A deep, smooth voice answered, sending a shiver down her spine. “Aria Quinn.”

“Yes,” she replied, her breath catching. “Who is this?”

“You don’t know me, but I know you.” The voice was calm, almost soothing. “I saw what happened. I know how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed. And I know what it feels like to be used and discarded.”

Aria’s chest tightened. She glanced around the café again, but the place was filled with the usual hum of background noise. No one was watching her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was.

“How do you know about me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know more than you think. And I know exactly what you need right now.”

Aria’s stomach twisted. She had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t just a coincidence. Whoever this person was, they had been watching her. They had been waiting for the right moment to strike.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

“I want to offer you a choice,” the voice continued. “You’re at a crossroads, Aria. You’ve been pushed to your limit, and you’re about to fall. But there’s another way. A way to take control. A way to reclaim what was stolen from you.”

Aria was silent for a moment, trying to process what was being said. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a place,” the voice said, his tone becoming almost hypnotic, “a place where those who’ve been wronged find a way to regain their power. It’s called The Velvet Room. It’s a sanctuary for those who are willing to give up everything they know, to embrace a new life, a life where they’re in control. Where you can have what you’ve always wanted.”

“Why would I want to go somewhere like that?” Aria asked, her voice trembling. “I don’t need help from strangers.”

“They’re not strangers, Aria. They’re like you. People who have been cast aside by a world that doesn’t care. The Velvet Room offers an opportunity to change that. To rebuild yourself.”

Aria leaned back in her seat, the cold from the café seeping into her bones. She looked at the card in her hand again. The words seemed to glow, beckoning her. She couldn’t explain it, but something about the idea of this "Velvet Room" intrigued her. Maybe it was the promise of escape, or the lure of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Maybe it was the thought that someone, anyone, had noticed her struggle.

“Who are you?” she asked again, her voice firmer this time. “Why are you offering this to me?”

A brief pause on the other end. Then, the voice lowered, as if sharing a secret. “Because I see potential in you, Aria. Potential to become more than what you’ve settled for. More than what you’ve been forced to accept. I know you’re angry. You’re hurt. And you deserve more than what life has given you.”

She was silent, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed at her to hang up, to walk away from this strange invitation. But the truth was, she was desperate. Desperate to regain some sense of control. Desperate to make the world pay for what it had done to her and her mother.

She clutched the card tighter. “What do I need to do?” she asked, almost without thinking.

The voice on the other end chuckled, low and rich with dark promise. “When you’re ready, you’ll call the number. But remember this—when you step through that door, there’s no going back. You’ll be walking into a world of power and control, and everything you thought you knew will change.”

Aria’s pulse raced. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing on her. Her life had never been easy, but it had always been predictable. She worked hard, kept her head down, and tried to keep things together for her mother’s sake. But now? Now, everything felt like it was slipping away.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, her voice almost a whisper.

“Good,” the man replied. “When you’re ready, the door will be open.”

The call ended before she could respond, leaving her in silence. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. What the hell had she just agreed to? And who was that man?

But the truth was, she didn’t have much left to lose. She was on the brink of breaking, teetering between despair and a desperate need to fight back. The Velvet Room promised power, control—everything she had been denied.

For the first time in a long while, Aria felt a flicker of hope. It wasn’t a bright, warm flame. It was dark. It was dangerous. But it was a chance.

She left the café without looking back, her mind swirling with the possibilities, her fingers still wrapped around the card. It felt like the start of something far bigger than herself.

Something she couldn’t quite understand yet.

But she would.