The Billionaire’s Forbidden Submissions

Chapter 3

Alexander's POV

The check sits on my desk like a confession.

Two thousand dollars. Security deposit. Apartment 623. My handwriting on the co-signer line from a year ago, back when I still thought Cameron might actually let me be part of his life. Before he moved in with some girl and stopped taking my calls.

I've been staring at it for twenty minutes, turning it over in my hands like it's going to transform into something else. An apology. An explanation. A reason why my son has made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want me in his world.

My phone buzzes. Garrett.

"She's on her way up," he says without preamble.

"Who?"

"The girl I told you about yesterday. Rita. She seemed different when we talked, Alexander. Submissive but intelligent. Not all theatrics."

I don't remember agreeing to this. But then again, I've been a ghost the last few days showing up to meetings, signing documents, moving through the motions of building an empire I'm not sure I want anymore.

"Fine," I say.

"You don't sound fine."

"I'm fine."

He hangs up.

I'm standing at my office window, watching the city sprawl beneath me, when she arrives. The knock is soft. Respectful. She waits for permission before entering.

It's not Rita.

It's Vivi.

The girl from Cameron's front lawn. The one he dated. The one he left without looking back, the way he's left me. She's dressed differently than she was at his house more carefully. Black dress. Black heels. Hair pulled back. But I recognized her immediately. That same uncertain expression. That same hunger in her eyes, though she's trying to hide it.

"I think there's been a mistake," she says quietly. "Garrett told me to come to this address. He said... he said there was a job."

I don't move. I just watch her, processing the coincidence or the inevitability or whatever the f**k this is.

"What's your name?" I ask, though I already know.

"Vivi. Vivi Sutton."

The way she says it—small, apologetic, like she's already afraid of disappointing me—tells me everything I need to know about what Cameron did to her.

"You're here for the secretary position?"

She nods.

I smile, and I watch her notice it. Watch her realize, maybe for the first time, that she's standing in a room with someone who isn't going to use her carelessness as a weapon. Someone who might actually want her to be here.

"Come here," I say.

She hesitates. Then she closes the distance between us.

I haven't touched her yet. I just study her face—the way her jaw tightens, the way her breath catches when I'm close. She's waiting for cruelty. That's what she's used to.

"Are you going to do exactly what I tell you?" I ask.

"Yes," she whispers.

"Yes what?"

Her eyes widened. She understands the game now.

"Yes, Sir."

I nod slowly. Then I gesture to the floor next to my desk. "Kneel."

She does it without hesitation. Without the performative bullshit of the other girls Garrett sends. This one kneels because she needs to. Because somewhere in the wreckage of her relationship with Cameron, she's learned that surrender feels safer than resistance.

The check is still in my hand. I set it on the desk and watch her gaze track toward it, reading the amounts, the memo line. Her entire body goes rigid.

"That's from your apartment," I say casually. "The one you shared with my son."

She swallows hard. Don't look at me.

"Your boyfriend was supposed to pick this up months ago. He never did. So now it's been sitting here. Waiting for someone to claim it."

"I didn't know—"

"I know you didn't."

My phone buzzes again. Garrett. I silence it. Whatever he wants can wait. This is more interesting.

I've spent four months staring at my phone, waiting for Cameron to call. Four months accepting that he won't. Four months wondering if I'm just fundamentally unlovable—too dark, too demanding, too much.

And now his ex-girlfriend is kneeling on my floor, and she's everything he threw away.

"The money is yours," I tell her. "All of it. But you're going to earn it differently than you think."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," I say, reaching down to lift her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes, "you're going to work for me. And in exchange for your time, your discretion, and your complete obedience, you're going to make more than two thousand dollars."

She's trembling. Nervous and excited and terrified all at once.

"What kind of work?" she asks.

I lean back in my chair, studying her.

"The kind where nobody can know. The kind where you show up, you follow my rules, and you never, ever ask questions."

She nods slowly.

"Say it," I commanded.

"I agree."

"That's not what I asked."

She understands. Take a breath. "Yes, Sir. I agree."

I pick up the check and tear it in half.

Her breath catches.

"You're not getting it," I say coldly. "You're going to earn something better."

What I don't tell her is that I'm not looking for a secretary. I'm looking for a reason to stop thinking about Cameron. A reason to believe that I'm capable of making someone happy, even if it's just an illusion.

Vivi will do it.

She'll do perfectly.

I reach down and run my thumb across her cheek, watching her lean into the touch like a starving animal.

"Tell me you understand what you're getting into."

"I don't," she says honestly. "But I want to."

That's the moment I know I'm going to ruin her.

And she's going to let me.