Four months in, and Ava had stopped counting the days.
The penthouse no longer felt like a prison. It felt like a world unto itself—Damian’s world, where she was the center of his focus, his rules, his desire.
She’d learned his rhythms. The way he took his coffee black at dawn while reading the markets. The way he’d bind her wrists with his tie before a late-night call if she’d been “distracting.” The way he’d f**k her slow and deep after a punishing day, like reclaiming his calm.
He’d even begun to thaw—small cracks in the ice. A hand lingered longer on her back in public. A quiet “good girl” murmured when she anticipated his needs. Once, after a particularly intense scene, he’d held her until morning without restraints.
But Damian Voss did not share.
She learned that the hard way at
