Scandalous Submission

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

ISABELLA

Me: Hello Mr. L, I am Isabella. Your new sub.

I hit send, then stared at the glowing screen of my phone, my heart hammering harder than it should have. My fingers remained above the keyboard, almost expecting them to move on their own and save me from the silence that followed because suddenly I wanted to add something else, something clever, something that would make me stand out among the sea of other subs who were probably waiting for the same man’s attention.

But my mind was completely blank.

Maybe it was because I was too tipsy.

Maybe it was because I was too nervous.

Or maybe it was because, beneath all the confidence I had shown Charlotte earlier, I was terrified that he would look at my message and decide I was not interesting enough to answer.

The moment passed, and then the panic came.

I wanted to take the message back, but I couldn’t. And strangely, I didn’t want to. The message was already out there, sitting on his screen, sent to a man I had never met, a man whose face I had never seen, a man who might never reply even though he had already read it.

If he did reply, I had a feeling things would become very interesting.

Today was supposed to be an ordinary Friday.

Drinks with Charlotte. A night of laughter, gossip, and half-drunken complaints about work. Then I would go home, sleep it off, and spend the entire weekend buried beneath tasks for my insufferable boss, Levi Ferrari.

That was the plan.

Until Charlotte started talking about Mr. L.

An online dom master who, according to her, was everything she had ever wanted. “He dominated my mind like no man ever could.”

At first, I thought she was exaggerating because Charlotte had always been dramatic, but then she started telling me things she had never shared before. She told me how he controlled her, how safe she felt under his command, and how she trusted him in a way she had never expected to trust anyone.

Then she told me how she ruined it. She had sent him a photo he never asked for, and he blocked her immediately. I had been intrigued before, but that was the moment my curiosity truly took hold.

There was something fascinating about the way Charlotte spoke about him, the way admiration and embarrassment mixed together in her voice. I had always liked the idea of a man who was gentle and kind but still commanding, someone who could take control without making you feel insignificant. And the mystery surrounding Mr. L made him even more appealing, the fact that no one knew who he was or what he looked like.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was because Charlotte looked like she had discovered a side of herself she had never known existed. Whatever it was, I wanted to know what made him different, and I wanted to experience it for myself.

“I’ll get him to make me his new sub,” I said.

Charlotte laughed.

“And I’ll get him to meet me.”

That made her laugh harder. “I don’t think you are Mr. L’s type.”

I told her I was serious and convinced her to share his profile. Then I bet her a thousand dollars, and we shook on it. Now here I was, sprawled across my bed, half-drunk, watching my message sit unanswered and seeing that he had already read it, instead of sleeping so I could wake up the next morning and start the project for my annoyingly hot boss, Levi Ferrari.

Minutes passed, and still, no reply.

Charlotte was right. I was not his type. I was not sexy enough. Not interesting enough. Not the kind of woman who could capture the attention of a man like him. I was just an intern, unlike Charlotte, who was a lawyer. The thought annoyed me because I wanted to believe I was more confident than that. I wanted to believe I knew myself, that I knew what I offered, that I was a good sub who understood what men wanted.

I looked at my profile picture. It was one of me smiling at the camera, my blonde hair falling across my face, my eyes carrying the soft look men always complimented. Men had told me before that I looked like a good sub.

So why wasn’t he interested? Maybe I should just give up.

I was about to close the conversation when his reply finally appeared.

Mr. L: Hi, beautiful.

My heart stumbled.

It was ridiculous how quickly my entire mood changed because of two simple words from a man whose face I had never seen. I sat up so quickly I nearly dropped the phone, my fingers moving before I had even fully decided what to say.

Me: I’m looking for a new online dom. Think you’re up for it?

The reply came almost immediately.

Mr. L: Straightforward. I like that.

Mr. L: But what makes you think you’re worthy of being mine?

I stared at the screen. There was the confidence Charlotte had described. The kind of man who did not hand out attention easily and did not seem interested in making anyone feel comfortable simply because they wanted him.

Most men would have tried to impress me or said yes quickly, but Mr. L was different. He was making me prove why I deserved his attention. Charlotte’s voice echoed in my mind. “He’s strict. You’ll have to earn every inch with him.” A strange nervousness settled over me as I looked at his words again.

Worthy. Yes, I was worthy. And I would prove it. I would be his perfect sub.

Me: I’m not perfect. But I learn fast. I obey better.

The moment I sent it, I wondered if it sounded too eager.

Before I could think about it for too long, his reply came.

Mr. L: To be my sub, you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to do as you are told, baby girl, and I will take care of you.

I swallowed as I read his message, my heart beating faster.

Me: Is that a yes? Will you be my master?

Mr. L: Are you drunk?

I froze.

How did he know?

I looked around my room as if somehow he was hiding there.

Me: A little.

The response came almost instantly.

Mr. L: Text me when you're sober.

His words disappointed me more than they should have. It felt like a door slowly closing, and I found myself wanting to stop it before it shut completely. I wanted to keep talking to him. I wanted another chance to prove myself.

Me: Is that an order?

Mr. L: It is. Your first test.

I stared at the screen.

A test.

Even now, he was challenging me, and instead of making me angry, it made me want to try harder.

Me: Most men don’t mind drunk texts.

Mr. L: Most men aren’t me. You will learn that.

Mr. L: You have failed your first test.

Mr. L: Good night.

And just like that, the conversation ended. I dropped the phone onto the bed beside me and stared at the ceiling, replaying every message in my mind.

I had failed his first test.

The excitement I had felt earlier slowly faded, replaced by frustration and a disappointment I did not want to admit I felt. Oh my God, this was going to be tough. But as I thought about how difficult it would be, the thrill returned in full force. I loved a challenge.

Curiosity and hunger fueled me. He wasn’t like other men, and that was exactly why I wasn’t done. Not even close. I would win him. And when I did, he would hate how easily he had dismissed me. I would get under his skin.

He would be mine.

~~~~~

Monday came too fast.

I should’ve been focused on work, but my mind was still stuck on Friday night. Mr. L hadn’t replied after that goodnight message, even though I had said hi twice.

What if I blew it?

Maybe I should’ve added something more to my "hi," something more direct. f**k! I don’t know if I enjoy the downward spiral of feeling nothing or the angst of actually feeling something. Well, the latter is definitely bad for my job, especially as I’m already treading on thin ice.

I sat stiffly at the boardroom table, legs crossed beneath my pencil skirt, trying to avoid fidgeting. Across from me, executives flipped through printed reports, exchanging polite nods. My stomach churned. My focus was nonexistent.

I barely noticed when Mrs. Sebastian stood to present her report until Mr. Levi’s voice sliced through my thoughts.

“Is everyone okay with the report?” Mr. Levi asked.

I blinked, realizing I hadn’t absorbed a single word she said. Around the table, everyone murmured their agreement.

“Excellent. Well done, Mrs. Sebastian,” he said, offering a rare smile.

She beamed as she returned to her seat, three chairs away from mine. It was no small thing to earn praise from Mr. Levi. He was a hard man to impress. Mrs. Sebastian looked genuinely pleased, and I couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that rose in my chest. I wanted that to be me, being recognized, seen.

The Vice President, Asher Booth, stood to speak on the next item, but I barely heard him. My attention flicked between the floor-to-ceiling windows and the man at the head of the table, commanding the room like he was born to do it.

Levi.

God help me.

He rose, moved toward the board, adjusting his cuff with an effortless grace that drew every eye in the room. His tailored shirt hugged broad shoulders and a lean, powerful frame, each movement betraying the strength coiled beneath his clothes. His skin, pale, but kissed with a golden undertone, seemed to glow under the lights, like something carved by the gods themselves.

His beard was neatly trimmed and dark, perfectly framing a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. His hair, dark and curly, gleamed like polished onyx, combed back in a way that somehow looked both messy and controlled.

And his eyes… arctic blue, cold and piercing, like twin blades of ice. The kind of gaze that didn’t just look at you, it claimed you, left fingerprints on your soul long after he looked away.

I should’ve hated him.

I wanted to hate him.

But truthfully? I wanted him to bend me over this very table and ruin me.

How could I possibly hate a man so devastatingly breathtaking?

I blinked the thought away, forcing my focus back to the meeting.

When I’d joined the company as an intern, it was Mr. Antonio Ferrari, his father, who’d hired me. A kind, soft-spoken man who always had time to ask how your day was going. But everything changed after his stroke. Mr. Levi took over and brought with him a different energy. Colder. Stricter. Demanding. He expected perfection, and I was barely staying afloat.

Last I heard, Mr. Antonio had fully recovered but showed no interest in returning. I couldn’t blame him.

“Isabella,” Mr. Levi said.

My name snapped me out of it.

“What are your thoughts on Mr. Andrew’s suggestion?”

I froze.

Shit.

I hadn’t heard a single word of Mr. Andrew’s proposal. Judging by the clock, I’d been mentally checked out for a solid thirty minutes.

My stomach dropped. What the hell is wrong with me today?

“I… I believe it’s a solid plan,” I said, trying to sound confident.

“And what makes it solid?”

That voice, low and authoritative, didn’t need to raise to cut deep. Controlled. Patient. But quietly disappointed.

My mind scrambled for an answer. I came up blank.

“You didn’t think I’d notice how distracted you’ve been?” His voice was still calm, but heavier now. Disapproval woven through every syllable.

A flush rose to my cheeks.

“I apologize, sir,” I said quietly, eyes fixed on the polished table.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could feel Clara’s eyes on me from across the room. She’d been looking for a reason to prove I didn’t deserve this job. Some people believed I’d only gotten it because of my looks, not my degree or my internship hours or my exhaustion. This moment just handed her ammunition on a silver platter.

“See me after this meeting,” Mr. Levi said.

My heart stuttered.

Not like this.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I started, but he cut me off with a raised hand.

He moved, unhurried and deliberate, around the table. The scent of him hit me before he reached me. Rich. Woodsy. Expensive. He stopped beside me and leaned down. Close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath against my ear.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Isabella,” he whispered.