Page 10 of Bound to Him

Vincent hesitates, something unusual for him. "Sir, if I may...the girl will be disoriented when she wakes. Perhaps a female presence might?—"

"Leave us," I repeat, my voice hardening. "I don't want anyone else to see her like this. She's mine now, Vincent. Mine alone."

He bows slightly and withdraws, the door closing softly behind him. I hear the lock engage—a sound that will become very familiar to Hannah in the coming days.

Alone with her at last, I pull a chair to the bedside and sit, studying her face in the gentle light from the bedside lamp. She's even more beautiful up close, without the distance of surveillance photos or the distortion of struggle. Her skin is pale and smooth, with a scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her lashes cast delicateshadows on her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, soft and pink.

I reach out, allowing myself the indulgence of touching her hair. It's as soft as it looks, silky between my fingers. I've imagined this moment countless times over the past weeks—the first touch, the first tangible proof that she's real and not just an obsession built from photographs and glimpses.

"Hannah," I say her name aloud, testing how it feels in the privacy of this room. "Hannah Brightley."

Soon enough, her name will change. She'll become Hannah Severino, bound to me in every way possible. The thought sends a pulse of pleasure through my body.

I stand, reluctantly pulling my hand from her hair. There's work to be done before she wakes, preparations to make. I cross to a concealed panel in the wall, pressing my palm against it. The panel slides open, revealing a control center disguised as an antique cabinet. Inside, monitors display multiple angles of the room we're in, as well as views of the surrounding corridors, the gardens below, and the perimeter of the property.

I adjust the cameras, ensuring that every corner of Hannah's new home is visible. There will be noblind spots, no moments of privacy. I need to see everything—her every reaction, her every attempt at escape or resistance. Not just for security reasons, but because I don't want to miss a single expression that crosses her face, a single tear that falls from her eyes.

Total surveillance is total possession.

Satisfied with the camera angles, I turn my attention to the other systems. The environmental controls allow me to adjust the temperature, humidity, even the subtle scent diffused through the air ventilation. I've researched what promotes calm, what induces anxiety, what heightens dependence. These are tools I will employ carefully in the coming days.

The room's comfort is a weapon in itself. After the initial trauma of capture, the luxury surrounding her will begin to work on her subconscious. Humans adapt to their environments; it's a survival mechanism. Her body will begin to associate this space with safety, with comfort, even as her mind rebels.

And when she attempts escape—she will, I have no illusions about that—the contrast between the softness inside and the harshness outside will reinforce the lesson. Better the gilded cage than the unknown wilderness.

I move to a cabinet built into the wall, unlocking it with another key kept on my person. Inside are clothes. Dresses, lingerie, sleepwear, all in her size, all selected to please my eye. Nothing from her previous life will remain. No reminder of who she was before she became mine.

In another drawer are toiletries, cosmetics, perfumes—all high-end, all carefully chosen. Nothing with alcohol content that could be used as an accelerant. No glass containers that could be broken and weaponized. Even in her bathroom, luxury and security have been balanced with meticulous care.

I open a final compartment, revealing the items I've saved for later stages of her conditioning. Restraints made of soft leather, lined with silk to prevent marking her skin. A collar of platinum and diamonds, beautiful enough to be mistaken for a necklace by the uninitiated. Various implements designed to deliver pleasure or pain, as needed.

These will come later, when she's ready. When the initial shock has worn off and the real work of reshaping her begins.

Returning to her bedside, I notice her eyelids fluttering slightly. The sedative is beginning to wear off. I check my watch—sooner than expected,but not problematically so. Everything is prepared. I am prepared.

I sit again, closer this time, and wait for consciousness to return to her. The moments stretch, filled with anticipation. I've orchestrated countless business deals, overseen operations worth millions, but nothing has made my heart race like this—the simple act of waiting for a girl to open her eyes.

When she does wake, her first sight will be me. Her first understanding will be that I am her new reality. Her first lesson will be that resistance is futile, even unwelcome. I am prepared for screaming, for tears, for attempted violence. I welcome these things. They are the necessary purging of her old self, making space for the new Hannah I will create.

The process of breaking her will be delicate. Too much force too quickly, and she might retreat into herself, become catatonic or suicidal. Too little pressure, and she might cling to hope of rescue or escape. I need to find the perfect balance—enough fear to ensure compliance, enough kindness to foster dependence.

I'll begin with isolation. Only I will enter this room, only I will speak to her, feed her, touch her. I will become her entire world, the only humanconnection in a sea of solitude. When isolation has done its work, I'll introduce small privileges—rewards for good behavior, for submission, for acceptance.

Food will be another tool. Not starvation—I have no desire to see her waste away—but the withholding and granting of meals will establish a clear power dynamic. She'll learn that everything she receives comes from my hand, by my grace.

Touch will be the most powerful tool of all. Humans crave physical contact. It’s hardwired into our biology. I'll withhold it at first, letting the hunger build. Then, gradually, I'll introduce it. A hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing her cheek. Each touch a reward, each touch a reminder that I control even this most basic need.

And when she's ready, when the groundwork has been laid, I’ll claim her completely. I'll mark her body with my touch, my kiss, my possession. I'll be inside her in every way possible—physically, mentally, emotionally. She'll be mine so thoroughly that the very concept of belonging to anyone else will become foreign, unimaginable.

A soft sound draws my attention back to the present. Hannah stirs slightly, her head turning on the pillow, a small crease appearing between her brows. The sedative is definitely wearing off.

I lean closer, my face the first thing she'll see when consciousness returns. My voice will be the first sound she hears in her new life.

"Welcome home, Hannah," I whisper, though she can't hear me yet. "I've been waiting for you."

Her eyelids flutter again, and I feel a surge of something that might be mistaken for tenderness in a normal man. In me, it's something darker, more possessive. A bone-deep satisfaction that the hunt is over, the prize captured.

Soon, she'll open her eyes and see me. Soon, she'll understand that her old life is gone, erased as completely as chalk from a blackboard. Soon, the real work will begin—the meticulous, careful process of reshaping her, of making her understand that she is mine and will always be mine.

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