She believed that the unpaid internship would be the lowest point of her struggles. He recognized her desperation and extended an offer she should have turned down. Lena Carter is overwhelmed by debt and barely keeping afloat. However, when her formidable CEO, Dominic Blackwell, uncovers a secret from her past, he presents her with two choices: resign and face financial ruin… or acquiesce to his very specific demands. One year. No boundaries. Complete obedience. As Lena steps into Dominic's realm of private power, public facades, and intense desires, she discovers that submission is not a sign of weakness, and control does not guarantee safety. The more she surrenders, the more she longs for it. Yet, their arrangement has boundaries… and falling in love was never part of the plan.
Chapter One: Terms of Submission
Lena
My heels echo like betrayal against the marble floors of Blackwell Industries. I should have opted for flats, or better still, stayed nestled in bed, holding onto the last bit of dignity I possess. Yet dignity won't settle student loans, repair broken water heaters, or pay for your mother's insulin. And it certainly won't survive an in-person meeting with Dominic Blackwell.
The man is an icon, cold, brilliant, and destructive in every sense. He doesn't merely manage the company; he owns it, embodies it, and bleeds it dry. And today, for reasons unknown, he wishes to meet with me. The receptionist avoids my gaze as she instructs me to go right in.
"Mr. Blackwell is expecting you." I grip my tattered leather portfolio tightly to my chest. It's empty, just a façade. Much like me these days. Upon opening the door to his office, the first thing that captures my attention is the view, glass walls from floor to ceiling, with Manhattan shimmering in the distance like a forbidden fruit. Then I spot him.
Dominic Blackwell stands behind his desk, tall and chiseled in a dark three-piece suit that clings to his physique too perfectly to be fair. His eyes are sharper than I recall, grey, cold, and calculating. The type that pierces through deceit, lace, and layers of flesh. "You're tardy," he states flatly.
I steal a glance at the vintage clock behind him. "Just three minutes."
"Precisely." He gestures towards the chair across from his desk. I sit down. Slowly. Cautiously. Like a woman who understands the ground beneath her could shatter at any moment. "Do you know the reason you're here, Miss Carter?"
I gulp. "No." "I believe you do." He opens a drawer and pushes a glossy folder towards me. My stomach flips as I recognize the image on the cover, a blurry snapshot of me in a red dress and black heels, emerging from a hotel room I should never have visited.
My throat constricts. "Where did you obtain this?"
"That's irrelevant."
"Why would you..?"
"What's important," he cuts in, "is what you're prepared to do to prevent this from reaching Human Resources. Or, even more alarmingly, the internet."
I find it hard to breathe. I can't seem to move. "It wasn't what it appeared to be," I murmur.
"I don't care what it was. I care that you falsified your background on your intern application. That you've accepted money from someone tied directly to a scandal that could tarnish my company's reputation."
"I needed the financial support."
"I believe that." His tone is steady. Too steady. Like a man arranging pieces on a chessboard before making the first move.
"What do you want from me?" I ask, despising the quiver in my voice.
He leans in, fingers steepled. "I require your compliance, Lena. Nothing more. Nothing less." Silence stretches between us, tense and perilous.
He goes on, "You will continue with your internship. However, outside of working hours, you will report directly to me. In every aspect. No one will be aware. Not even your flatmates. This arrangement will remain confidential and entirely... consensual."
I blink at him. "You're presenting me with a contract?"
"I'm offering you autonomy. Over your future. Over your body. At your pleasure." His gaze flickers momentarily to my mouth before returning to mine. "I don't engage with interns," he clarifies. "But I do claim what is mine."
My knees press together beneath the desk. Not out of fear, but from the warmth unfurling between my thighs like a secret garden.
"You'll have until midnight tonight to make your choice. Leave now, and the folder will go to HR. Stay... and the game commences."
I rise on unsteady legs. His eyes remain locked on mine. "I'll think on it," I reply.
Dominic grins. "No, Lena. You'll feel it. Thinking isn't going to help you here."
******
The fluorescent light in the kitchen buzzes like a slow, merciless clock.
Tick. Buzz. Flicker.
Tick. Buzz. Flicker.
The noise is unavoidable, much like the offer glowing on my laptop screen.
Dominic Blackwell doesn't issue threats. He makes promises; quiet, precise, and surgical. And the promise he laid out today was unmistakably clear:
Follow my lead. Or suffer.
I sit cross-legged on our worn-out couch, my portfolio still held in my lap like a barrier I forgot to lower. The room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the glow of my laptop and the fading hope that I still possess alternatives.
I don't. Not really.
The contract is brief. Harsh. Every line a snare veiled in velvet.
PRIVATE TERMS AGREEMENT
Between Dominic Blackwell and Lena Carter
Duration: 12 months
Nature: Discreet Dominance & Submission Arrangement
Terms:
— Total obedience outside of working hours
— All activities are consensual
— Confidentiality required
— Safe words: "Yellow" to pause. "Red" to stop.
— No romantic attachment
— No ownership claimed in public
— All decisions are final once agreed upon
— No financial compensation
— No promises beyond the listed terms
Signed only upon digital acceptance.
No salary. No assurances of protection. No illusions of affection. Just power. Pure, unadulterated control, presented like a lifeline wrapped in thorns. I shut the laptop. My hands tremble. Not out of fear for what he might do to me. But from fear of what I might want him to do.
11:02 p.m.
The apartment is silent. Mya left a while ago, probably off to hook up with her newest fling. She has no clue that I'm just one rent payment away from eviction. No awareness that I've skipped lunch three days this week to send money home. Or that the "internship" I was so thrilled about hardly covers my MetroCard.
Dominic was right. I was dishonest on my application. I omitted a few... colorful elements from my past. The strip club job. The photos. The compensated "dates." Nothing illegal, but enough to ruin my reputation in an industry fixated on polished ambition.
But I was clean. I am hungry. Just not the kind of hungry they appreciate.
I step into the tiny bathroom and switch on the light. My reflection gazes back, pale and sleepless.
The girl in the mirror doesn't seem like she belongs in a billionaire's office. She seems like she belongs beneath someone's heel.
I despise that part of myself.
I despise that I felt acknowledged for the first time in months… under his gaze.
11:27 p.m.
I prepare tea. I add honey to it, even though we have almost none left. I sip it slowly, attempting to pretend it offers comfort.
It doesn't.
I open the laptop once more. The email still waits there, like a loaded weapon.
I scroll through the PDF contract again. My gaze lingers on the one clause that echoes in my mind like a siren's call:
"Submission is not about weakness. It is about choice. Consent is your power. Control is mine." Says Dominic Blackwell.
I'm not sure why that line resonates with me so deeply. Perhaps because no one has presented me with a choice in a long time.
******
Flashback – 8 months ago
"Just one more shift, Lena," my manager had insisted. "He asked for you. Triple pay. You can't afford to decline."
It was never solely about dancing, not after midnight. The boundaries were easily blurred, especially when the lights dimmed and wallets opened wide.
The man was not Dominic, but rather a different kind of predator, one who lavished compliments while gripping my thigh as if it were his possession. I thought I had left that life behind when I joined Blackwell Industries. Or at least, that's what I believed.
*******
11:44 p.m.
I find myself at the window, gazing down at the city below. It's so noisy down there, so unforgiving. New York doesn't care if you tumble; it simply consumes you and continues onward. What if this isn't a descent? What if it's an ascent? I can sense it; the brink of something both frightening and exhilarating. The warmth blooming low in my abdomen when he proclaimed, "I seek your obedience." The pulse between my thighs as I recalled his voice, smooth, deep, and unyielding. Is it truly submission if I wish to surrender?
11:56 p.m.
My phone vibrates. It's my mother. A text.
MOM: They've increased the pharmacy prices again. Could you send anything this week, sweetheart?
My heart tightens. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood.
I open the contract.
I hover my finger over the "Accept & Sign" button.
I think about his eyes. His tone. The way he never raised it, because he didn't need to. He would possess me. But under my conditions. My limits. My body, willingly given... not forcibly taken.
I click.
SIGNED.
11:59 p.m.
Almost instantly, my phone buzzes again. A new message.
DOMINIC BLACKWELL: A driver will collect you at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Dress in black. No underwear.
No greeting. No expression of gratitude. Just a command.
I stare at the screen.
My heart pounds, not out of fear, but from something much darker. More profound. Desire.
I reread the message three times. The words tighten around me like invisible threads, ensnaring my limbs, my breath, my heartbeat.
Dress in black. No underwear.
I shut the message and approached my closet. I don't possess much, mostly thrifted business skirts, worn jeans, and plain tops. But there's one black dress I've kept tucked away. Low cut. Figure-hugging. From my days of dancing.
I hang it on the door and gaze at it.
Tomorrow, I willingly step into submission. Not because I have no options. But because I'm eager to discover what it feels like to relinquish control entirely. What it feels like to belong to someone, even if only briefly. What it feels like... to obey.