Chapter 6 The Collar

• Ellerei Vale dreams in collars and cuffs.
• The dream always starts soft — silk sheets under her knees, the hush of polished floors so clean they burn her bare skin. The man’s voice is a lullaby at first — gentle lies wrapped in velvet. Good girl. Pretty girl. Mine.
• She hates that part the most — the soft edge before the steel.
• In the dream, she’s smaller than she is now. Younger. Her hair’s too long, tangled where he likes to twist his fingers in it, wind it around his fist until her scalp screams.
• He’s faceless — always faceless — just the shape of hunger and power in the dark. His shoes click against marble. Her breath hitches before he even touches her. She knows what comes next.
• “Open your mouth,” he says. Warm breath at her ear. The rasp of leather between his palms.
• She doesn’t want to. But she does. Because good girls obey. Good girls survive.
• She tries to speak — to lie, to charm, to slip out of this skin like she does now. But she’s just a body here. Just a throat he likes to test.
• His hand slides around her neck, thumb under her jaw. She shudders when his nails scrape her pulse.
• “Such a sweet little pet,” he murmurs. “You know I love you like this.”
• She hates that word — pet. Hates how the collar feels when he clicks it shut. Heavy chain at the base of her throat. Cold metal that burns hotter than any brand.
• She tries to pull back — just enough to breathe.
• He squeezes.
• The marble floor blurs under her knees. The walls hum. His fingers dig in until her vision tunnels — black spots swimming behind her eyes.
• He leans in close. Mouth at her temple, voice warm and rotted. “Mine. You’ll always be mine.”
• Her lungs spasm. Her mouth opens on a silent scream.
• She wakes with a ragged gasp — back arched off the mattress, sweat slick at her throat where her own nails dig deep enough to leave half-moon marks.
• Her vision snaps into the dark. Her safehouse. Her room. Four walls that don’t cage her — not anymore.
• But her pulse thrums like the chain’s still there.
• She presses her palm to her throat — feels the ghost of his grip under her skin. The echo of that word: pet. The taste of metal in her mouth.
• She swings her legs off the mattress, bare feet hitting the cold floor. Breathes through her teeth.
• Her eyes flick to the dresser mirror — her reflection half-wild, hair loose except for that single white streak curled against her cheek like a promise she made to herself the day she ran.
• Never again.
• She wipes her palm dry on her thigh. Stands slow. Peels off her sweat-soaked tee. Pulls on her hoodie — armor over skin still humming with old bruises that never fade.
• Out in the safehouse, the floor creaks. Bishop’s soft footfalls in the hall. Decker’s quiet cough near the back room. Somewhere, Knox’s low snore leaks under his door — oblivious to how she’s still fighting for air.
• Ellerei leans her forehead against the doorframe. Breathes. Counts to ten. Remembers the job waiting, the cons lined up, the masks she’ll wear better than any collar.
• When she finally slips back into the dark hallway, the nightmare stays behind.
• But the echo of it clings to her throat like a promise she knows she’ll have to break.