Sold to be a Billionaire's Slave

I sat across from Brayden at the long dining table, my hands folded in my lap, my collar pressing against my throat. He drank his coffee slowly, eyes fixed on the paper in front of him. For once, he was quiet, almost... normal. For one foolish heartbeat, I thought this morning might feel like a real marriage. Husband and wife having Breakfast in a mansion. Then the doors crashed open. "Brayden!" His mother's voice. I flinched as an elegant woman walked into the room. Behind her trailed his younger brother, his mouth curled into a smile that made my stomach turn. Brayden didn't rise. He didn't even look surprised. He set his coffee cup down with a deliberate click. "Mother," he said flatly. "Don't you 'Mother' me!" she snapped. Her gaze turned to me with undisguised disgust. "You had a wedding. A wedding. And you didn't think to invite me? Your own blood?" I stiffened. My fork slipped in my hand. His brother, Leonardo, I remembered, pulled out a chair, his eyes never leaving me. He sat down and leaned back, spreading his legs, staring at me like I was naked. He made me uncomfortable. Brayden finally set his paper aside. "It wasn't a wedding," he said. "It was paperwork. Nothing more." "Paperwork?" His mother's voice rose, trembling with fury. "You shame this family, Brayden! You bring a whore into my house, chain her like an animal, and call her wife?" Her words hurt, but I kept my lips pressed tightly together. Rule One. Never speak unless Brayden spoke to me. She turned her gaze to me. "What? No words? No greeting? You just sit there like a dumb Barbie doll?" I lowered my eyes to my plate. "Speak, girl!" she demanded, slamming a hand against the table. "Answer me when I address you!" Brayden didn't even flinch. He cut into his toast. "She doesn't speak to anyone but me. Those are the rules." His mother's face twisted in outrage. "Rules? You've turned her into a mute! This...this slave is your wife?" Leonardo chuckled under his breath, leaning forward now, his elbows on the table, his eyes focused on my cleavage. "She doesn't need to speak, Mamma. She's pretty enough just to look at." My throat locked. His eyes moved lower, dragging heat and shame across my skin. I shifted in my chair, but his stare followed me. Brayden didn't notice. Or maybe he didn't care. "Listen to me, Brayden," his mother hissed. "I don't care what papers you signed, what bed you share, what lies you tell yourself. Alessia is your wife. Do you hear me? Alessia. Not this... this silent little tramp. Your father would be turning in his grave." Her words landed like a slap. Brayden finally raised his eyes. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and set it down. "Get out," he said. His mother froze. "What did you..." "Out," Brayden repeated. "Both of you." Leonardo smirked, rising slowly, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long before he pushed in his chair. His mother pointed at me, trembling with rage. "Mark my words, Brayden. Alessia will take her place. And when she does, this... girl will be nothing but dust." Her heels clicked sharply as she stormed out, Leonardo trailing behind with one last filthy look over his shoulder. The silence that followed was unbearable. Brayden poured himself another drink as though nothing had happened. I sat frozen, my nails digging crescents into my palms. Finally, he looked at me. His lips curved. "You did well. Not a word." My chest rose and fell. His gaze darkened. "But next time, Zoe... if you hesitate, if I see even a flicker of rebellion in your eyes, I'll remind you what obedience feels like." I swallowed, the collar around my neck heavier than ever. By nightfall, the mansion's walls felt suffocating. When Brayden told me to dress, I obeyed without question. A black silk dress, no bra, no panties. His instructions were precise. The car ride was silent. When the tinted glass doors of his underground club slid open, I forgot how to breathe. This place pulsed with shadows, heat, and power. Music throbbed like a second heartbeat. And everywhere, people were fucking. Not behind closed doors. Not in bedrooms. Here, in full view. A woman bent over a table, her wrists tied with silk as a man fucked her from behind. Another, gagged and blindfolded, rode her Master's lap while others watched. My face burned, but my eyes wouldn't move. Each moan, each slap of skin, each desperate cry of pleasure, my body betrayed me. Heat pooled between my thighs. My nipples ached against the thin silk. Brayden noticed. Of course he noticed. His lips brushed my ear. "You're dripping, aren't you? Watching them fuck... makes you wet." "No sir. I..." "Silence." His command sliced through me. He didn't waste time. He dragged me past the voyeurs and moans into a guarded corridor. The men at the door didn't even blink when he shoved me inside his private suite. My stomach dropped. It was a perfect replica of his mansion's playroom, toys, chains, harnesses, whips, every instrument of pleasure and pain gleaming under soft light. He turned to me, eyes blazing. "Strip." My hands trembled, but I obeyed. The dress slid from my body, pooling at my feet. Brayden's mouth curved. "Good girl." In a blur, he fastened a harness around my waist, then he covered my eyes with a blindfold and shoved a gag into my mouth. The chains lifted, hoisting me from the ground until I hung suspended and exposed. The first lash of his whip cracked across my ass. A strangled moan vibrated in my gag. Another lash. My body jolted, swinging in the harness, breasts jiggling. Brayden's chuckle was dark. "You love it. Don't you, slut?" His fingers shoved into me, deep and rough. My wetness gushed over his hand. He finger-fucked me until my body shook, until I was sobbing into the gag, begging without words. A moment later, his cock slammed into me from behind. My scream choked on the gag as he pounded into me, relentless, the harness rocking with every thrust. His hand found my clit and as he thrust into me, he rubbed on it aggressively. "Mine," he snarled. "My wife. My whore. You'll never look at another man again." The pressure built, unbearable, until it snapped. Pleasure tore through me like lightning. I screamed into the gag as my release sprayed, soaking my thighs, splattering the floor. Brayden's growl vibrated against my back. "That's it. Squirt for me, little slut. Mark my floor with your shame." But he didn't stop. He drove into me harder, faster, chasing his own release while forcing mine again and again until my body convulsed, squirting helplessly with every ruthless thrust. When he finally came, it was deep, filling me so completely it dripped to my thigh. He lowered me slowly, ungagged me, removed the blindfold. Brayden kissed my temple, almost gentle. "Welcome to my world, Mrs. Gatsby. You'll never escape it now."