Hanna had spent her life wrapped in power, surrounded by people who listened when she spoke, and moved when she commanded. But then came Oliver. And he didn't ask for permission. He didn't need her words to know what her body was screaming for. There was something about his gazetoo knowing, too steadythat made her knees soften and her voice catch.
He didn't beg.
He didn't persuade.
He taught.
And every lesson left her trembling. Not because she was afraid, but because she finally felt the chains of her self-control slipping offone order at a time.
This isn't a love story.
It's a surrender.
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