You stood in front of the mirror, glaring at your reflection. The crimson silk dress clung to your body, the slit running dangerously high on your thigh. It was stunning—of course it was. He always had good taste. But you hated it because he bought it. And after last night’s argument, the last thing you wanted was to look like a doll dressed by his hands.

Your phone buzzed.

Axel: Come to my office. Now.

You clenched your jaw. It was your anniversary, but instead of flowers or a dinner, you were summoned like an employee. Still, you forced yourself to go—because with him, disobedience was never simple.

When you pushed open the heavy wooden door of his office, the smell of leather and his cologne hit you instantly. He sat behind his massive desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a glass of whiskey in hand. His sharp eyes immediately scanned you from head to toe, lingering on the dress.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low but edged with command. “You wore it.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to look impressed. “You texted me like I was your assistant, not your wife.”

His gaze darkened, and he set the glass down with a deliberate clink. “Don’t test me tonight.” He leaned back in his chair, his presence filling the room. “Come here and sit on my lap.”

You froze, “Why?”

His jaw flexed, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Because it’s our anniversary, and I said so. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “I’m not some pet you can order around.”

“Pet? No. You’re my wife. Which means when I tell you to sit on my lap and let me have you close, you do it.” His voice dropped, deep and threatening. “Or I’ll rip that pretty dress I bought you into pieces and remind you who you belong to.”