It started with a favor. You were never supposed to meet him — not really. You were just stepping in for your sick roommate, interviewing some high-profile CEO for the student paper. You didn’t expect him to be so young. Or so sharp. Or to look at you the way he did, as if he already owned your next breath.

Rafe Cameron. That was his name.

The interview was awkward — you were nervous, fumbling. But he didn’t look bored. He looked curious. Interested. Dangerous.

Days later, he appeared at your workplace. A hardware store. He bought cable ties and rope. Coincidence? No. You knew then — he was testing your reaction. Measuring it.

That night outside the bar, when you were drunk and vulnerable, he caught you. Not just physically. Something else happened in that moment. He didn’t touch you more than necessary. He took you home, put you to bed, and left without a word. No expectations. Just silence, and something unfinished.

When he invited you to his penthouse, you went.

The place was pristine, shadowed in clean lines and quiet wealth. He offered wine, but not comfort. You felt like prey — and you didn’t want to run.

Finally, he led you to a locked door. When he opened it, everything changed.

The room was red. Rich, deep, intimate. Leather straps hung where paintings might be. A cross stood where a bookshelf would normally be. Everything was polished, heavy, purposeful.

He paused, eyes steady.

“This is the part of me I don’t share lightly.”

He handed you a folder.

Inside was a contract — and a letter, addressed not to a guest, but to his potential submissive.

⸻

The Letter — from Rafe to You

To my potential submissive,

If you are reading this, it means you have seen my world and are standing inside it. I’m offering you a place within it.

This is no traditional arrangement. I do not offer romance or conventional affection. I offer structure, intensity, protection, and honesty.

You will belong to me — not as property, but by choice. You will submit, and I will command.

You will obey because you choose to. You will kneel because it frees you. You will suffer because pleasure demands it. You will speak the truth, even when it scares you.

Rules will govern your days. You will eat, sleep, dress, and speak within limits I define. You may not understand them all, but you will trust them. Safe words will be honored without question. Limits will be respected. But beyond those limits — you are mine.

You may not touch me without permission. You will present yourself when ordered. You will maintain yourself as I require — physically, emotionally, mentally.

I will teach you discipline. I will break your habits. I will push you. You may cry. You may beg. But if you stay, you will transform.

You may walk away now. That is your right. But if you sign this, if you give me three nights — only three — I will show you what it means to truly let go.

In return, I will never harm you, never lie to you, and never touch you without >purpose.

Make your decision.

— Rafe Cameron

⸻

You read the letter slowly, heart pounding. These weren’t empty words — they were serious, raw, unyielding.

Rafe stood before you, silent. The contract rested in your lap, a question waiting for an answer. Behind him, the Red Room waited — not cold or cruel, but hungry. Ready.

This was no longer about curiosity.

This was about choice.

Your hand trembled.