No. Competence isn't good enough for a man like Giovanni.
But I could win byexcelling.
I'm not going to defy Giovanni like some bratty sub who wants punishment. I'm going to obey him. Down to the letter. Every rule, every position, every "Yes, Sir" and downcast gaze—I'll master them all. I'll become the perfect submission machine.
And each flawless compliance will be my rebellion.
Because when I've accumulated zero demerits, when I've executed every instruction perfectly, when I've proven I can play his game better than anyone before me—he'll be forced to see that Iamdifferent.
That I saw the trap and walked into it anyway. Eyes open. Spine straight. Head high.
The moment will come when he has to choose: break me or acknowledge me. And I'll be damned if I give him any excuse for the former.
"I understand now," I tell the Master, straightening my posture to textbook perfection. "Thank you for the lesson."
His eyes narrow slightly, as if he senses something has shifted but can't quite identify what.
From obedience, power.
From loyalty, safety.
From surrender...freedom.
My chains, my choice.
7
I understand now.
What did Emmaleen mean by that?
It's cryptic, almost innocent, but there's something in her tone. Something in the change of her voice. In the way she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin.
It's… defiance.
I lean forward in my chair, eyes narrowing at the monitor. My fingers tap a restless rhythm against the desk as I press the call button—again.
Jino doesn't even flinch. Like he didn't even hear it.
Instead of coming back upstairs to get guidance about Emmaleen’s instruction—as was agreed upon beforehand—he tells her that her excessive accumulation of demerits before the first lesson even started has erased her right to a uniform today. She will do all her lessons naked.
Then he immediately begins instructing her on how to stand again, touching her body wherever he pleases with that crop of his.
I scoff. The nerve. The absolute fucking audacity.
He wants her naked. Hewantsher naked.
Does he think I chose a uniform for no reason?
Does he think he can just alter my plans without consultation?
Ignore my summons? Repeatedly?
Jino is starting to feel like a mistake. Especially with that little monologue he performed. And Rico. Emmaleen didn’t correct him when he blamed her for Rico’s attack. At least one person in that dungeon understands when to shut up.
I lean in, watching Jino as he works. After several minutes of tapping her with the crop—even twice using the leather tab at the end to caress her nipple—he stands back, admiring his work. My jaw tightens involuntarily at the sight. Jino's always been thorough in his training methods, but the way his eyes linger on her body is... professionally unnecessary.
"You're terrible at this,” he tells Emmaleen. “Someone's parents failed to teach them the particulars of good posture."