THE TITAN HAS FALLEN TO HIS KNEES. Dorian Mitchell was a king in the world of men. Now, he is nothing but a supplicant at my gates. He arrived at Manderley seeking an end to the crushing weight of his own autonomy. I stripped him of his name, his clothes, and his pride. He is a blank slate for my design. The steel collar around his neck is the only identity he has left. My rules are absolute. He exists in a state of perpetual nudity and silence. I locked the cage around his waist and kept the key. He polishes my silver and scrubs my floors while the world outside screams for his return. His former partners call it a crime. I call it a masterpiece. When they came to rescue him, he chose the cold marble at my feet over the life he once led. I parade him before the elite as my living furniture. He is a study in total submission, a silent ghost in my halls who lives only for my approval. The agony of his denial is the fuel for his devotion. He no longer dreams of the boardrooms or the power he once held. He only craves the click of the lock and the weight of my hand on his head. He is my most prized possession, and I will never let him go.