“Phillip,” he grunts.
“Don’t take it personally, Phillip. My parents aren’t here for me to be a bitch to, so you two get to deal with me,” I say. He glares at me through the rearview mirror before looking back at the road.
Hamilton School for Excellence is a finishing school for children of the elite members of society. It can be everyone from the child of a politician to a mob princess, like me. My father owns and operates several casinos, as well as making deals within the drug trade. He mostly handles the shipment of drugs from state to state and county to county.
When we get out of college, we are sent to this school to learn one of two things. Men are taught to be dominant, and women are taught to be submissive. Rarely does a woman get through school without being claimed, but if she does, she earns the title of “Master” and she is free to do as she wishes. Men who do not get through the Master training are sent through again. Theywill repeat this process until they get it. This society does not condone submissive males. Rumor is, the dominant women are just killed, because it’s simply not a thing to see a female master.
Mom did her best to make sure I knew what I was getting into, so I do appreciate her for that. I know she didn’t want me to have to go, but she would never go against Dad. I have seen the evidence of him whipping her. I am no stranger to his temper and have also worn welts sometimes for days after being whipped. I have several scars from him breaking skin, too.
Mom told me the last time we talked that the training masters are now involved in the training of submissives, so I am curious how that will go. She hasn’t gone into detail about what all this school entails, but I do know that there is obedience training, sexual training, and kink training. So, more or less, I am going to get fucked by a bunch of men for six months straight. My final test is a hunt. This hunt is simple. The submissives run, and the masters hunt us down. They wear a mask of their choice, and if they catch you, they get to do whatever they want. They can then decide to claim you as their bride, or leave you for someone else to find. They have every right to kill a submissive during the Hunt, so it is life or death.
The masters in the Hunt are also the trainers. They rotate out every round of training to find a submissive bride. Although they train at the school in their early twenties, they are not allowed to be a master trainer until they are thirty. Mom told me once that they focus on their career but are expected to uphold their dominance by taking on submissive partners, but these women are not intended to be married. They are essentially rented hookers. The men pick a woman for a night or years. Theyuse them however they want, and then they are passed off to someone else. So, the men who will be in my hunt want to find a wife. One of them will want me, but I am determined to make sure none of them do.
When we pull past the iron gates, I sit up straighter. The grounds stretch wide, surrounded by dense forest that creeps close to the road like it’s guarding something. The trees part just enough to reveal that the south-facing school is a towering 1800s-era castle made of cold granite and deep red sandstone. Gothic, sharp-edged, and silent. I don’t doubt that this place holds many secrets, most of which will never be uttered outside of these walls.
Twin stone columns frame the main entrance, each carved with a snake slithering toward the archway. The road curves into a cobblestone cul-de-sac, flanked by trimmed hedges and perfectly spaced trees. Flowerbeds bloom around the circle, too neat to be comforting. It’s beautiful, but damn near fraudulent. This is my own personal hell.
Jax gets out and comes around to my door before Phillip can. I assume this is because he might actually choke me out if I am a smartass to him again. I get out willingly and see women with their heads bowed hurrying over to us. They say nothing and grab all of my belongings before taking them into Hamilton Manor.
“Come on,” Jax says. I sigh, but follow him. Phillip is behind me, probably ready to lay my ass out if I try anything.
When we walk through the large doorway, I am blown away by how stunning this place is. It’s gothic to the max, and I love it. If I am trapped here, I’m glad it’s at least a mirror of my soul; dark and minimalistic.
I follow Jax down long corridors lined with portraits of past classes, dead masters, and other members of society that helped build this place. Not in the literal sense, because we all know they would never do manual labor. We reach the north-west corner of the Manor, and the gothic vibe continues. I can see into passing rooms, and they appear more normal as they don’t have the stone walls, but the floors remain polished granite throughout.
We get to a large room with tables, couches, and ottomans. Everything is covered in soft black leather. Along the right, there are areas, separated by a stone wall, and they contain a bed, a nightstand, an armoire, and a small desk. There are no doors or anything to allow privacy. Everything is in a slate black and deep red, gothic aesthetic. Along the left, though, there are doors. I assume those are the master’s quarters. Why do they get privacy, but we do not?
I see that my belongings are on a table in the back, and men are going through them. That annoys me, but I expected it. I already got rid of everything that would get me in trouble with the school and with my parents. I stand with Jax and ignore Phillip. After a moment, another man comes over. I recognize him.
“You must be Alania Remington,” the man says warmly. “I am Headmaster Charles Hamilton.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I lie.
“You will be in room seven, it is the last room on the right,” he tells me.
“Room,” I scoff. He raises an eyebrow at me, so I stand my ground. “That is not a room, it’s a prison cell without bars.”
“Would you prefer bars, Alania?” he asks with a dark tone.
“Will it keep you all away from me?” I ask with a sweet smile.
“On the contrary,” he says coolly. “The cells are correction areas where you are stripped, whipped, and used by staff for the duration of your punishment.”
“Rape,” I say. “That’s called rape, headmaster.”
“Call it what you wish, but I’ll be sure to be your first visitor,” he threatens with a smile. “Room, or cells, Alania? Pick.”
“Don’t take your dick out just yet, headmaster. I’ll go to myroom,” I say.
“Good girl,” he says. “Go on and sit on your bed. Your approved items will be brought to you shortly.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. When I go to step past him, he grabs me by the throat and gets in my face. Everyone in theroom stops and looks at us, but I still stand my ground and keep a mocking tone. “Yes,headmaster?”
“I will only be forgiving for so long,” he says simply. “Understand?”
“I understood when you threatened to rape me, headmaster. May I go to my room?” I ask.
“Go,” he says, shoving me away. I smile and walk away from him, feeling his eyes burn into my back as I walk away.
