| BERNICE POV |

The moment Master said those words, my heart skipped a beat.

The desk?

It stood in the center of the room, massive and imposing. Solid mahogany, draped in black fabric that softened the wood but couldn’t hide its purpose. Its surface was wide and bare, faintly scuffed where cuffs had scraped. Thick, carved legs grounded it, the edges worn smooth by skin and restraint.

It was where he punished me. He’d cuff my wrists, press my cheek against the cold wood, and make me beg ...