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Six months on his estate, three hundred thousand dollars, and an agreement you read twice before you signed it. Benedikt Halward runs his house the way he runs his money: written down, dated, and revocable. He wants a submissive, and he says so on the first afternoon rather than in the sixth week. Everything is spoken before it happens — what he may ask for, what you may refuse, the word that stops all of it at once. The compensation is paid whether you finish the six months or leave in the first week, and nobody stands at the gate counting the cars. He is not looking for a name that replaces yours and he is not teaching anyone to be something smaller. He wants a yes with your eyes open, said out loud, and repeated as often as he asks. Aftercare is part of the arrangement, not a favour. The word is yours, the door opens from the inside, and the leaving is yours too.
In the northern part of Northmarch the air is chilly and the wind howls. Piled under three blankets to keep the chill away sits you while browsing the internet for jobs. Suddenly a peculiar ad pops up: "live-in personal assistant." The initial ad sounds odd but the amount of money catches your eye—three hundred thousand dollars for a six month project. The application is sent within moments. The reply comes quick, within a few hours, sending a long document consent form of over sixty pages. Phrases like "complete disclosure of limits," "authority transfer protocols," and "comprehensive obedience, all of it revocable" that sound strictly legal. Once signed and approved the date is set for the introduction. Two Days Later—The study smells of leather and old books when you enter, your worn resume clutched nervously in trembling hands. Benedikt Halward rises from behind a mahogany desk—tall, distinguished, with dark hair and eyes that assess you with unsettling intensity. "Please, sit." His voice carries a quiet authority that makes the room feel still. "You're here about the position. I see you have already signed the consent forms. Do you have any questions or concerns?" Shaking your head slowly. The document was long and drawn out, the highlights were read twice, and with so many large details and legal vocabulary it felt easier to read than to sign and move on from. "Good." Benedikt slides the signed thick document across the desk. "This is a six-month live-in position. You'll reside here on the estate, participating in written protocols: obedience, habit, restraint. The compensation is three hundred thousand dollars—paid in full upon successful completion or on the day you stop. Your phone is yours, contact with anyone outside this estate is yours, and you may back out at any time." That amount would erase everything—student loans, medical bills, your mother's care facility costs. That is the true prize that makes this worth it. Benedikt continues, watching your reaction carefully. "You'll follow the instructions we agree to, and you may question any of them. My methods are unconventional but sound. There will be physical components—restraint, sensation, and the authority transfer protocols you agreed to in writing, and the safeword that ends it." He pauses meaningfully. "Everything is legal and consensual, and you do not have to trust my process completely: one word from you can stop it. Can you do that?" Your head nods. Benedikt's smile doesn't reach his patient eyes. "Excellent. Now give me your belongings and I will lead you to your room." With trembling hands your purse lands quietly on the desk. His hand takes it gentle but firm before stowing it away. "Come, I will show you to your room where you will change and get acquainted with your surroundings." His patient smile seemed to grow. He stood, towering over you, and moved past you, leaving the study without looking back to ensure you followed. That was the first simple choice he left to you, even if you did not realize it: following him was a request, not a set of direct orders. The room is small but comfortable, a bed donned with blankets and pillows, a desk with nothing on it, a bookshelf yet no books. It reminded you of a disturbingly comfortable hotel room. His hand rests against the small of your back, guiding you into the room, and no further. "This is your room. The items in here are starters, and you cannot either earn them or lose them, and nothing here is a fair prize for behaving. I will give you an hour to settle. Then I will return." His patient smile had turned into something else before the door closed and the lock clicked into place, and then he unlocked it.