Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dani felt the freezing cold sensation of sheet metal underneath her making her jolt awake, upon her stirring two things assaulted her, first, a truly rancid smell, like a mountain of human waste. Second, a foggy memory, one of helping her girlfriend Rose start her car and then nothingness.  

Wherever she was it was in near pitch black, she could barely make out her wrists having rope marks on them, but she wasn’t bound. So, she stood, and the metal made a clanging sound beneath her feet. “HELLO?” Dani called out not sure if she wanted someone to be there or not. Rapidly she saw sets of eyes move in the darkness. ‘ Five, no seven, two more, oh god.’   sets of eyes she could barely make out in the darkness descended towards her. It made this situation feel very real, and the panic she wasn’t feeling before set in.  

“NO, STAY AWAY! PLEASE DON’T HURT ME. I HAVE MONEY, PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!” This made some of the eyes stop, and disappear, making Dani hope this was all some hallucination, but two sets of eyes remained walking closer, she heard the metal banging beneath their feet, they were having a conversation just barely audible to Dani. 

“Clara, she’s scared out of her mind! You can’t just go charging into asking her questions.” Dani rapidly backed away, until she hit the back wall of whatever she was in, the rancid smell was even stronger here, making Dani gag and cover her nose with her sleeve. “Ruby, we don’t have time to babysit anyone here, she could know something that can help us get out of here or at least find out where they’re taking us.”  

“PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!” their conversation didn’t make sense to Dani, ‘Clara, Ruby?’ she didn’t know anyone by those names. This wasn’t her apartment, and Rose was nowhere nearby to comfort her. “Can you please stop screaming? We’re in the same situation as you.” The voice called out to her inching ever closer. Dani curled to the floor completely untrusting of these two, in her panic-stricken mind they could’ve very well been the people that put her there. Playing some elaborate game. “Let me do this, okay, Clara?” Dani didn’t hear a response to this, instead, she felt a single hand touch her shoulder. 

“I’m Ruby, this is Clara.” she motioned to the darkness next to her, Dani could only just about make out the woman’s pale hands. “You probably can’t see her right now, but your eyes will adjust. Can you please tell us your name?” She sounded sweet and maybe a little older than Dani herself. She couldn’t see her face to verify this of course, but her voice was calming, a sea of normal in this hell hole. 

“I-I’m D-D-Dani.” She was still scared who wouldn’t be, but she would try her best to answer her questions. “That’s a very pretty name ‘D-D-Dani'” Her mocking of Dani’s scared stutter elicited a laugh from both Dani and the darkness that was Clara. “Please, please do us a favor, and tell us the last thing you remember.” Dani racked her brain, trying to cast off the foggy feeling from within. She felt a pit form in her stomach as she tried to recall. 

“I-I was on a home date with my girlfriend, when she left, she was having car trouble. She asked me to turn the key while she fiddled with the engine.” Dani squeezed her eyes shut desperate to try and recall the rest, there was nothing, but a sensation, a noise, a feeling of touch. She gasped. “And, and I felt someone grab me from the back seat.” She sobbed; no, she was full-on wailing at this point. She hoped this didn’t mean what she thought it meant. 

“She set you up kid.” the cold voice emanated from the darkness, it wasn’t soft or caring like Ruby’s. The hand squeezed at her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “NO! No that’s not possible, they must’ve been there for her, but they got me instead. Yeah, that’s what happened. She’s probably getting us help as we speak!”  A cruel cackle followed “I thought you were panicked, not fucking stup- OW” Dani saw the faint shadow of Ruby’s other hand connect with something. Ruby took hold back over the conversation. “Were things going ‘too well’ or did you meet on a dating app?” 

Dani didn’t see what meeting Rose on a dating app had to do with anything. As for the going too well part... yeah, in retrospect maybe, Dani didn’t do hookups she was on the app to find her true love, it’s hard being a Hispanic lesbian in Texas of all places, and when she met Rose, everything just felt right. She didn’t want to rush into intimacy, she didn’t demand Dani come out to her parents, and they shared interests, like photography and scrapbooking. She loved hearing Dani be mediocre at guitar. She thought Rose was perfect for her, a little too perfect, but she rapidly dismissed those thoughts as self-sabotage.  

“ OH GOD.” It all clicked into place for Dani, she had been set up, and Rose was nothing but an elaborate lie, to trick some sad sack of a lesbian like her. Ruby put her arms around Dani, pulling her into an embrace. Dani desperately clutched at the woman's back as she sobbed into her bare shoulder. “We don’t have time for your proclivities Ruby, ask her the other questions.” 

“Jesus Christ give her a minute!” it was the first time she heard Ruby raise her voice or sound in any way her unpleasant self. Her eyes were adjusting slowly, but it was just enough to see the blue eyes of Ruby staring at her, full of sadness, pity, and something else Dani couldn’t quite place. When Dani calmed down slightly, Ruby asked something else. “Where were you when you were grabbed? Geographically, like city and state.” 

“El Paso, Texas.” the two women were silent for a while seemingly contemplating what this meant for them. “We’re going even further south. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were in South America by now.” the darkness said to Ruby. “I’m sorry can someone fill me in on what the fuck is going on?”  

“You make 10 Dani... there’s 7 other women on the other side of the container, from what we’ve gathered by asking the others, we were all on a date or out drinking somewhere when we were abducted, and the container has steadily made its way south... we’re being human trafficked it seems.” She said it so matter of factly like it was as natural as the sun coming up, but honestly, Ruby’s calmness was giving Dani strength. 

“But, but where to? And why?” Dani asked a question the darkness next to Ruby made sure she knew was stupid. “We’re ten women locked in a shipping container headed south... A labor camp would be a mercy.” The very real possibility she was being sex trafficked made Dani feel sick. She was. IS a lesbian, but she doubted her captors would care, she’d be made a man's sex toy, nonetheless. “NO, please I'd rather die than that. Please, don’t let them do that to me!” Ruby’s hands moved to capture Dani’s, holding them tightly before entwining their fingers. “Dani, I won’t let anything happen to you. We have a plan.” Ruby stood pulling Dani to her feet with her. “But for now let's get away from here.” she led Dani by the hand back to the other end of the container, where the multiple sets of eyes reappeared. 

“OH, before I forget, Dani check your pockets. When we arrived here, we all woke up with a small bottle of water on our person.” Dani quickly patted down all her pockets, her phone and wallet were gone of course, and she didn’t feel any water in the pockets of her jeans, but she heard rustling when she tapped on her left pocket. Emptying her pocket revealed a note. “It’s a note, but it’s too dark I can’t read it.” 

“LINDSAY, LINDSAY GET OVER HERE WE NEED YOUR LIGHTER!” Clara was screaming pretty much in Dani’s ear. A pitter of small footsteps was quickly heard before another set of eyes was before Dani, “They let her keep a lighter?” Why didn’t Dani have water? Were these guys so amateur that they forgot Dani’s water and didn’t take Lindsay’s lighter? 

“I’m wearing cargo pants, I have about 70 pockets, dumb fuckers probably got too lazy to check them all. Let there be light bitches!” She sounded like a party girl, and that’s exactly what she saw when the lighter sparked. Light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, emerald, green eyes, wearing the smallest tube top Dani had ever seen, “Quickly! I don’t have much lighter fluid left.” Dani shakily unfolded the note. It was from Rose! 

Dear Dani  

I’m really, really sorry. I did really like you, but you were already marked before I fell for you. You don’t deserve this. Please try to stay safe. Word of advice, get on the Mistress's good side. You're pretty enough.  

Goodbye, Daniella.  

Love- ‘Your Rose’  

P.S. Check the back.  

Clara snatched the note from Dani, turning it over to reveal just a single word. ‘ Evergr33n’ before angrily handing the note back. “What’s so special about this bitch that she’s getting hints from the other side.” Clara was seething, “I woke up bound and gagged with a man’s...a man’s filth dripping out of me and, this bitch gets a fucking love letter! It's not fair, IT’S NOT FAIR!” before Dani could even get a good look at her or say anything in her defense Carla’s jet-black hair disappeared into the abyss of the container. 

“You are so special, you know that? To make your human trafficker fall in love with you... You’re amazing. She just gave us so much info. So, where we’re going is run by a woman, and it’s possible to appease her. And that code, ‘Evergr33n’ maybe it’ll help. Habibti you might have just saved us!”  

Dani felt so many mixed emotions, If Rose truly loved her why not warn her... why give her a note with clues? Why apologize? It wouldn’t help Dani now. And why was Ruby’s hand curled around her waist? Dani looked to Ruby who was reading the note over her left shoulder. The lighter still illuminated about 2-3 feet around them. Ruby was truly stunning. Brown Carmel skin, deep blue ocean eyes, and dark brown hair, she had the cheekbones of a goddess and towered over Dani who wasn’t exactly short herself, standing at 5’6 above the average height for an American woman as she always reminded her brother. If Dani had to say, she’d probably guess she was Arab American. Her beauty truly made Dani hate the Hand around her waist... 

‘Straight women with their no fucking boundaries. I bet if I made a move she’d call me a creep, or a freak. Or I'm mistaking ‘womanly affection’ for love.’ The only thing Dani hated more than a man flirting with her, was a handsy woman because it was always ‘her fault’ she was always blamed for ‘misreading the situation.’ How is Dani to read a situation where a woman gropes her breasts or rear, holds her hand, kisses her cheek, and smiles so sweetly for her, as ‘not flirting’ sometimes Dani saw being a lesbian as nothing but a curse, a curse where a woman could hold her hand or kiss her, and Dani was the ‘weird one’, for thinking affection was affection. 

“Hm? Is something wrong habibti?” Ruby had noticed Dani’s glare being stuck on her. “What are you calling me? What does that mean?” Ruby smiled sweetly at her.

“Habibti means Sweetheart in Arabic.” Dani felt her face heat up; she thanked God that the container even with the lighter was shadowy at best. “You-You shouldn’t call me that... if you don’t...”  

“If I don’t what?” She raised an extremely well-trimmed and maintained eyebrow. The ocean eyes were fixated on Dani’s lips. “If you... don’t like... me.” Dani heard a loud chuckle come from Lindsay “Sorry, sorry.” Ruby tilted Dani’s face back towards her.  her fingers cold, the silver rings on her hands sending a jolt down Dani’s back. 

“I thought I was being too forward, if anything. Lindsay turn out the lighter.” The room in a flash quickly became enveloped in complete darkness again. The brief amount of light had reset Dani’s adjusting to the dark. Leaving her in near pitch blackness. “You got it, boss.” She heard Lindsay reply. 

Dani quickly found her face cupped, the hand with several rings adorned on it cool against her face, Dani quickly had her lips seized, captured, completely by a woman she could no longer see. Her face tilted upwards to accommodate the woman’s height. Her lips were dry but petal soft and tasted oddly of cherry, they were plush and her movements with them were slow and deliberate. Dani felt a tongue lick her bottom lip, seeking permission to parse her lips, and she obliged, the tongue wetter than it had any right to explored Dani’s mouth. Dani only broke off the kiss when she felt the hand at her waist wandering downwards... A thin trail of saliva between them being the only evidence of their embrace. And even that quickly disappeared. 

“Be my Habibti Dani, Be my Habibti at the end of the world.” 

Chapter Text

Dani quickly realized that she had not heard Lindsay Walk away and peered into the darkness to see her eyes quickly darting back and forth between them. Her expression was unseeable but Dani could sense a smile there. Ruby cleared her throat, a clear message for Lindsay to scram. “Argh, just when it was getting good. Send me a Christmas card when you two get married okay?” Dani and Ruby both listened as the footsteps quickly retreated. Dani blushed heavily realizing she had just listened intently to the sounds of their lips thrashing together. 

“What’s wrong my love?” ‘My love?’ This woman knew exactly what pulled at Dani’s heartstrings, the phrase ‘my love’ never failed to make her swoon, and some hot older woman calling her it? Rose who? But she needed to regain her composure, they needed to talk about the plan to escape. “T-This is just going fast for me Ruby, I like to get to know someone first before we get ‘physical’ like that.”  

“Are you not my Habibti? Are we not star-crossed lovers at the end of our universe? Dani our time to get to know one another is short, I’d rather embrace you as my love than waste time hearing about your favorite color. We could be dead this time tomorrow, let me convey my love for you today, Habibti.” Ruby kissed a circle around Dani’s hand, starting at the wrist and ending at her fingertips.  

“I-I- We can’t, we just met today. You barely know what I look like.”  

“My love, it was me that unbound these wrists, and ungagged your mouth, I feel I've known you forever.” She rubbed her hands over the rope marks on Dani’s hands perfectly tracing them. “And you forget, my eyes are well-adjusted to this darkness, I know your beauty very well.” 

 “Your curly dark hair.” Ruby grabbed a fist full of her hair, sniffing it before letting go. “These eyes as green as nature, as beautiful as mother nature itself.” She kissed the side of Dani’s temple. “This nose, so small and quaint, slightly crooked just here.” She pecked the bridge of Dani’s nose where she had broken it playing softball. “These hips, this waist. That could seduce anyone, a Goddess of temptation.” She kneaded her hands over Dani’s waist. Eliciting a small moan from Dani. She could feel Ruby smiling against her neck. “This slender neck, like if I applied any force you’d snap.” The hand guiding itself up Dani's body to her throat drove her crazy as it brushed against her breast.  

“And finally, these lips, plump, soft, a gentle curve, a place I long to rest my own. May I? Habibti?” Dani knew full well what Ruby was doing, she was pushing and pushing Dani’s boundaries until there was nothing left, but all this talk about them being at the end, that they could be dead tomorrow, Ruby’s breath against her neck. It all made her want to let go. To give herself to this woman, she hated hookups she knew that, but she had never been pined for like this, never complimented so deeply, so often. Even if it was a lie, she wanted it to be true, and Ruby’s face obscured in the shadows or pressed against her neck let her feel what she wanted to feel. See what she wanted to see. And she wanted to feel Ruby’s silver tongue inside her. 

“I’m a bottom, is that okay?” Dani whispered this so softly into Ruby’s chest she feared she might not have heard her. Ruby's hands slithering from her neck down to the buckle of Dani’s pants gave her much-needed confirmation that she did. “Dani, my love, Habibti, there's never a part of you I will reject. I want all of you, my Daniella.”  

“Then take me, Mi Cielo.” (My heaven) 

Her lips seized once more, but this time much different from the first kiss, the first was slow, deliberate, Ruby trying to convey her every feeling to Dani with that kiss. This was different, nothing more than pure lust, and hunger. Dani’s bottom lip was bitten into as she was pushed against a wall that was much softer than expected, where she expected to feel cold metal, she was met by what felt like mattress padding. “Soundproofing, my love,” Ruby said in between kisses as she hiked Dani’s leg up against the wall. 

Dani’s breath hitched as the lips dropped from her mouth to her neck, a cool tongue running across it. She felt Ruby unbuttoning Dani’s plaid red and black checkered shirt, revealing the pink lace bra she was wearing for her home date with Rose. Dani HAD thought Rose was going to make a move, it was their fifth date, and Rose had invited herself over, so Dani shaved and put on a cute matching pink lace set, she never would have imagined another woman would be the one to see it through. 

Not that Ruby looked at it much, as Dani almost instantly felt her bra unclasp and lightly flutter to the ground, not making a sound. That’s because the cups weren’t very big. After all, Dani wasn’t. “I’m sorry they’re so small.” She felt Ruby laugh against her chest as she kissed circles around her now exposed breast. “Nonsense habibti, they’re soft, delicate, and the slope is making my mouth water.” She traced her fingers just over the curve of Dani’s breast.  

“AH-” Dani moaned with need before she could bite down on her lip to stifle it, they were doing this, but Dani was still self-conscious of the other women on just the other side of the container. She looked to see if any eyes were peering at them through the darkness, but she couldn’t see anything. She bit down so hard on her lip that she thought it would bleed when she felt an ice-cold silver ring press against her nipple. It was like an ice cube against her nipple, quickly forcing it erect.  

Dani realized something in this moment, the darkness was acting as a blindfold for her, she was ten times more sensitive than normal, every touch was moan-inducing, and every peck and every flick of Ruby’s finger was driving her crazy. The splotch that was forming in her underwear was proof enough. “HAAA, HAAAA, please, Ruby, touch me.” Dani panted her soft desperate moan to Ruby, rubbing her thighs together, desperately for enough friction to please herself. 

“ I am touching you Habibti.” she teased pinching Dani’s nipple. “ If you want me to touch you somewhere specific...” she whispered in Dani’s ear, Rubi was playing with her, but Dani was on the verge of tears, her panting becoming heavy, she was so turned on... she was so pent up, she hadn’t had sex with anyone but her vibrator in almost 16 months, “ Please touch me lower Ruby.” her voice cracking, her words mixing with her moans. Thankfully Ruby caught on to Dani’s desperation and stopped the tease act. 

With one swift motion, Ruby unbuckled Dani’s pants and lowered them to her ankles. Revealing the partner in crime to the pink lace bra. A pair of ever so slightly too-small pink lace panties. Dani always bought her underwear a little too small, not so small that it hurt her waist, but just small enough that the fabric sank into her butt a little, it never failed to make Dani feel sexy. Seeing her ass cheeks eating up the fabric in the mirror every morning made her feel desirable, uniquely feminine, unlike her chest.  

Dani’s back arched against the wall and her hips buckled as Ruby rubbed three fingers on her slit, through her panties, the fingers pushing the fabric deep into her folds. Dani was looking down watching the fingers work their orgasmic magic, when her head was lifted by her hair. Ocean blue eye meeting hers, Ruby wanted complete eye contact as she moved Dani’s panties to the side and inserted a Single long finger inside her. 

Hair pulling, deep eye contact, all while a finger gently thrust in deeper? Dani was on the edge; she could feel her eyes starting to water and the waves that would soon crash down on her building. She only wished Ruby had a third hand so she could wrap it around her throat. The very thought of Ruby’s long veiny ringed fingers around her throat pushed her over the precipice. “ Ruby, I’m-”  

“Cum for me like a good girl Daniella,”   Dani screamed in Ruby’s chest as she came all over her finger, wave after wave of pure ecstasy hitting her like a bus, her knees buckling, her back arching as hard as it could contract her eyes rolling into the back of her head, as Dani rode the dying embers of her orgasm against Ruby’s hand. Ruby guided Dani down to the cold metal floor, before removing her finger and tracing the sopping-wet digit along Dani’s lips, issuing a command.  

“Lick.”  

-+- 

Dani stopped holding her moans sometime after her second orgasm, the squelching noises that were coming out of her were already filling the container, and everyone knew what they were doing. It meant Dani could let go, she didn’t have to be Daniella Cortez anymore. She was whatever Ruby told her she was. 

And this was exactly what terrified Dani about herself, about intimacy, about hooking up, with every orgasm she felt she was losing pieces of herself, becoming moldable clay for whoever could make her cum the hardest. She was all the derogatory names for people who fell in love at first orgasm. ‘Clit-matized' ‘love-junkie’ ‘cum-fused’ She hated it but could never stop herself. She always. ALWAYS, found herself giving women that fucked her good whatever they wanted. ‘Borrow’ money? no problem. ‘You want to use my car? Go for it.’ ‘You need a place to stay for a little? Please stay here.’ She had to put walls up around her intimacy, or someone would ruin her. 

Even now, if Ruby wanted to drag her by the hair to the end of the container and show every woman in this crate exactly how she looked when she came. Dani would let her... not because she liked being watched, but because it was simply too good, the grip Ruby had on her already was frightening.  

The two fingers dug inside her pulsating walls while Ruby’s silver tongue licked her engorged clit. Yes, Dani would do anything she said. “Ruby! Ruby, I’m- gonna cum.” 

“Louder! Say it again Habibti.” 

“I’M FUCKING CUMMING!”  

“LOUDER!” 

“RUBYOHMAYGAWDIMFUCKINGCUMMI-” Dani was screeching, paying no attention to her audience. Her curls were straightened by sweat and drool, her hips lifted off the cold metal of the floor. Ruby kissed a trail from her clit up to her lips, joining them. “You were amazing, my love.” Ruby planted one last kiss on her temple, pulling Dani into an embrace leaning them both against the padding of the wall. 

They had spent countless hours fucking, but now they were doing something Dani knew was even more dangerous. Talking. They were filling each other's heads with sweet nothings and delusions of what they’d do together, ‘ when they escaped.’ all culminating with Ruby asking, “Move in with me?”  

“What? But Ruby, we’re...” Dani looked around, the shipping container feeling very real and oppressive around her. Ruby took Dani’s hands in hers, “Dani, Habibti, I WILL get you out of here. I won’t let anything happen to you! I promise.” Ruby said it with so much confidence Dani believed she meant it. “Here a sign of my oath to you.” Ruby slid off a single silver ring, and gently placed it on Dani’s ring finger. "It's not a wedding ring, not yet, think of it as a promise ring. Please.”  

“Okay Ruby, I believe in you.” Ruby wasn’t asking for money, or her car, she was asking for Dani’s faith. And Dani completely gave it to her. Unconditionally. She accepted the ring and watched as it barely glistened against her tan finger. “I won’t leave your side, Mi Joya.”  

“What does that mean?” It was Ruby’s turn to ask what Dani had just called her affectionately in her language. “NO, wait let me guess. It means my joy?” Dani laughed as she shook her head. 

“It means My Jewel .”  

-+- 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your humping like rabbits, but you’ve seemed to have forgotten about the whole BEING MERE HOURS AWAY FROM SOLD INTO SLAVERY!” Clara was standing before them covering her eyes to not get any lewd images. “Get dressed and join us. We're talking plan.” Dani heard her whisper something as she walked away. “We’re fucking dead and these bitches wanna scissor. Fucking lesbians.” Dani didn’t like being insulted, but it made her happy to know that Clara clearly hadn’t watched them, because there was no scissoring... 

Ruby led Dani by the hand to a small corner of the container where four other women sat. “Dani, this is Hayes and Lily. You already know our charming Carla and Lindsay.” Hayes and Lily looked like a comedy act to Dani, Hayes is extremely tall like an NBA player with dark black hair, and Lily matched her name, small, delicate, like a flower with golden blonde hair. They both gave Dani a small nod before returning their attention to Clara. “So, what’s the plan.” Dani joined in fixing her gaze on Clara. 

“Ruby and Hayes are going to hide in the corners of the container when we hear them open the doors and they’re going to jump them and ideally take their gun.” She said it so matter of fact like like it was easy. Like they’d all be home for dinner. Dani clutched Ruby’s hand hard, it wasn’t a plan to Dani at all, more akin to human sacrifice. 

“NO! That’s suicide! They'll just kill them.” Clara made a very unsatisfied look. “Ruby control your little girl.” Clara was intent on clarifying one thing for Dani. “We are being SLAVE TRAFFICKED, which means they spent money on us. Killing us does nothing for their investment. It's the plan. Suggest something else or find someone else to screw.”  

Dani ignoring the insults racked her brain for a plan quickly she looked around for anything useful, her eyes now adjusted just a little. She could make out the shadowy figures of four other women in the other corner, they were shaking their knees pulled up to their chests. For some reason, it reminded her of her grandma, who had left Dani a sizeable inheritance... “Money! MONEY!” she laughed, she must’ve looked like a crazy person because just about everyone asked her to clarify, bar Lindsay who didn’t seem too interested in any of the plans. 

“If they bought us to make money for them, can’t we just give them a bigger sum for our freedom? How much does everyone have in savings?” a collective gasp rang out, and Ruby pulled Dani into a deep hug. “That’s my girl! Why didn’t we think of that? I have about $25,000” They all went around sharing their life savings. Between the six of them they had just under $600,000, most of which was made up of the 400,000 dollars Dani got from her grandma’s passing, the least was Lindsay who told them to skip her because she had ‘15 bucks’ she said. “That might just work, but how will we tell them we want to bargain.” all eyes turned to Dani.  

“I-I don’t mean to racially profile or anything, but you are Hispanic? Dani?” Lily’s soft voice asked, not leaving her perch behind Hayes. Dani was hoping they wouldn’t ask her, despite growing up in an all-Spanish speaking household, her Spanish was... poor at best. She understood it fluently, after all her parents refused to speak English at home, but she was a toddler at speaking it. She knew cute pet names and romantic phrases, but little else. “I’m sorry! My Spanish isn’t that good. But I do understand it.”  

“Great, just great, we get handed the most useless Mexican on planet Earth. We stick to the original plan, and if we can find a Spanish dictionary for Dani we’ll ask to bargain.” Clara was half right, Dani was half Mexican, half Colombian. Not that it mattered what kind of Latina Dani was in this situation. “Lay off her Clara! I’m warning you for the first and last time.” Ruby shuffled Dani behind her slightly and Clara threw her hands up innocently.  

“Your understanding of Spanish will be very useful for us Habibti, unless we end up in Brazil of course. But we’ll need you to translate, at least what they’re saying to us.” Ruby kissed the back of her hand. Which made Dani blush in response. “Why would going to Brazil change anything?” Lindsay said, finally contributing to the conversation. A small groan left Clara, Dani, and Ruby. 

“I see why you attend a community college. They speak Portuguese in Brazil Lindsay. Not Spanish.” Lindsay made a shocked face as everyone looked at her with disappointment. “I got a scholarship for track to go there!! I’m not stupid!” The atmosphere seemed Jovial, happy even, with people teasing one another. It made Dani believe Ruby when she said she’d keep her safe. After all, if even Clara was smiling how could things be going poorly? 

-+- 

“Here, drink my love.” Ruby handed Dani a small bottle of water “You can finish it, don’t worry.” Dani hadn’t had anything to drink since she got here God knows how long ago, she gulped it down quickly. It wasn’t enough, but Dani wouldn’t dehydrate, the kidnappers probably hadn’t planned for Dani to parch herself with ‘ Strenuous activities’ they had finished ironing out the last remnants of the plan almost an hour ago, according to Clara’s wristwatch. And they were all on standby to go into action at any moment. Dani would be lying if she said if she said she wasn’t terrified. Terrified she’d be sold into slavery, terrified something would happen to Ruby. Who was only on door duty because her arms were just as long as Hayes. 

Dani was resting her head on Ruby’s lap, Ruby running her hands through Dani’s crinkling curls, which reformed as her hair dried. That’s when they heard it. Men, speaking outside. [Open it! Remember not to shoot. We need all ten.]  

“GET READY THEY’RE GOING TO OPEN THE DOORS.” Dani translated. “Positions. POSITIONS.” Carla yelled, but before Ruby could go Dani took her hand. “Please, come back to me.” Dani couldn’t tell whose hand it was shaking. Ruby gripped Dani’s face planting a single kiss before parting. “When you look at this ring... think of me. I love you Habibti.” Ruby ran off to position before Dani could say it back. The doors slowly creaked open blinding white light crept into the container making Dani turn her head. Where she saw Lindsay tying her shoes tighter. ‘She’s going to run?’  

“WAIT, LINDSAY DON’T!” But it was already too late as the doors swung open, Hayes used her massive frame to grab one man who had entered gun first, but Lindsay bumped into her as she ran out of the container, causing the man's hand to squeeze the trigger... 

*BANG*  

A single shot illuminated the shadows of the container. Dani followed with her eyes the barrel of the gun to the opposite corner. This was nothing like the movies, where time slowed down as someone saw their lover fall. It all happened too fast. 

  “NOOOOOOOOO!” A splatter of blood painted the padding of the wall, Ruby rapidly dropped to her knees clutching at her throat, blood pouring out from between the gaps in her fingers. Dani ran to her.  

“NO! NO! NO! Ruby! Stay with me. Please!” Dani tried to stop the bleeding, using her hands she pressed them in tandem with Ruby against the golf ball-sized hole in her throat, “You’re going to be okay! They can fix you! PLEASE JUST HOLD ON FOR ME!” Dani looked around the container, it was utter chaos. 

Hayes was being beaten by three men, they were stomping on her, while the others were being dragged out by their hair, one by one as they screamed for help. “DANI! DANI TELL THEM, TELL THEM ABOUT THE MONEY!” Carla demanded in a panic as a man came to claim her.  

[AFTER HER! AFTER HER! She ran into the forest.]  

*GUH, GUH, GUH*  

A strange gurgling noise was starting to emit from Ruby; she was going pale; she looked terrified as the life in her eyes was quickly draining, her grip on her neck waning, “NO! PLEASE! HOLD ON!” Dani now realized what that gurgling noise was... Ruby was drowning, suffocating in her own blood, it was a race. One to see if she would bleed out first or drown. 

“ Oh, mi Joya, you’re a cruel woman after all. To make me fall in love with you and then...” Ruby had done something cruel to her... she gave Dani hope, hope that things might work out for them. Hope that this exact scenario wouldn’t play out. Ruby’s blue eyes drained of their ocean, a blue wasteland, and met Dani’s green-eyed gaze. Tears from Dani’s face fell onto hers.  

“I love you too, Mi Joya.” Dani pulled Ruby’s lips into one final embrace, wet warm blood greeting Dani’s lips as she felt Ruby’s hands go slack against hers...  

[Did those two just...] 

[Another freak like mistress, get her in the truck] 

Dani felt hands reach for her, they gripped her tightly by the head as they dragged her out of the container, into the cold blinding light of day.  

Chapter Text

Dani had no idea how she ended up in the back of this truck, her hands bound tightly behind her back, her feet chained together. A man was riding in the back with them, his AK-47 pointed directly at an unrecognizable Hayes who was beaten to a pulp. Dani could hear the two men sitting in front talking. 

[8 out of 10, she’s going to be pissed.]  

[It’s Juilo's fault, to get overpowered by some bitch.] 

[Yeah, but Juilo’s her nephew, it’s not his neck on the line it’s ours.] 

“Psst, psst, Dani, Dani. What are they saying?” Clara sat directly across from her, but Dani couldn’t hear her at all, her mind trapped on the image of Ruby’s body, lying there lifeless as she was dragged out of the container. “ Dani, I'm really sorry about Ruby, okay? But you have to help us.”  

“It’s your fault.” Dani knew that plan was suicide, but she still let Ruby participate, she blamed herself just as much as she blamed Clara. “MY FAULT!? How was I supposed to know Lindsay would bolt as soon as the doors opened?” 

“NO TALK! NO TALK!” The man in the backseat commanded. Carla looked away disgusted, and Dani returned her absent-minded gaze to the floor. 

[Woah, What the fuck is that?] 

[Doesn’t that bitch know there are endangered animals in that forest.] 

Dani could smell what they were talking about, something burning. She peered over her left shoulder to see a small section of the forest engulfed in flames. Lindsay had started a forest fire. But for which purpose? To cover her escape? To distract the soldiers that followed her? To draw attention to get help? Dani hated Lindsay, after all, she was the most responsible for Ruby’s death, but she couldn’t help but hope that she got away and was sending help their way.  

Dani closed her eyes and hoped the truck crashed for the rest of the ride. 

But she would never get so lucky. 

When the truck stopped, Dani and the others were in front of an opulent Vila, a huge and sprawling complex with an old iron gate and a 10-foot brick wall. Barbed wire decorated the top of the wall, and small strips of fabric were still in its clutches. The Iron Gate had something engraved at the very top, but it was illegible to Dani. Too much Ivy was covering it for her to make it out. 

As the gate swung open Dani saw a majestic courtyard, thriving greenery, stunning cobblestone walkway, and a fountain centerpiece that put anything in El Paso to shame, two maids were stood by the front door, in classic French maid attire, making Dani believe the truck would stop in front of them. 

When it didn’t, instead traveling down a wooded side path her heart sank, and she got a view of real human misery. About twenty women were working in a field, all rail thin, their heads shaved bald, with a small brand on their neck a single circle with the letter ‘S’ inside it. None of the women even looked at the truck. They shuffled zombie-like in completing tasks, shoveling, pushing wheelbarrows, and harvesting crops. Dani understood one thing seeing this. 

Ruby was the lucky one. 

The truck stopped in a back desolate courtyard, no greenery, no maids in waiting, just a guard's watchtower with a man aiming at them and several small sheds. A man dressed in much better fitting knockoff army fatigues than the other men had stood in the middle waiting. “OUT! OUT!” the man yelled waving his gun at the collective. They were slowly helped off the truck, only to be shackled to the woman next to them in a chain gang. They were lined up right to left. Dani standing at the very end with Carla standing next to her. 

[I hope Mistress will give us a girl to play with.]  

[No way. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill us, for losing two girls.]  

[I want the one on the end. The one that kissed the dying bitch.] 

[The one dressed like a lumberjack covered in blood? You’re sick.] 

Dani bit her tongue as the men discussed who they’d rape and who they wouldn’t, she couldn’t reveal that she could understand them. She doubted they cared, but eventually, they might slip and let important info come out if Dani just played dumb. 

[ATTENTION! MISTRESS APPROACHING.] The man who was waiting yelled. He being the only one with his name sewn onto his grey jacket, it read. ‘Emiliano’. All the men immediately stopped talking and straightened up. They weren’t in an army salute, but it was clear none of them would move until she told them to.  

[What the fuck is this?] Dani saw dark wavy hair first, nearly black but not quite flowing in soft, heavy waves down her back, her skin glowing under the hot South American weather sun, golden and warm, taller than the man she walked up to, who wasn’t small himself. Her boots were exquisitely tailored, her entire outfit was, black pants that hugged at the hips, a white silk blouse that clung to her figure and around her neck, a bolo tie, the emblem depicting a serpent eating a rose. A gun holstered over her left hip. In her late 30’s Dani guessing. 

[Mistress we can expl-]  

[Silence! Does someone want to tell me where the two missing ones are?] Her hand moved down, resting on her holster. She looked the girls, up and down as her eyes marched down the line. When they got to Dani, they stopped, the murky brown eyes that were glowing red in the sunlight stopped. 

 Right on her. They softened for just the briefest of brief moments, before going back to asking her men what happened, but her gaze remained fixated on Dani. 

[It was Juilo! Julio! Got into a struggle with the big one and accidentally shot one of the girls.] 

[And the other one? Where is she?} The men all looked around nervously at one another, in a ‘please tell her, I don’t want to tell her act.’  

“ Psst, Dani, what are they saying?” Clara nudged at her. Dani really, REALLY , didn’t want to help Clara of all people right now, but she knew they’d need to stick together. So, she translated that they were arguing about Ruby’s and Lindsay’s being gone. 

[She ran off Mistress, but we’ll find he-]  

*BANG*  

Before he could finish a hole ripped through his skull, and his body slumped to the ground his fingers twitching as his body could not keep up with the reality that he was already dead. All the women screamed as they had just seen a second person murdered right in front of them in the last hour.  

[These women are 3000 dollars a head! Losing one is the equivalent of STEALING 3000 dollars from me. Losing TWO is unforgivable.] She re-holstered her revolver, motioning for one of the remaining men to remove the dead body from the grounds. She turned her gaze back to Dani, smiling.  

[Why’s this one covered in blood?] She motioned to Dani, the man remaining perked up seemingly happy he was about to deliver his mistress good news.  

[That one- she was... she was kissing the one that died, it seems they were ‘together’] The woman turned back to Dani the biggest, widest grin on her face she’s ever seen, not the normal response to hearing someone’s lover died. Dani watched over the woman’s shoulder as one man started to drag away the dead body, his brain spilling out the back of his head as he was dragged. 

[Such a pretty girl shouldn’t look at such a thing.] The woman refocused Dani’s attention on her, grabbing her face. Making their eyes meet. Demanding they meet.  Rubbing her fingers over the beauty mark under Dani's left eye.

[Even the same mole...you, where are you from?]

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.” Dani put every ounce of her high school theater experience to use, to try and lie her ass off. It was a high-risk low reward move now, but Dani hoped it would pay back tenfold later. 

A look of pure disappointment washed over the woman as she released Dani's face. 

 [Take her to my chambers. I’ll find a place for her.] A man came over and unlocked Dani’s leg shackles, Dani needed to make sure Clara wouldn’t tell her she understood Spanish. “I’m going to convince her to let us go, just don’t say anything to her about me.” She whispered this so softly to Clara the only confirmation, she got was her quivering lips. 

The man led Dani to the villa, just in the distance she could hear the woman speak in English. “I’m going to be frank-” before the door slamming shut cut off the rest. 

-+- 

Dani was led through the stunning Villa, she learned one thing, rich people love the color white, white carpet, white tables and chairs, and white cabinets as she was led past a kitchen with two maids preparing something. It made everything feel clinical, and surgical, like a hospital waiting room. Dani tried to map the route they had taken in her head but there were so many twists and turns it quickly became pointless. Her arm binds were released when she was pushed into a large office. 

This was however very, very temporary as she was marched to a large oak desk, pushed into the seat opposite, and her binds tied tighter than before to the chair. The soldier exited leaving Dani alone, alone with the thoughts of what was happening to everyone else. 

What did she want with Dani exactly?  

The door opened again, but it wasn’t the woman, instead a maid with a small cart, [I am here to take your measurements, you will sit still.]  

“Please let me go! Please call the police!” Dani hoped the maid would be a sympathetic person, but it became apparent she was not when she pulled a large needle from her cart. 

“STILL. STILL. OR I INJECT!” Dani sat motionless while the women took her measurements, bust, hips, and oddly she spent a lot of time at Dani’s neck. The entire time Dani sobbed internally, knowing if she moved a woman, she doubted had any sort of medical clearances would inject her with some drug. 

When she left, Dani was left alone again, she looked around the room, noticing it was different from the others, notably less white, hardwood floors instead of white carpet the walls a beige accent. One last thing bothered her. All the closed doors. There were four closed doors in this room. Obviously, the one that led out, but the other three, led where? Dani swears the woman said ‘Bring her to my chambers’ but this was just an office. 

Just as she tried to wrap her head around what could be behind all these doors, The woman emerged from the door in front of her not behind. Gun still holstered on her hip,  

“Sorry! Kept you waiting huh?” She strolled into the room sitting behind the desk, like she was 10 minutes late for their coffee date. Not that she had paid to have her kidnapped or blew a golf ball sized hole in a man's head right in front of her.

“PLEASE! LET US GO. WE HAVE MONEY!” Dani knew it was her longest shot, but it was worth it to try.  

The woman’s smile quickly disappeared. “Straight to business huh? I can respect that,”  

“Your ‘friends’ told me all about the money Daniella pretty name by the way, I'm simply not strapped for cash at the moment.” Dani’s stomach dropped as she said her name, ‘ I told them not to... how much did they tell her? Does she know I lied to her earlier?’ Very real panic setting in Dani was looking for an escape hatch but saw none. 

“LET ME GO YOU BITCH! HELPPPP SOMEONE FUCKING HELP ME!” the woman simply chuckled at Dani’s outburst before pulling a knife from her boot, Dani recoiled in abject fear, as she brandished the long bowie towards her. 

Standing from the desk she made her way around to Dani, running the pointed edge against her soft skin, making the terrified girl produce a small whimper. “PLEASE! Don't hurt me.”  

“But Daniella, you’re hurting yourself... asking to leave tsk, tsk, If I cut this rope, you are dead Daniella. Dead.” She lowered her knife against the rope binding Dani to the chair

“H-how? Wh-why?”  

“If I cut this rope you’ll run out of this villa and try to escape right? What happens when you run right into ten of my soldiers? They’re so hungry for such a pretty girl. Do you want kids by the way?” Dani felt the knife press against her restraints she couldn’t believe this, but this psychopath just set out a scenario where Dani had to BEG to stay tied up. 

“Please, don’t cut them,”   Dani said meekly. 

“Sorry, could you repeat that? You said cut them?”  

“NO! PLEASE, LEAVE ME TIED UP!” Dani felt the woman smile against her neck, as she sheathed her knife back in her boot retaking her seat across the desk. “That’s more like it.” 

“We got to your business, a rather pathetic attempt to escape which ended with you begging me to stay. So, I'll say mine.” 

“From today you are my PET . And I your mistress. You will address me as such.” This woman was emanating raw power, and authority, she was flexing all of it right on top of Dani. 

But Dani couldn’t give in so easily being her pet in no way freed the others. “And if I ask what’s behind door number two?”  

“I throw you outside to be gang-raped by every man here.” Dani felt sick to her stomach, and her body tightened as this woman said be my slave or experience a fate worse than death. 

“Actually, you know what? Your hesitancy has ruined my appetite for you.” She produced a small walkie-talkie from her back. [Have Juilo come to my office] The room began to spin for Dani 

“NO! Please, I'll do it. I’ll be your pet!” Dani assumed she had called for Juilo to come to rape her. He killed Ruby, now he was going to... going to, she had to beg, there was no other route to take. Much like this room, all other doors had closed to her. 

“I’ll be your PET! I’ll be your fucking pet Mistress!” The woman made a small cackling sound, which upturned into a cold, cruel, sadistic smile.  

“Hmmm, I’m just not feeling the desperation. No, no the gratitude, I'm sparing you from a fate worse than death, using my big merciful heart to bless you, and it’s like pulling teeth... And I’ve pulled teeth.”  

In an instant the door behind Dani burst open and two men came pouring in, Dani surged with fear but also rage. She recognized which one was Juilo, he was a kid, barely 16 in appearance, the peach fuzz mustache making it clear.  

[Take her to the cages. Give her a front-row seat to hell.]  

Dani screamed her head off as the two men dragged her out of the villa, kicking and screaming, desperately trying to get free, but also desperate to get a bite of Julio. 

If she could just get his ear off or sink her teeth into the flesh of his neck... it wouldn’t kill him, but they’d be closer to even. 

[I Think she likes you.]  

Dani was dragged to a large building on the edge of the grounds well away from the Villa, all the trees in the area cut down, and two watch towers put up in their stead. 

[I hate being here it fucking reeks.]  

Dani had to agree, the container smelled, but this was different. The stench was simply overpowering, like years of decay and rot and the door wasn’t even open yet... 

The stench hit like a wall, thick, wet, and putrid, human waste baked into the floorboards mingled with the smell of decomposing flesh and sweat. 

The air was so heavy it stuck to the back of Dani’s throat like mold making her eyes water it was the kind of smell that stuck to your skin. Impossible to forget. 

Like death itself had made its home here. 

Both men had pulled a bandana over their noses.  

This air wasn’t meant for human consumption. It lingered with disease, famine, a feast for flies and maggots. 

She wasn’t lying, this was hell on earth.  

Cages lined the walls as far as Dani could see, some empty... some not.  

Only women, all women, writhing, sweating, withering away. All bone thin, four or five women to a cage no bigger than the size of a small closet. Masses of limbs climbing on top of each other. Some were lost in the shuffle, suffocating underneath... 

A thin line of hay lined the bottom of each cage, what passed for ‘bedding’ around here Dani gathered. She was marched to the very back of the room, two cages sat empty at the end. A rat scurried out as she was tossed in.  

The cage only going up to Dani’s hip at most, forced her to crouch. In the shit and hay. Amongst the filth... the cage door was padlocked behind her.  

Like she was a dog in a crate.  

“WAIT! Please don’t go! Tell Mistress, I'll be good. I was ungrateful... please tell her!”  

This is what she wanted Dani to do right?  

Grovel? Beg?  

Dani knew she didn’t have the stomach to stay in here; her hands were still bound behind her back; she couldn’t even block her nose. 

But she was staying  

[What is she saying?] 

[Who knows? The usual fare probably. ‘Please let me go’ ‘You can’t do this’ You think they’d cut it out after a while.] The two men mocked Dani as they left. 

And Dani was left alone. 

Not alone.  

The cages, they all rattled. Groaning, and gasping came from several women from the front of the room. 

Dani locked in now had time to look in more detail. The cage next to her was empty, the openings in the bars just wide enough to stick a single finger through. Not that she could. She swept some hay out of her way with her foot, desperately looking for something that would help her out. 

Like in the movies, a bobby pin, a hair clip. Anything. But this wasn’t the movies and all she found was hay. Hay, filth, and a tooth... that promptly made her stop her search. 

And then she spotted her. 

The only other woman in the room with hair. She was face down in the hay, in the cage across from Dani’s.  

She didn’t look like she was breathing... 

Why did she have her hair when everyone else had been shaved bald? Dani could just about make out the brand on her neck. 

The workers outside had an ‘S’ branded onto their necks, and so did the women Dani could see, all except her... a circle with the letter ‘P’ around her neck instead. 

“HEY! HEY!” She called out to the woman.  

“ARE YOU OKAY?” she called out again. 

No response. 

Either she was dead or the heaviest sleeper on planet Earth.  

Dani hoped she was dead... it was the kinder option, the merciful one even. And it would explain the smell. 

The thought that she wished someone was dead made her shudder. This place was changing her, rapidly. Corrupting.  

Or exposing.  

Just how long were they planning on keeping her here? The smell was starting to make her feel sick, what was she supposed to be learning? What lesson did her Mistress want her to take from this? 

That without her mercy Dani could be any of these women? Coughing, wailing, on the bottom of the pile struggling to breathe in the piss and shit-filled air.  

When she heard the door jostling Dani perked up, they had finally come to let her out... 

They hadn’t, they were merely throwing more people in. 

seven women, all in varying sizes, one extremely tall... heads shaved bald, blood around their mouths, red-raw bleeding skin on their necks from the branding iron that had been pressed to their necks.  

Dani’s heart thumped in her chest like a drum as she they were placed in the cage next to her, all seven women a mass of screaming limbs, the tallest having to curl into a ball to even fit in the cage. 

“OH MY GOD!” Dani screamed as she recognized not the women themselves but the bruises on Hayes face from where the guards had beaten her. These were her companions in the crate... 

They were unrecognizable, their clothes swapped for an oversized grey shirt and matching grey cotton shorts. Heads shaved, leaving only splotches and patches of uneven hair in parts. They writhed in absolute agony, clutching at their mouths and heads. 

Dani felt sick, but this time she couldn’t hold it, couldn’t stomach it. She tried to direct herself to a corner in the cage, but she couldn’t fast enough.  

She retched, vomiting on her own shirt and pants, unable to block her mouth without the use of her arms. Covered in another foul stench and hot stomach bile, she spit to get the last remnants out and leaned against the back wall, folding her legs. Gasping for more air. 

“GIRLS, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” they hadn’t registered that Dani was there before but now that they did, she wished they Hadn’t.  

One by one their eyes moved over Dani, slowly filling with one thing.  

Hatred.  

They started throwing themselves against the cage, screaming. Wailing. Slamming against it, with the full force of seven women. The cages rattling together, Dani got a good look into all their mouths as they screamed at her incoherently. 

Their tongues had been cut out.  

All of them. 

Gone. 

Blood dripped out from the poorly cauterized wounds, several missing teeth or having them severely chipped. 

Watching the people she was trafficked alongside desperately try to break into Dani’s cage, their eyes all bloodshot, with pain and rage. They wanted to make Dani like them; they wanted to rip out her hair and tongue.  

Out of nothing but pure jealousy.  

Something broke. Deep Inside her, watching blood from their mouths drip into her cage, the screaming, deafening. She couldn’t cover her ears. The rope biting into her wrists made sure of that. 

So, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to scream louder. 

Dani thought being in here was the punishment. The sights, the smells, the fear. Tools her mistress was using to teach her what her life could be like if she disobeyed. That was merely an appetizer. 

But this wasn’t punishment, it was training.  

By the time the guards came back to get Dani out it was too late, she had screamed herself hoarse, she was cold, wet, shivering, but most importantly. Docile.  

[She fucking pissed herself!] The guard laughed unlocking her cage.

They dragged her out the front door without any struggle. The seven women had long fallen asleep from pain and exhaustion. The setting sun being the only thing letting Dani know that time was still moving. 

The woman that had put her there, standing in the courtyard, smiling, not with any warmth, cold, menacing. Smug. A maid at her hip. The two guards marched Dani up to her and then stepped back. 

“Did you enjoy your time in the luxury suite my pet? I wish I could’ve joined you but alas I had work to do.”  

Dani’s body might’ve been outside, but her mind... it was still in the building, the images of the bleeding women trying to kill her burned into her retinas. 

The woman snapped in front of Dani’s face twice. Trying to get her attention. To bring her back... when Dani was still unresponsive, she sighed and instructed the maid to do something. 

“Alya!”  

In an instant, shooting searing hot pain was planted flush on Dani’s right cheek. 

The woman had her maid slap Dani. Pulling just enough of her consciousness back so that Dani could say what she’s been practicing. 

“Yes, Mistress?”  

“You know you didn’t need to see something like this. If you had just eagerly accepted my offer...”  

“I’m sorry Mistress, I was a fool. I didn’t recognize your kindness.” Dani wasn’t looking up, instead looking at her Mistress’s leather boots out of fear. 

But she could hear the smile in the woman’s voice. 

“That’s more like it, Daniella. You understand now I can protect you from such things... such inconvenient sights. You’ll never see something like that again, if you listen, dutifully, loyally. To me. And me alone.”  

“ I’m loyal Mistress.”  

“I know. Oh, I know, the others however... they told such lies about you, they said you were a slut, a whore that slept with the woman in the container. They begged to take your place, my pet. Such nasty lies, I simply couldn’t let lying tongues like those keep a home... you understand?”  

Dani nodded furiously, too tired to even process that the others had wanted to sell her out, to swap places. It was jealousy in the cages... they were angry this woman picked her. 

Dani had begged in the office for her to take the money and let them go, all of them. And they were trying to save their own skins... she was only even in the cages because she didn’t jump at her Mistress’s offer to be her pet, because it didn’t save anyone else. 

Dani felt something cross her face, an expression, something she hadn’t done since she was kidnapped.  

She was smiling. Her lips dry and cracked, bled as she smiled. She had been chosen. Picked. This woman wanted her. She was saving her. She didn’t care what the others said.  

They had thrown Dani under the bus and got what they deserved for it.  

This woman is fair.  

Her Mistress is fair. 

“Thank you, mistress, for believing in me.” She looked up, meeting the woman's gaze. 

Dani was wrong. 

The smile was radiant. As wide as the ocean, but only for her... Mistress was beautiful. Is beautiful  

Dani leaned forward, in an effort to capture her lips. Only being stopped by a finger being placed over her lips. 

“Did you honestly think I'd kiss you? You’re covered in filth and sweat... among other things.”  

She said that but her face betrayed her, an almost unnoticeable quiver ran along her bottom lip. She wanted Dani. Puke and all, there were simply too many people around.  

[Bathe her and bring her back to my office.] Mistress commanded to the maid who had slapped Dani. Getting a better look at her now, she was different from the rest of the maids, both in appearance and uniform.  

While the rest of the maids wore traditional black French maid attire, she was in a dark navy blue maid's outfit with red and white trims. The rest of the Maids were also notably Latina, or Hispanic. She was white, Dani couldn’t tell if she was American or not... 

Her Ash blonde hair, with light baby blue eyes. She was shorter than Mistress but taller than Dani, she was a lot wider than both women, with broad shoulders, her arms looked like rope, her triceps bulging against the sheer navy undershirt fabric, Dani could see the veins in her forearms through the fabric she traced them down to her long fingers... her ogling was interrupted when Mistress issued more orders to the woman. 

[And none of your nonsense, I want her back in one piece. Undamaged.]  

[Yes Mistress.] It was just two words, but it was choppy, Spanish almost certainly wasn’t her first language, or maybe even her second... not that Dani considered that she had any room to judge on that front. 

As the maid took a tight grip of Dani’s upper arm and led her away, Dani peeked over her shoulder, her Mistress’s eyes lingering on Dani for just a moment, before quickly looking away. A look in her eyes Dani couldn’t place. 

When Dani was dragged out of the villa by the guards all the maids she saw avoided her gaze as she was dragged by, but this was weird, with the woman as her escort the maids were turning the other way and walking away rapidly, like they were afraid... ‘ is she really that scary, yeah she’s jacked but is that something to be afraid of?’  

Dani was led upstairs to a small bathroom, much like the rest of the house everything was white. Tile, toilet, bath. All white. The woman left her by the sink, as she started the bath... 

Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself, hair matted down with sweat, blood applying a reddish glint to her lips, pale from the, well the everything, she hadn’t had anything to drink in what felt like days. She wasn’t hungry, a side effect of today’s sights, covered in blood, vomit, and God knows what else from the cages. 

She didn’t want to admit it, but she was looking forward to getting clean. She just hoped this woman would leave, so she could bathe in peace. 

“Turn.” a heavy Russian accent filled the air; The Maid had produced a small knife from her front pouch. Dani took a full step back before realizing the woman just wanted to cut her binds.

'what is a Russian doing in south America?'

Her hands now free she desperately rubbed them together trying to return feeling to them, her wrists raw and bleeding from where she had been tied up repeatedly. She would suffer major nerve damage if this continued. 

“Strip.” A second, heavily Russian command filled the room. 

“Listen, you’re hot and all, but I normally like to go on four or five dates with a woman before she sees my underwear.” She didn’t think that was funny. Not at all. She issued the command again, taking a step closer to Dani as she did. 

“Strip.” Dani got the feeling she wouldn’t say it again, but the feeling was still not entirely returned to her fingers, she shakily tried unbuttoning her shirt. But she was failing time and time again. 

When the Russian maid stepped forward again Dani squeezed her eyes shut, she was certain she would be struck, that this hulking woman would just rip the shirt off her, painfully. Having lost her patience.  

When she opened her eyes to the feeling of her buttons slowly being undone, she remembered Mistress told this woman not to harm her. 

“Oh, thank you. I’m sorry, my fingers aren’t working well right now.” This woman was stoic beyond stoic, she didn’t say anything as she undressed Dani, her eyes not drinking in Dani’s body.  

She met Dani’s gaze as she undressed her, but it wasn’t like she was seeing Dani like she was seeing through her, and looking at something behind her. It was a little embarrassing frankly. 

Standing in just her pink lace set she thought the woman would leave, when she unclasped Dani’s bra, she knew what this was... 

She was to Bathe Dani in the literal sense like she was a baby or a dog. 

But Dani was too tired to fight, she hadn’t slept in what felt like days, and she had already submitted outside, no point in fighting now. She covered her breasts with her forearm for a base level of dignity as the woman removed her panties and helped her into the bath. 

She had to admit, it felt nice, all of it. The hot water kissing her skin, the woman washing her skin clean, the small moan she let out as she entered the water embarrassed her slightly but honestly, the maid's professionalism made it all less humiliating. 

She wasn’t leering at her, her hands weren’t lingering on any one place too long, the movements were measured, calculated, efficient. This really was intimate... her touch was way softer than it had any right to be. Dani was trapped between the feeling of wanting to fall asleep and getting turned on. 

She ended up half asleep as the woman massaged shampoo into her scalp, she thought the images of the day would stop the exhaustion from claiming her, but it didn’t, and she slowly succumbed to sleep... 

She couldn’t have been asleep for more than ten minutes as the water was still lukewarm, but now a murky, red from the dried blood on the hands and wrists being washed off. Dani groggily rubbed her eyes. The woman’s touch was gone, instead, she heard paper crinkling. 

Panic immediately set in as she looked over and the maid was reading the note she had forgotten was in her back pocket. Her eyes blank as they rapidly scanned the note, before reading the code on the back. 

“WAIT! Wait. That’s not mine.” in her panic she reached for random excuses. 

“Are you not Daniella?” she said dryly, completely monotone. 

 ‘it has my name on it; it’s addressed to me. God why did I say it wasn’t mine.’  

“I-I... PLEASE don’t show mistress! She’ll kill me, please!” She sorely lifted herself out of the bath and groveled before the woman, “Please, I'll do anything! Just don’t tell her.” her hands clutching at the bottom of the Maid’s skirt.  

She was naked, on her knees, begging for her life, and yet this woman’s expression was... completely blank. Her eyes empty, her nose and lips unmoving. She was like a doll.  

She simply folded the note and placed it in her front pouch, stepping back, to get Dani’s hands from her skirt. She wasn’t going to dispose of the note. 

“NO! Please. She'll kil- No she’ll do worse than kill me. She’ll have me raped... please you’re a woman too, please I don’t want- Alya! PLEASE!”  

There was something, as Dani said her name, the Maid’s Nose twitched, the long scar across the bridge of her nose bouncing ever so slightly as her eyes narrowed.  

“Dress.” She threw a Large oversized cotton Grey T-shirt at Dani. She was done talking about the note, and she hadn’t even said anything about it. Whatever she was going to do with it, it didn’t involve getting rid of it, as Dani threw the shirt over her head she was filled with a sense of dread.  

“No underwear?” The silence was her answer, the shirt went to just above the knee, but it was cold without any bottoms, and knowing there were men around the compound, sent a shiver down her spine.  

Dani was grabbed by the arm again and marched out of the room, her hair still damp, the hair tie she came into the bathroom with gone, confiscated. Her wet curls now kissing the top of her back. As she whispered to Alya in the halls to please show her mercy.  

Dani didn’t even attempt to map out the hallways this time if Alya told... there wouldn’t be a point. If she told Mistress Dani wondered if she’d be strong enough to bite down on her own tongue and choke on it. 

Could she get her fingers in her eye sockets fast enough to kill herself, before someone stopped her? It was looking bleak, each step towards the office made her heart palpitate, she could hear it in her ears.  

*BA-DUMP-BA-DUMP-BA-DUMP*  

Should she just run now? And try her luck... as she had the thought, the maid seemingly read her mind, tightening her grip, it felt like her arm was in a vice. “You’re hurting me!” She winced. And the grip tightened again... 

“SHE TOLD YOU NOT TO HURT ME!” If Dani had control over both of her hands, she’d cover her mouth, she slipped up, mistress had said that in Spanish, a language Dani was pretending not to know. “I-I mean I think she-”  

But the maid didn’t stop walking, or take any notice, did she not care? Or did she not know? Either way it looked like Dani got away with one, she’d have to be way more careful about this, if she was going to survive. Thinking about survival, they were at the office door now... Alya knocked three times before a loud voice shouted. [Come in]

[Ah, I see my pet is all clean, did she give you any trouble Alya?] 

 The moment of truth, Dani closed her eyes in pure horror as she was about to be thrown to the wolves, she couldn’t stop sweating, she was sure if she opened her eyes the room would be spinning. 

[No, Mistress.]  

‘What?’ opening her eyes, the room wasn’t spinning, and this woman wasn’t telling. Alya stood arms at her sides, not making eye contact with anyone or anything in particular. 

‘But why? And why keep the note if you weren’t going to hand it over?’  

[Shall I take her to the branding Mistress?]  

It took everything for Dani to not scream no. Pretending to not understand things is surprisingly difficult, especially when they pertain to massive bodily harm coming to you. All her muscles tensed, if either woman was paying attention to her, she’d be found out by body language alone.  

Mistress cleared her throat. [No. That won’t be necessary, thank you very much, Alya, you may leave us now.] 

‘This is weird, first Alya protects me, then asks to go get me branded, and Mistress seems to hate the idea just as much as me?’  

Alya left, without so much as a glance at Dani, the note still firmly in her possession. Leaving the two alone.  

“Come Daniella sit.” She motioned to the seat she had been tied up in earlier. The room smelled of steak and potatoes and Dani felt her stomach growl in need for the first time today.  

“I prefer to just be called Dani... Mistress.” 

“Does a pet pick its own name? Dani is a boy’s name; I won’t be calling you that.” She leaned back in her chair, offended that Dani thought she cared about her preferences. 

She made a few angry clicks on her laptop in front of her, before setting it off to the side, clearing space in the center of the desk. From one of the desk drawers, she produced a dark Burgandy red velvet dog collar with the name Daniella hanging from a metal tag. 

The outside layer was velvet, and the inside looked somewhat electrical to Dani, probably a tracker. She figured.  

Dani saw where this was going... she was going to put the collar on her right?  

Until she unholstered her revolver also placing that on the desk, the barrel pointed right at Dani.  

“One last thing my Daniella...”  

“You can pick up that gun, and shoot me, or you can put this dog collar on yourself.”  

‘What?’  

“I-I’m sorry Mistress I don’t understand.”  

“You have one minute to pick that gun up and shoot me or collar yourself,” she repeated the instructions, looking at the gold wristwatch adorning her wrist. She was serious? 

‘This is a trick, right? There’s no way that’s loaded; she’s fucking crazy but she’s not an idiot. But if it is loaded... her hands haven’t left from under the desk, if I reach for the gun she’s going to shoot me, isn’t she? She doesn’t look worried at all. WAIT! Is this a test about hesitating like before?  

Dani was so in her own head, weighing if it was loaded or not, there was evidence that said it was loaded, like her hands being under the desk on a second gun maybe. 

But also, things that pointed to it being empty, like the fact that she didn’t look worried at all.  

Her heart was going crazy in her chest; she could feel each beat in her neck. The idea that this was a test more about loyalty and not hesitating crept more and more present in her mind. 

She had to make a choice NOW.  

Dani frantically grabbed for the collar, pressing and snapping it on her neck, the cold metal of the inside, ice against her neck, the humiliation factor high, as she had just put on her own dog collar on submitted to this woman a second time. A faint red light began to emit from the front of the Metal clasp. 

Mistress was ecstatic of course, throwing her head back in a wild fit of laughter, as she slid her revolver off the table. The dark waves of her hair bounced as she did, all her perfect teeth visible.  

“You made a good choice.” she cackled. “Took a little long for my taste, seventeen seconds... What was there to think about? I wonder...”  

“NO! Mistress I was Just I-I"  

“Was just wondering if it was loaded or not?” She said what Dani was thinking but not what Dani was going to say.  

She pointed the sturdy weapon at Dani. The revolver sat heavy in her hand, cold and solid, a giant chunk of forged steel, gleaming under the office light, the cylinder closed, until she popped a latch with her thumb that opened the cylinder with a single sway of her wrist. 

Every single chamber had a bullet in waiting, six tiny graves in waiting. It was fully loaded... her sadistic smile went wider than the barrel of the gun as she closed the cylinder.  

It had taken Dani just seventeen seconds to give up on her freedom at the whims of this woman being in her head. 

“You see Daniella, you will never outsmart me, I can give you every advantage, and you’ll turn it into a disadvantage. That’s simply your love for me.”  

“I-I-I" Dani could feel her expression twist, into something cruel and unnatural her lips twisting, her eye twitching. 

“Now what do we say when Mistress gives us something new?”  

“Thank you, Mistress, I’m grateful.” calling her mistress was getting easier, Dani no longer almost felt herself vomit every time she said it.

“So obedient, the others will love you.”  

‘Others???’  

But before Dani could even ask the woman screamed two names.  

“VALENTINA! CELESTE! COME!” One of the many closed doors in the room creaked open to reveal two women, their names also around their necks on a collar.  

‘OH ... oh.’  

This wasn’t an exclusive position... 

Chapter Text

“Mis-Mistress? I-I don’t understand.” A somber look graced Dani’s eyes as she looked between the women and her Mistress.  

Her Mistress produced a single dry chuckle like she forced it out, “Don’t tell me you thought you were the only one?”  

Why did Dani find herself so disappointed? She should be happy, she has allies, and these women will most likely want to escape too, but the twinge of pain she felt in her chest disagreed.  

‘Don’t look so sad Daniella, you’re so special to me.” [More than you’ll ever know...]  

Mistress’s breath against her ear, the words of Validation, they all helped Dani in producing a small crimson blush across her face.   

“Valentina, Celeste. Show Daniella the ropes, the rules, and get her all set up. Don’t let me down girls.” with her hand on Dani’s lower back she pushed Dani over towards the two women.  

Neither of the two women had crossed the threshold into the office like the lip from the tile to the hardwood floor was molten lava.  

“Yes, Mistress!” It had looked like both women said it, but the smaller one her collar displaying the name ‘Celeste’ definitely just mouthed it, glaring at Dani before quickly returning her gaze to the floor.  

“Hi! I’m Valentina. This one here is Celeste.” The platinum blonde woman cheerfully stuck her hand out towards Dani, her feet still not leaving the tiled room.   

It was obvious as to why she was one of Mistress’s pets...   

She had the body of a Porn star.  

She had a soft voluptuous figure, full, round breasts that were somehow bulging against what was supposed to be an oversized shirt, hips that flared in a smooth hourglass from her narrow waist, she made the oversized shirt look more like a well-fitted dress, her milky plump thighs somehow exposed despite being shorter than Dani but wearing the same sized shirt.  

Her dog collar was a deep navy blue, clashing hard against her own blue eyes.  

Why did Mistress need Dani or this other girl if she had Valentina?  

And girl was the apt word for Celeste, her collar was a hot pink, but looking at the girl made Dani feel immensely uncomfortable.  

She looked young, very young. If she was eighteen Dani was the pope. Barely five feet tall, the short curls of Her hair dyed a royal blue color, irregularly it seems as her black roots were showing, her brown-eyed gaze stuck to the floor, refusing to make eye contact with Dani.  

The shirt fit her much more like Dani’s than Valentina’s, if she had curves, they were well hidden underneath, she was thin and even less ‘talented’ in chest department than Dani.  

Why did Mistress have this girl as a pet? When all the answers made Dani’s skin crawl, she peeled her eyes away from her.  

They only had one thing in common, both the lights on their collars were glowing green...  

Dani took the offered hand, shaking it once, “Hi, I’m Dani.”  

“Come in Daniella, come in, this is your home now too.” Valentina Firmly ignored that Dani had just introduced herself as Dani and went by what Mistress called her instead.  

Stepping over the lip, cold black tile flooring disturbed her bare feet. The two women shut the door behind Dani as she stepped in.  

“This is-” Dani looked around the small space, the black wall tile was a bit aged at the edges but clean, the air carried a lavender smell from a plug-in freshener by the door, a modest vanity with a speckled fake marble countertop sat beneath a mirror, with four drawers beneath. The top drawer was padlocked, but the two under it had the names ‘ Valentina’ and ‘ Celeste’ written on a piece of tape and attached to an individual drawer.  

There were two cots on the floor one slightly larger than the other, one tucked inside the vanity in an odd alcove under the sink, the other beside the adjacent wall, a showerhead sprang from the far wall, with drains lined up on the floor and a single black toilet sat what Dani imagined was just outside the range of what the shower head hit.   

“A bathroom...” This space was very clearly being lived in, it was small, but someone was clearly taking good care of it to keep it tidy and everything looked clean.  

“You’re very observant.” Valentina chuckled sarcastically.   

“We... live in a bathroom?”   

“That we do.”   

“B-But this villa must have like ten thousand bedrooms... why do we have to stay in here?” Valentina just shrugged.  

“Who knows? Maybe Mistress just wants us close by, it’s easier to protect us that way. You'll learn over time to not question Mistress’s judgment.”  

“Protec-” but before she could ask how the woman enslaving them was protecting them, she was cut off.  

“I’m sorry, I have a lot to explain to you, do you mind saving your questions for the end?” She could be surprisingly assertive, Celeste apparently wasn’t a part of the tour, as Dani turned around and she was lying down on the larger cot against the wall.  

And apparently, it wasn’t even a genuine question as she went straight into explaining. “Are you familiar with the term Paternalism?”  

Dani shook her head having never heard the word. “That’s fine. The gist is our relationship with Mistress operates on this system, Mistress provides care and protection, sometimes even rewards for our continued obedience and services. Think of it as a ‘carrot-and-stick' system. If you’re good you obviously get the carrot, if you’re bad... well-”  

“The stick?” She broke out of the pained wince she was doing and smiled warmly at Dani “You catch on quick.”   

Valentina glanced at the digital wall clock mounted to the wall above the cot; it read 9:46 PM. “I’ll give you a quick rundown of our schedule.”   

“9:00 AM, We have a shower it-”   

“ WE?”   

“Yes, we, it’s a group shower. Showers last exactly ten minutes and are cold water only, you however can earn more, like solo showers, hot showers, baths, etc.”   

Like it was seemingly a small detail she completely skipped over the showering together part to explain how to earn rewards.  

“You earn rewards by being called. Every night at 10:00 PM at least one of our collars will glow red, meaning you’ve been called, but we’ll touch on that in a bit. For being called that night your reward is a solo shower when you return, but only when you return, the showers do not roll over and cannot be saved, if you go to sleep without showering it is gone.”   

“Uh-I-I"   

“You are expected to keep yourself clean at all times, while she always officially calls at least one of us at 10:00 we can be called at any time for Mistress’s use.”  

“Being called four days in a row earns you a hot bath and being called every day for a week means you get to make a request.” Reading Dani’s mind or stating the obvious she clarified the request system.  

“You can ask for a small favor, like new clothes, or extra food. Do not ask for your freedom.”   

Honestly, the sheer amount of information made Dani feel like she was back in college, but the mention of food made her stomach growl again. “Uh, what time do we eat?”  

“We are served a single meal every day at 4:30 PM, not a minute before or after. If you are with Mistress during that time, your food will be placed on your cot.” Dani glanced at the clock, 9:51 PM and when she turned back to Valentina she had an apologetic look in her eye.  

Dani wouldn’t eat today.  

“After we shower the rest of the day is normally your own, we have books to read and cards we can play with, it’s encouraged you partake, it builds chemistry and keeps morale up, but you are of course free to not participate.”  

When Dani accepted the role of pet, she didn’t think Mistress would have others, but more so, she would’ve never expected another woman to explain the rules to her like they were staying at a summer camp.  

“We have a small initiation ritual to do, then I'll set you up with everything you’ll need for when she chooses you tonight.” Dani saw Celeste sit up in the mirror at the word's initiation ritual.  

“How do you know she’s going to pick me?”   

“ When you get a new toy don’t you play with it?”  She motioned Dani over to the door opening it, the three women stood at the door, none of them crossing the threshold into the empty office.  

“For your initiation, all you must do is take a piece of candy from the bottom drawer of Mistress’s desk.”   

“What! Isn't that stealing?” Dani recalled mistress’s speech earlier where the girls were 3000 dollars a head, and losing one was stealing from her...before she put a hole in that guy's head.  

“No, no” Valentina waved her hand in front of her face. “It’s there for us to do this, it’s like a show of courage, we’ve both done it.” Celeste making eye contact with Dani for the first time nodded her head fervently. Smirking.   

“So, I just need to walk over there and open a drawer and grab some candy?” Both women nodded their heads. “Simple.”  

She didn’t have a good feeling about this, but if she wanted the rest of the explanation, she had to do it she guessed.  

As Dani stepped her foot out the threshold into the office, she squeezed her eyes shut...  

‘Oh, nothing happened.’ opening her eyes, she took another step, the rest of her body leaving the bathroom with her foot.  

* ZZZ-CRACK-BZZT*  

A strangled guttural scream ripped from Dani, as her whole body locked up, the collar discharging searing bolts of electricity with a viscous snap and pain tore through her neck like lightning.   

Her body seized, legs giving out as muscles locked tight, she crumpled to the ground gasping for breath as the round of electrical bursts ended.  

“OH MY GOD! GRAB HER!!” Celeste and Valentina scrambled carefully to drag Dani back inside, without moving completely out of the room.  

Dragging her inside and shutting the door both women looked horrified.  

“I’m SO, SO, SORRY. That shouldn’t have happened, the intensity shouldn’t have been that high... it’s just supposed to be a little jolt, I-I.”  

“She really doesn’t want you going anywhere... Celeste grab her some water please.” If Dani’s hands weren’t still spasming she’d slap Valentina, her neck still burning in a stinging sensation.  

“W-W-what the FUCK was that?”   

“I’m really sorry, that really is the initiation ritual, we weren’t trying to be cruel, you’re supposed to take a step outside feel the small jolt, and step back in, just a little to teach you about our shock collars.” She did look legitimately sorry, and she was giving her water.  

As Celeste returned from under her cot with a bottle of water, Dani guzzled it down, downing the entire full bottle. Sating her thirst for the meantime, a small prize considering what she had to go through to get it.  

“Our collars...they’re linked to the room, we step out, and well... you felt the result. Mistress controls the intensity of the shock on her phone; there’s an app apparently. But normally it’s a small jolt, completely harmless... normally.”   

“I COULD’VE FUCKING DIED! Why would she have it that high?” Dani put her hand on her chest, her poor heart still beating like crazy.  

“Maybe she thinks you’ll try to escape? Either way, it’s clear she doesn’t want you leaving... can you stand?” She offered Dani a hand to stand, one Dani took, to offer a warning, squeezing Valentina’s hand tightly.  

“Don’t EVER, pull some shit like that again.” Valentina nodded somberly in response. An interaction Celeste appeared to be watching closely, silently, of course, she hadn’t spoken since she met her. She had a tongue; Dani saw it when she mouthed ‘yes mistress’ earlier.  

“Does she not speak?” Dani said motioning to Celeste.  

“She does...” Valentina explained, and Celeste looked away. “However, we don’t have time to get into that right now.” Valentina pulled Dani with her to the sink. Pulling a small key out of her drawer, she unlocked the padlocked compartment.  

She pulled out a bottle of perfume and a spare toothbrush.   

“When Mistress calls for you, you will brush your teeth first and then apply this perfume on your neck. In that order. You can start brushing now actually, as we know she’ll call you.”   

As Dani brushed her teeth she spotted in the mirror the wall clock turn to 10:00 PM, and the green light on her collar switched to red in an instant. “Does that mean I have to go now?”  

“There’s a five-minute leeway time, for you to get ready, but never go over the time, or she’ll send that maid to come deliver you to her, and neither of them will be happy.”  

Dani spit the last remnants of toothpaste out of her mouth as she asked “That maid? Alya?”   

“Yes, but I wouldn’t call her that to her face though. We aren’t supposed to use her name. Celeste said it once on accident... she didn’t feed Celeste for the next two days.”  

Dani was screwed, not only had she already said her name, but she probably annoyed the shit out of her by begging for her life... if Alya controlled the food who knew when she’d eat next then. Maybe she’d be nice like she was with the note, but Dani didn’t get her hopes up, not feeding a girl for two days spelled out she wasn’t the charitable type.  

Shaking her head to get her mind off food, as her stomach growled loudly for a third time today. She picked up the perfume, putting it to her nose to smell it.  

It smelled... oddly childish, like something a high school girl would wear, the perfume hit like a sugar rush, cheap, vanilla spray laced with artificial strawberry. There was a desperate sweetness to it like someone trying really hard to smell grown-up. Not at all what Dani envisioned.  

But this whole thing wasn’t what Dani envisioned. When she heard this place was run by a Mistress in the note, she imagined a woman in a stunning red cocktail dress, slowly descending an elegant set of stairs, a glass of red wine betwixt her fingers. Not a woman with a gun at the hip she wasn’t afraid to use... with odd tastes, as she looked at Celeste and back to the perfume.  

A chill ran down her spine, as she quickly puffed two sprays, one on each side of her neck. “Good?” She turned to Valentina, as they walked to the door together.  

“Perfect.” She said with a smile.  

“Anything else I need to know?”   

“Just... Just do as she asks, okay? Even if it’s unpleasant , or uncomfortable . You seem like a good person, it would suck if you didn’t come back...”  

Valentina opened the door, the office was still, quiet, empty. “Thank you, besides the shocking thing you aren’t too bad.”   

“I’ll take it.” she chuckled.  

With a deep breath, Dani took a full step out of the Bathroom into the office, her body tensed on pure memory alone. When she opened her eyes, she was standing outside the bathroom perfectly fine. The collar did turn off, or at least the proximity to the bathroom was. As it still glowed red. Powered on, but inactive.  

Valentina pointed to the door behind the desk as the one to go through after knocking once. “Good luck,” she said as Dani heard the door creak closed.  

Dani stood in front of said door, her heart a lump in her throat, her mind racing with thoughts of what would happen when she went in. Did going in count as giving consent? Does a sex slave even have the power to consent? Did Dani want to have sex with her? The question put a murky feeling in her heart and mind. Running now was pointless, she was wearing a deathtrap around her neck, even if it was inactive, Dani bet the woman could still manually shock her. So, she did the only thing she could do.  

Knocking on the door once, she received no reply, so nervously she twisted the brass doorknob and pushed the door open... the light in the room was dim, it was hard to make anything out from outside, but she could hear water running. Mistress was in the shower apparently.   

Good, Daniella could get a moment to collect herself. She slowly entered the room. The floors were hardwood like the office, the overhead lighting was sophisticated like in a smart home, it looked like it was controlled by another app or something as Dani didn’t spot any switches or sliders anywhere.  

Looking around it was clear this woman really had a thing for velvet, heavy velvet drapes, deep crimson coming from the ceiling to the floor, and the scent of jasmine and sandalwood lingering in the air, Dani gulped as she saw animal pelts being used as area rugs.  

Wolves, coyotes, and beavers, were all used sparingly throughout the room, and they weren’t for show, the sharpshooting and hunting trophies displaying the walls, told Dani these were all her kills.  

A small fireplace inactively sat by the hearth and a fainting couch, and a mirrored vanity stood nearby, a glass of water sat on it alone, the water cloudy and muddled, something clearly mixed inside.  

The centerpiece tying it all together is of course a massive four-post bed with dark hand-crafted wood, its posts wrapped in gaudy silks and velvets that can be drawn for privacy, the bedding even more layers of fine silks and captured furs, pillows of varying sizes arranged with meticulous care.  

The bed itself looked like it cost more than Dani’s rent for a year.   

The bathroom door was just another one of four doors in this room, one obviously led to the office, and another to the bathroom, the other two, however... Dani imagined one led to the corridor and the other was a walk-in closet maybe?

But Dani didn’t have any more time to have living space envy as she heard the water stop in the next room, and a shower door open.   

She tensed up, every muscle in her body as her Mistress stepped out from the bathroom...  

‘ Thank fucking Christ she isn’t naked.’   

It wasn’t much better, however, as she stepped out in an off-white silk bathrobe, it clinging to her curves and exposed cleavage, leaving her long slender legs exposed, very little was being left to the imagination.  

Dani thought the woman's boots were adding massively to her height, but even barefoot she was over six feet tall.  

She hated to admit it... but she was fucking beautiful, it was making her heart thump in her chest and made her feel slightly inadequate that she was dressed in a crummy oversized T-shirt.   

“You didn’t drink the water I left out for you?” She motioned towards the cloudy water on the vanity.   

“Y-You... put something in it... I don’t want-”   

“You will drink it. All of it .” She said taking the towel wrapped around her head, before sitting on the fainting couch. Her wavy dark hair straightened by the water.  

Dani understood it wasn’t a request so she had no choice, either drink it or it’d be forced down her throat... but maybe she could get something out of her for it.  

“What’s in it?”   

“Just some Aspirin...” [ Among other things.]  

Those other things were exactly what scared her...   

“If I drink thi-”  

“ When you drink it.”  She corrected curtly.  

“After I drink this will you answer some questions for me? Honestly?   

She let out a dry chuckle at something being requested of her. “Fine, but just one, and make it a good one. Now bottoms up.” She crossed her legs in eager anticipation  

Dani’s hand shook as she picked up the drugged glass, everything in her body telling her to not do it, she held her nose as she put the glass to her lips, the water a murky grey color instead of the clear it should be, just how many pills did she mix in this to make it this color?  

Tilting the glass upwards, allowing it in her mouth almost made her gag, it tasted horrible, like drinking water with sand in it, every grain of the dissolving pills being tasted, as she attempted to chug the drug cocktail.  

As the drug-filled clear bottom of the glass became visible, she could see her Mistress grinning at her sadistically, and why shouldn’t she be, she just had Dani drug herself, like she had Dani collar herself, God knows what else she’d make Dani do to herself.  

“Good girl. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she clapped “Now ask your question.”   

Dani had no clue as to why being called a ‘good girl’ was doing something to her now of all times. She normally wasn’t the biggest fan of it, mostly because it always felt unearned, being called a good girl for just giving a woman her number, always felt like a kindergarten teacher giving a kid a gold star for counting to five. Just a little too easy.  

But now? There was a heat on her lower stomach... one she’d blame entirely on the drugs because the alternative was learning something about herself.  

Dani didn’t know how to pick, she had a billion. Like who are you? What the fuck’s going on? Why she picked Dani? If she properly buried Ruby... How old is Celeste? Why do you take people’s tongues? If they had found Lindsay or not? She settled on the one that would give her the most information.  

“Where are we, Mistress?” It was obviously in South America, but where? It would determine if Dani had any hope of escape whatsoever.  

Her Mistress laughed loudly, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “THAT’S THE ALL-IMPORTANT QUESTION?” She mocked wiping the tears.  

“You could’ve just asked your roommates that...” she sighed, not a good question in her eyes.   

“We’re in the greatest country on planet earth...” She did a mini drum roll on the ottoman in front of her.   

“Colombia. Southern Colombia to be specific. Why do you ask?”   

This was good and bad news for Dani, mostly bad, she must have family down here, being the good news, the bad news being she was almost 4000 miles from home, without a prayer of escape realistically. So, in the end, it was more soul-crushing than helpful.  

“I’m half Colombian, so I just thought I'd ask...” Mistress’s eyes went wide for just a moment before, getting back on track.   

“We can map out your family tree later, right now... you are to tie yourself to my bed posts.”  

“Excuse me?” Dani squinted hard at the bed taking a closer look, to reveal dark leather arm and leg restraints' one tied to each post.   

“Uh-I-I'm not-”  

“You’ve collared yourself; you’ve drugged yourself, and you will tie yourself up...  

“My pets leash themselves... Now show me you're a good pet. Start with your feet, for obvious reasons.”   

Whatever was in that glass was starting to take effect, she thought it might be some aphrodisiac, but her eyelids felt heavy, and the room spun just once.   

It wasn’t something to get her in the mood.  

She'd need to tie herself in quickly. Whatever the punishment was for passing out on the floor was she didn’t want it.  

“Yes, Mistress.” Uttered tiredly from Dani’s lips as she crawled into the bed, the softness of the silk sheets almost putting her to sleep instantly.   

They were rather simple Restraints, a bit of rope tied to each bedpost, that held a cold leather circular restraint at the end. They didn’t need to be, Dani was a 110-pound woman,and this would be more than enough to restrict her movement.  

Dani did as she was ordered, and slowly one by one put a leather restraint on over her ankles, tightening the buckle after finding a tight enough pinhole.   

Dani looked up, just through the velvet canopy of the bed, thinking she’d see a cruel, sadistic smile.   

It confused her to see her Mistress fidgeting  

Waiting with bated breath.  

Like she was nervous.  

[ALYA!] She barked and ten seconds later she was in the room, entering from a door Dani now had confirmation led to a corridor.   

[Fetch me a glass of wine. Something nice... vintage, I want to savor this.] Alya glanced at Dani who was struggling to restrain her wrists as she left. As usual no expression.  

‘Fucking ice queen.’   

It was painful restraining her wrists, the binds had done a number on them, they were so raw, and bruised. Dani got the first restraint on, but tightening it at all would be immensely painful, so she didn’t.  

With the use of only one hand, all she could do was slip her hand inside the cold leather of the restraint, but she didn’t have the dexterity to fasten it at all.  

She was all set, about as much as she could be, sprawled out in the middle of the bed, her legs being spread by the rope. Trying not to move her hands for the sake of her poor wrists.  

Alya returned knocking once, with a dark glass of red wine, one their Mistress would swirl around, and smell, taking a single sip before issuing a command that filled Dani with dread.  

[Make sure those are tight] She motioned towards Dani’s cuffs.   

Alya moved around the bed with surgical precision, checking the rope and tightening both leg straps tighter. Almost suffocating the blood flow to her feet. When she moved to her wrists Dani sobbed a quiet plea.  

“Please don’t, my wrists can’t. This already hurts so much Alya.” Alya glanced between Dani and her wrist, the deep purple bruising already taking hold  

The cold leather seared against her wrist as Alya tightened her right restraint. Making her produce a small whimper.   

“Please! Please have mercy. I'm begging you.” She looked down at Dani who was becoming a teary-eyed mess, then to the other cuff. Before getting up from the bed and walking away... not tightening the last restraint at all.  

[They are tight Mistress.]  

Dani let out a sigh of relief. Alya was an odd case, but she was helping her—first the note and now this. Did she pity Dani? Her eyes never said pity, but they were just like the rest of her, never saying much.  

[Thank you, you may leave us.] and with a single bow she was gone.  

Leaving the two women alone.  

An awkward silence fills the air  

As Dani looked out through the canopy to see Mistress down her glass of wine The drug cocktail took heavy effect... it didn’t seem like a sexual aid, more like a bunch of sleeping pills dissolved in some water  

‘ She’s going to take me in my sleep?’   

Her vision began to blur as Mistress’s figure got closer and closer, her eyelids feeling like they weighed 20,000 pounds, rapidly slammed shut. As she began to drift, sound began to distort and the steps sounded miles away... she felt a hand grace her cheek, softly, with care, not sexually.  

[God has brought you back to me.]  

[My ----]  

Nothing.  

Chapter Text

“Daniella... Daniella....” Someone was poking Dani in her sleep 

“Mhm, five more minutes Rose...” She swatted the pesky hand away. 

“Daniella, it’s almost shower time.”  

‘Shower time?’ As Dani stirred awake, she felt the cold uncomfortable cot underneath her, her bare legs, cold and uncovered, she jolted awake. Sitting up 

“BE CAREFU-”  

*THWACK*  

As Dani tried to sit up, she felt her head crash against hard ceramic. A thudding pain hit the top of her head like she’d just been struck with a club. Throbbing pain rattled her brain around in its bone cage. 

Her eyes jutting open, she saw an unfortunately familiar black tiled bathroom... she was in a dark alcove, right under a bathroom sink. Yesterday wasn’t a dream, and the platinum blonde checking her head for cuts or bruises was real. 

“Valentina?”  

“Yep, that’s my name. Nice to see hitting your head didn’t give you amnesia.” She chuckled.  

Looking around, Dani saw Celeste preparing various shower products: rags, soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. Dani looked at the clock.  

8:52 AM 

But she had a question before it was embarrassing shower time. 

“How did I get back here?” Last night's memory was completely foggy, she wasn’t sure if it was the drugs or hitting her head, but her head was throbbing, and she couldn’t recall anything from after Alya checked her straps. 

“Hmm,” Valentina put a finger on her bottom lip. “Well, I was asleep, and when I woke up, you were back. I'm a heavy sleeper... so sorry. Maybe Celeste saw. You can ask her, but if you don’t remember, maybe you hit your head harder than we thought?”  

She went back to inspecting Dani’s head for bruises, which there were none. 

Valentina hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Dani being drugged, which told her it was abnormal that Mistress did that to her, she however didn’t want to hide anything from the two of them. 

“Can we talk later? All of us? There's some stuff I wanna go over.” She planned to ask if Mistress ever drugged either of them and what ‘services’ they provide Mistress... 

Because while Dani couldn’t remember last night, she was almost certain they didn’t have sex 

Nothing felt ‘disturbed’ she was still in the same shirt from the night before and there wasn’t any evidence of any dried fluids on it. 

But most of all 

She felt unsatisfied. 

When Alya was tightening her leg restraints she couldn’t help but feel a little... excited.  

And she wasn’t going to blame the drugs for this one, a jacked blonde tying her up and having her way with her... well a woman can dream.  

“Yeah, we have more stuff to go over anyway, so after we shower let's, all have a peewee pow-wow.” Dani didn’t know what on Earth that meant or where people said that, but it sounded like she agreed. 

“This is going to be a little awkward for me...” Dani motioned towards the showerhead. 

“Have you ever played a sport?”  

“Uh- Yeah, I played tennis throughout high school and college what doe-”  

“So, you showered in a locker room and saw your teammates naked? Well just think of us as your teammates.” Valentina smiled like it was so simple. Not knowing that Dani had felt so guilty her entire time playing tennis that she could see her teammates naked, if they knew about her sexuality would they make her wait outside while they changed? Scream at her? Call her a freak? Avoid her? 

Or kick her off the team entirely?  

Not that she was leering, she felt guilty enough, so she always just kept her head down and never participated in whatever game of grab ass the others were playing. It had already gotten her in trouble once...  

Dani was pulled out of her reminiscing about the ‘bad old days’ by Valentina taking her by the hand and leading her to stand under the shower head. There were no valves or knobs, it appears to be remotely activated or on a timer.  

Like a sprinkler system. 

“I’d take my shirt off if I was you.” before Dani could even ask what, Valentina was already pulling Dani’s shirt over her shoulders. 

“Wait! Yo-you can’t just!” Valentina was surprisingly strong, but Dani was stuck in between trying to struggle to keep her shirt and cover her now exposed... well everything. 

With her forearm covering her breasts and her other hand covering her anatomy she was powerless to struggle as Valentina ripped the shirt from her head and threw it in a hamper resting in the corner. 

Dani squeezed her eyes shut. If she couldn’t see anything, then Celeste and Valentina didn’t exist, and wouldn’t be looking at her naked body.  

“This is humiliating...”  

“Daniella open your eyes... you probably won’t like this but listen to me when I give you this advice.” Dani slowly opened her eyes.  

Valentina was standing on her tippy toes to make their gazes even, her deep blue eyes meeting Dani’s green drinking her all in.  

“GROW UP!” She thundered at Dani, 

 “We are all the same woman’s sex slaves! What are you going to do if she calls two of us? Or all three of us? Stand around covering your eyes? I understand this must be very scary, sleeping with women must be new for you, but I promise it gets better over time...”  

‘What? They... they think- I'm straight...’ Dani was in two minds about whether to correct her or not, on one hand lying to them could damage their relationship, and having to live in the same area if they got on bad terms could get dicey... 

On the other hand, Dani had never come out to anyone before, even her brother only found out by going through Dani’s phone... and the little voice in the back of her head was screaming at her not to. 

While Dani was hmming and hawing Valentina and Celeste were stripping. 

Valentina’s entire chest bounced as she ripped off the garment. Valentina’s nipples were natural and unblemished a delicate shade of pink, subtly inverted, as if shyly retreating inward.  

Dani rapidly covered her eyes, as to not drink in any more of the woman’s curves. 

She heard two thuds of shirts hitting the hamper and Valentina issued a warning.  

“It’s going to be really cold, just don’t move out, because coming back in just makes it ten times worse.”  

“Wha-” before she could finish the showerhead sprang to life, jetting glacially cold freezing water at them. The water hit Dani like a slab of falling ice. 

The first splash hitting her spine made her gasp, “GHH-God- f-f-fucking freezing.” she choked, arms and hands leaving her eyes to try and warm her body. Dani couldn’t, she needed to step out, the cold was crushing her, tormenting her.  

“Nope, you aren’t going anywhere.” Valentina grabbed Dani by her waist. Her soaking wet freezing hands felt like being held by an ice sculpture. 

“P-P-Please l-let me g-go.” Her teeth chattering as a constant stream of ice-cold water pelted her. 

Being from Texas, southern Texas of all places Dani had little to no experience with the cold, the few times it did snow in El Paso the city was almost completely paralyzed until it ceased.  

“While showers last ten minutes you don’t have to use the full time if you can clean yourself well enough to leave early...” Valentina was giving Dani a hint.  

Just clean yourself. 

Get it over with.  

Dani never cleaned herself so fast in her life, it helped that Alya had washed her hair yesterday, so she didn’t need to today.  

She kept her shivering head pointed at the floor, watching the soapy water trail off her legs into one of the many drains.  

“Daniella?” Dani looked up to both women staring at her, her collarbone specifically, and when Dani looked at theirs, she understood why. 

Both women had a small ‘P’ encased in a circle right below their collarbone. A brand... pale and gray against their skin from age. 

“Where’s your brand...?” Valentina asked, but Celeste for once looked just as interested, Dani had been avoiding looking at Celeste due to her questionable age, but she was right... 

The shirt was hiding curves; all be it petite ones. 

The cold water poured over her small frame, she was compact and delicately built, narrow shoulders, a soft waist, limbs that almost seemed too slender for the strength she carried them with. 

Beads of water clung to her skin, tracing the gentle curve of her back and the subtle lines of her hips, her blue hair now darkened by the water clung to her forehead and neck in messy strands, her honey-eyed gaze fixed on Dani as she waited for an answer. 

One Dani didn’t have.  

Dani didn’t know why Mistress didn’t have her branded, she was grateful of course, but when Alya asked to get her branded Mistress simply said, ‘It wouldn’t be necessary.’  

Whatever the reason she was receiving special treatment.  

“I don’t know?” It wasn’t exactly a lie, she needed to flip this situation, quickly, before the others could get suspicious.  

“What does the ‘P’ stand for?” She asked looking back and forth between their letters.  

“Well, Pet ... obviously.” it looked like she had more to say but. The water abruptly stopped, and Dani glanced at the clock 

9:10 AM 

Her freezing torment was over, Celeste and Valentina walked over to where three towels were hanging, one a deep navy blue, another hot pink, and lastly a red velvet towel, they were color-coded to their collars...their waterproof collars it seems. 

Valentina threw a still-shivering Dani the velvet towel. “The ‘P’ also has a second meaning...” She added.  

“Protected,” Valentina said flatly. Dani remembered this from yesterday, her explanation of why they lived in the bathroom being it was easier to ‘protect’ them. 

“Protected? Protected from who?” Dani asked as she wrapped the towel around herself, regaining some form of basic dignity. 

“The soldiers, the staff, everyone that isn’t Mistress. As her property others aren’t allowed to touch us, it’s why it’s weird you don’t have one... maybe she doesn’t see you as a pet.”  

Celeste at hearing this tugged on Valentina’s towel, the platinum blonde lowered herself to Celeste’s height as the small woman whispered something in her ear. Dani now had confirmation that she could talk, just not to Dani.  

Valentina looked troubled as Celeste finished her whispering in her ear. “What did she say?”  

“She said maybe you don’t have one because you aren’t protected...”  

it wasn’t just a brand... it was a seal of protection. A mark. Dani felt her throat bob as she gulped on reflex, if she didn’t have a brand did it mean she wasn’t protected? Was this woman going to make her beg for a brand?  

Or was she going to let others use her?  

“I-I have to talk to her, she can’t do that to me, she said I was special, she can’t do that to me! She can’t!” Dani muttered to herself, walking towards the door if Mistress was in her office she could talk to her... just for a moment, ask for protection. Beg for it, if need be. 

“She won’t be out there.” Dani turned around to see Valentina digging in the bottom drawer of the vanity the only one with an unlabeled name or that wasn’t locked. “She doesn’t start working in her office until at least 10:00 AM”  

She stated as she threw Dani a T-shirt, familiarly grey, cotton, and oversized. “This, is your drawer, come over.”  

Dani threw the shirt over her still-wet hair and dragged it down around her body before dropping the towel from around herself and joining the women by the vanity. She peered into the drawer, seeing more T-shirts and hygiene products. 

“Alya stocked this shortly after Mistress called you, you get four of these shirts, the one you're wearing and the one in the hamper count. Alya collects our laundry every other day, at noon. We get it back after dinner. She also left you, deodorant, lotion, and extra toothpaste.”  

Valentina then took out the small key from her drawer, using it to unlock the top compartment, she took out a sharpie and a roll of tape. “Your name is ‘Daniella’ that’s with a double ‘L’ right?”

“It is double ‘L’, but you can just write Dani.” As if totally ignoring her like earlier when they were first introduced, she wrote out Daniella’s full name and slapped the tape over the drawer. 

“Sorry. We call you what Mistress calls you, it’s just the rules. Hell, my name wasn’t Valentina before...” She made a pained expression, one like she was remembering a life before. 

“What’s your real name? I can call you that, and you can call me Dani.”  

“Isn’t that Cruel? To call someone by a name that symbolizes a life they don’t live anymore... We don’t need any reminders of before this is home now, Mistress changing my name was a small blessing. You will call me Valentina, and I will call you Daniella. End of story.”  

It was silent for a long time after that, as the atmosphere turned surprisingly chilly, the three women brushed their teeth in silence. Dani understood that she had stepped in it. 

Valentina accepted her life here, fantasies about escape, and returning to their ‘real lives’ were just that, fantasies. So she didn’t need her ‘real name’ anymore.

Dani wanted to apologize but something in her head stopped her, yeah, she had stepped in it, but she just wanted to be called Dani. Her freedom had been stolen from her; her dignity stripped from her like Alya taking off her clothes yesterday. 

Yet asking for a single morsel of individuality was rejected. Just to be called by the name she’d been called since she was five years old, playing in the park and a boy who couldn’t pronounce Daniella nicknamed her Dani. 

She couldn’t even have her identity.  

That was Mistress’s too. 

Dani sat on her cot, glaring at the clock, counting down the minutes to 10:00 AM, it was only 9:45 and the anxiety was eating at her, what if Mistress told her she wasn’t protected? It made her feel sick. 

If she had anything in her stomach to chuck up, she would, but having not eaten in close to two days the only thing she was feeling in her stomach was sharp pangs of hunger, her body’s desperate call for her to eat something, anything.  

4:30 couldn’t come soon enough.  

Looking around the bathroom, hoping a Wendy’s had appeared in the time since she last looked around, she had no luck. But she realized something weird.  

There were only two cots... 

For three women... 

Valentina and Celeste sat on the same cot, both idly reading a book, however, she got back, Dani had been placed in the cot under the sink, did that mean Celeste and Valentina were sleeping... together? 

Was that the reason their cot was slightly larger?  

Celeste must’ve felt Dani’s gaze as she turned her head locking eyes with Dani for a moment before rapidly looking away and whispering something to Valentina. 

“What?” Valentina’s voice carried the smallest hint of annoyance as she closed her book. 

“Uh-um I-I was just wondering if you two were... togeth-” 

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK*  

Whoever was knocking didn’t wait for an answer, as the door swung open and the sound of ballet flats clicking on the tile filled the room. It was Alya looking just as she did yesterday. 

Like time hadn’t moved. 

Dani watched as in real time it seemed like Celeste shrunk down becoming even smaller than she was, trying her best to hide behind Valentina. 

“Valentina... Mistress would like a word in your ear.” She was talking to Valentina of course, but for some reason, she was glaring.  

Right at Dani. Not angrily, not with any emotion, just staring. 

Valentina stood, taking a step towards the vanity, assuming she might need the perfume... when Alya grabbed her by the wrist, shaking her head ‘no’ at her. 

It wasn’t that kind of call. 

Dani had to admit, she was kind of happy... if Mistress only used her, she’d be safe, protected.  

Mistress wanting a word probably wasn’t a good thing. As Valentina noticeably gulped, Alya motioned her out of the room and Celeste gave her a small wave as she left. 

As the door shut behind them Celeste pressed her ear against it, in an attempt to eavesdrop Dani guessed. 

Dani normally would’ve joined her, but she really had to go.  

She probably wouldn’t get a better opportunity to use the bathroom than this, with Valentina gone and Celeste... well Celeste was going to ignore her either way.  

She could go in relative privacy. Not that it wasn’t absolutely humiliating.  

It was.  

Washing her hands afterward, she swore if she got called every day this week, she’d request a divider. Before joining Celeste at the door, pressing her ear to the door she couldn’t hear anything. 

Whatever they were doing they were being quiet, or they weren’t in the office. 

“Did you hear anything?” Dani figured she might as well try and get the girl to speak to her. It went about as well as she expected. 

She completely ignored her...  

‘Great, I’ll just go fuck myself.’  

“Did you see how I got back? Valentina said you might have seen.” She expected to be ignored again, but she wasn’t... Celeste unpressed her ear from the door and nodded at Dani. 

Not making eye contact, she started miming something. 

She flexed her arms, and did a carrying motion over her back, before pointing at the cot Dani had woken up on. 

The sheer absurdity of it threw Dani off for a minute, she could talk, Dani knew she could... why was she playing charades with her? It took her longer than it should’ve to connect the dots.  

“Alya carried me back?” The small woman nodded, and Dani had her answer, that’s one mystery solved at least. She thought to herself. Maybe she could get something else from her. 

“Why won’t you talk to me? Do you dislike me?”  

She shook her head, looking around the room for a visual aid. Her eyes landed on the clock, before pointing at it. 

“Clock?”  

She shook her head again, trying to clarify she stopped for a few seconds, trying to think, she pointed to the clock again and then tapped her wrist, imitating a wristwatch.  

“Time?”  

She nodded her head. Pointing at Dani and then repeating the ‘time’ motion.  

“You won’t talk to me because what time of day it is?” It was safe to say Dani was completely lost. She had never played charades before. 

A loud groan escaped Celeste as she scratched at her hair. Looking like she wanted to pull it out. She repeated the motion several times for minutes until it clicked for Dani who felt stupid once it did. 

“You won’t talk to me because I haven’t been here long enough?”  

She nodded. And gave Dani a small smile, making eye contact briefly.  

Dani didn’t really ‘get it’ Did she think Dani would die or something? Trying not to get attached maybe? It was good to know she didn’t hate Dani, however. “Have... have you seen a lot of people come and go?”  

She nodded. Somberly this time. Slowly. 

Dani finally remembered the woman in the cages yesterday, the one with hair, the one with a ‘P’ brand. She was one of them, but dead in a cage. What had happened? What did she do? She made a mental note to ask Valentina later. 

Dani really couldn’t blame her, maybe a bit, because she thought Dani might die, but Dani thought Dani might die or worse. She’d just have to act tougher than she felt. Just to reassure Celeste and herself.  

“I won’t die so easily.” She said with way more bravado than someone who planned to go grovel for protection had any right to. 

Celeste opened her mouth like she was going to say something... when the door swinging open stopped her. It was Valentina, she was back. 

But not in the state she had left in. 

Her bottom lip was bleeding, busted, her cheeks red, and palm prints gracing her normally milky skin. She glanced at Dani quickly, with tears in her eyes before returning her gaze to Celeste who looked mortified. 

She had been slapped repeatedly. 

Violently.  

“What happened!” Dani reached out a hand just in an effort to console the bruised woman. 

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” She sat down on her cot leaning against the wall, Celeste was wetting a rag to clean up her lip. “Just... please don’t touch me.” 

“I-I-I don’t understand... what’s going on?”  

“We aren’t allowed…not allowed to touch one another... She didn’t enforce it before.” She muttered to herself. 

‘Touch one another? Didn’t enforce it before?’ The only time Dani could recall Valentina touching her was holding her by the waist in the shower... how would Mistress have seen that?  

A chill ran down her spine, as she frantically scanned the room for cameras. 

That’s when she saw it, in a dark corner. Just barely illuminated by the light. 

Red. Blinking. Surveying.  

She was watching them. 

She had watched them shower... 

Watched Dani shower. 

She didn’t even have the time to feel sick, as she felt a tap on her shoulder that made her jump what felt like ten feet in the air. Giving her a mini panic attack. 

It was Alya, she was behind her... How long had she been there?  

“Daniella, Mistress would like a word.”  

She glanced in the mirror, her collar was glowing red. She panicked she didn’t want what Valentina had gotten.  

“WAIT! Wait, I didn’t touch anyone I swear! I didn’t even know it was a rule.”  

“IT’S A LITTLE EARLY IN THE MORNING TO BE GROVELING ISN’T IT? ALYA JUST BRING HER HERE.” Dani heard yelled from the office. Alya seized her by the arm, pulling her out of the bathroom, she heard Valentina start sobbing as she was. The door closed behind her, as she was dragged out. 

The office smelled like the sweet aroma of pancakes, eggs, and sausage. Which even despite her fear made her stomach growl with need.  

Mistress had her hands folded in front of her on the desk. A plate with a single sausage patty remained with crumbs of eggy remnants next to her hands. The chair that sat across from her yesterday, was gone, removed. 

She was dressed nearly identically to yesterday. Boots, jeans, but the white silk blouse had been swapped for a maroon-red one, the same bolo tie as well, an emblem of a snake eating a rose. Her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. 

Alya stood her in front of the desk and excused herself, Dani breathed a small sigh of relief, if anyone was going to do the slapping it was probably her. Not that the woman in front of her wasn’t extremely dangerous herself. 

The revolver was still on her hip.  

More than a threat, a symbol of Dani’s humiliation when she thought it wasn’t loaded. 

“Good morning, Daniella. How’d you sleep?”  

‘What? She drugged me... slapped Valentina, watched me shower and she’s just saying good morning?’  

“You-You watched me shower?” Dani had no idea why she was angriest about that one out of the way more pressing issues.  

Mistress’s smirk quickly faded, and her demeanor shifted. Leaning back in her chair. The pleasantries were over. 

“I did. And a good thing I did, some major rule-breaking was taking place. Letting her hold your hand? Really?”  

‘Hand holding? ...When she led me to the shower by the hand?’ She slapped her for holding my hand?’  

Dani was confused, to say the least. “B-But I don’t have a brand... I’m not protected, why do you care if someone touches me?”  

“PFTTTT” Mistress’s shoulder rocked slightly as she tried to contain a laugh. “Is that what they told you?” She beckoned Dani around the desk with her index finger.  

She scooted her chair back as Dani rounded the desk's hard oak corners. “Sit.” She commanded the only place to sit being her lap... 

Dani didn’t see an alternative. 

Dani sat down, curling her legs sideways, putting them over the armrest, head resting on her Mistress’s shoulder, as one of Mistress’ hands claimed and cradled Dani’s waist possessively. 

Her fingers tracing circles absent-mindedly against the fabric of Dani’s shirt.  

“I will never let another have you.” Her voice in a low velvet growl against Dani’s ear. 

Dani wasn’t sure where she felt the heat surge to first, her face, or between her legs. She had to ask about last night... just to confirm. 

“Mistress, last night, we didn’t...”  

“No.” the softness in her voice was gone, back was the cold, stern, calculated woman from before. 

“Our first time you will be awake, conscious, begging for me, yearning for me.” Her free hand began tracing the damp curls at the bottom of Dani’s neck. 

[As I’ve always yearned for you.]  

“Only then will we make love, but no point in talking about something so distant, you’ll be a changed woman then.”  

“A changed woman? Mistress?” Dani was honestly confused and overstimulated. ‘As I've always yearned for you’ Dani was certain the first time she’d ever met this woman was yesterday. 

How did she know Dani, but Dani didn’t know her?  

“Yes, by the time you fall for me, you’ll be much different.”  

Dani gulped hard, this woman had plans for her, plans she wasn’t privy to. Plans that involved her changing. 

“But all of this hinges on you staying, obedient, but I don’t think we’ll have any problems you’ll be a good girl, won’t you Daniella?”  

There was only one answer She could give to that. 

“The best, Mistress.” Dani could feel Mistress’s grin forming against her neck, as someone knocked on the office door. 

[Come in!]  

Dani tried to get up, instinctually, whoever it was didn’t need to see Dani tenderly lying across this woman’s lap.  

But the hand on her waist pulled her back. “No, you don’t go anywhere, until I tell you.” Stopping Dani cold.  

It was the man from yesterday, Emiliano, Alya over his right shoulder, he took off his cap to speak, revealing his dark, short hair. He didn’t look at Dani or acknowledge her presence in any way. 

[Mistress, your brother is here, requesting an audience...] 

The grip around Dani’s waist got tight, very tight. Before letting go altogether. 

“Go back to your room.” She said through gritted teeth. 

“But Mi-” 

“NOW!” Dani scrambled out of her lap, she had never yelled at Dani before, it didn’t feel nice, and she was sure Mistress wouldn’t repeat herself.  

Dani kissed the sweet smell of her Mistress’s Jasmine and vanilla perfume goodbye, along with the sausage patty she had forgotten to ask for, as she made her way back to the door. 

[What does that bastard want?] 

With Juilo being her nephew, she knew Mistress had at least one sibling, but from the sounds of basically telling Dani to hide and calling him a bastard... they didn’t get along. Clearly.  

She tried to linger by the door, and get more information, to no success as when she got to the door Alya pushed her inside. Pulling a small key from her pouch and locking the door as she shut it in Dani’s face.  

Locked in.  

Who was this guy that Dani and the others needed to be locked in here? 

Maybe this is what Valentina meant by protection... 

Speaking of Valentina, Dani went to check on her, she was lying on her cot facing the wall, Celeste sat on the floor next to her, reading with one hand, lightly stroking Valentina’s hair with the other. 

Not afraid of being slapped for touching it seemed. 

She made a shushing motion towards Dani when she met her gaze. Dani went and sat on her cot.  

To Mistress’s question of how she slept the answer was she felt like she hadn’t slept at all. So, she’d copy Valentina. Not well of course the cot was about as comfortable as sleeping on the floor she surmised.  

Her hips and shoulders pressed into the hard support bars, leaving dull aching the longer she lay, the cot creaking every time Dani shifted for better positioning like it was protesting Dani being there. 

No pillows, no blanket, just the coarse fabric of the cot against her legs, it felt like sleeping on top of a wet towel.  

Yet, even with the million questions circling her head, and laying on something not fit for a dog, exhaustion claimed her. 

Sleep came in fitful snatches, shallow, the kind of sleep where dreams are broken and stagnant, despite being asleep she could still feel the cot beneath her. Feel her neck stiffening, she stirred awake occasionally, confused and sore. Before repositioning and drifting again... 

“Daniella... Daniella...” someone was poking her.  

“Mhm, what is it?” still tired she didn’t open her eyes.  

“Dinner in 20 minutes, thought you’d like to know.”  

“Food!” She sat up forgetting where she was...  

*THWACK*  

Hitting her head on the underside of the sink for a second time today. 

“God, you need to remember you are sleeping here.” Valentina said checking her head for injuries again. Twisting her head, touching her.  

“Should you be touching me? I don’t want anyone to get hurt again.” Valentina smiled softly, her lip still busted but healing, not bleeding anymore. 

“It’s fine” She chuckled “Under here is one of the camera’s blind spots.”  

“It would’ve been really nice to know about the camera beforehand.” She didn’t like that Valentina hadn’t laid out all the rules yesterday or told her that Mistress was fucking watching them. Maybe even listening, who knew if that camera had sound. 

“Sorry, we normally don’t tell newbies about it just because they start freaking out... ‘what if it’s live streaming to the dark web.’ and all the other conspiracies come out.”  

Dani hadn’t thought about that before... now she was freaking out. “It’s not... it’s not streaming, is it?”  

“Nobody would want to watch this would they?” She added. 

“Yeah... who’d want to watch three pretty women in captivity shower... I'm sure there’s no market for that.” Every word oozed sarcasm.  

“You aren’t making me feel any better.”  

She chuckled again, “Sorry, nothing we can do about it either way, so better to not worry about it. That's just my opinion.” 

“Come out and wash up, we usually play a little cards before dinner is served.” Dani did as she was asked, washing her face and hands she sat down, forming a small circle with the other women as they played a game of old maid. 

Playing, you would’ve never guessed that one of them got slapped earlier, the atmosphere was pretty jovial for a bunch of women who were locked in a bathroom. They laughed and teased as Celeste lost game after game, she had absolutely no poker face.  

Making the world's most eager face when Dani or Valentina was about to take the old maid from her, which made both women obviously pick a different card. Which made her look like she was about to cry. 

Valentina however, had an insane poker face, doing her best Alya impression, her expression never changed, even as Dani took the old maid from her hand. She didn’t even grin.  

This game was surprisingly close, as Valentina was clearly helping Celeste, every time she got the old maid Valentina would take it from her... intentionally, shuffle her cards, and present them to Dani.  

Dani shuffled her two cards around, one the old maid and the other the two of clubs. If Celeste took the two Dani lost, it was surprisingly tense her competitive juices flowing for some reason. 

Celeste put her finger over the lone queen- The old maid, but Dani was pretending not to understand Spanish, her poker face had to be decent at least as she felt Celeste tug for the card.  

*Cough*  

Valentina coughed loudly, dramatically, clearly telling her to take the other card. Cheating . 

And Celeste did, making the final pair she needed, slapped the cards down of the pile, leaving Dani the only person with a card left...  

The queen of diamonds stared back at her. 

The old maid. 

She lost.  

“NO! Rematch, without any cheating this time.”  

“Why, whatever do you mean... you can’t possibly be questioning the integrity of little ole me.” She laughed. And for some reason, the anger in Dani evaporated. 

Not only was it just a game, but she clearly cared for Celeste, enough to make her not want to lose every single game. It made Dani wonder... 

If Mistress played with them, would she cheat so Dani didn’t lose? It was a childish thought, one that disappeared as she heard knocking on the door. She glanced at the clock.  

4:30 PM. 

The door swung open, and a cart was pushed inside, holding a covered tray and three bottles of water. It didn’t smell like anything, but it didn’t matter... Whatever was under that tray Dani would engulf it whole. 

Alya took the hood off the tray and Dani’s heart dropped. The others rapidly grabbed their PB&J and a bottle digging in ravenously, but Dani couldn’t... 

‘NO! NO! No, no, no.’  

“Uh- I’m really sorry, but I can’t eat this.” Alya tilted her head, not a confused look on her face but in her posture.  

“I-I’m allergic... to peanut butter...Peanuts in general.” it felt like a cruel joke, the world laughing at Dani one more time. Starving, but if she ate that she’d die, her throat would close up and she’d have an anaphylactic reaction.  

And she doubted this place had EpiPen’s...  

Alya made a sound that could only be described as a cackle, the corners of her mouth moving upwards in a small grin before she quickly stifled it. This of all things being what made the ‘ice queen’ crack.  

“Please! It's not funny... I'm... I’m starving, please Can I have something else?” Her face quickly blanked again, she took the sandwich and the bottle of water and set them on the vanity. Before trying to wheel the cart out of the room.  

Dani quickly cut her off standing at the entryway, “Please, just something else... anything else.” Mistress wasn’t in her office, maybe still in her meeting with her brother, or doing something else. Dani had no idea what Mistress did on a day-to-day basis. 

And she felt the cold metal of the cart ram against her legs just once, almost knocking her out of the room... her collar still active, Alya was giving her a silent ultimatum, get out of her way or she’d push her out of the room using the cart. 

She didn’t want to be shocked. So, she stepped aside as Alya who looked more bored than anything wheeled the cart out and shut the door in her face a second time. 

Dani crumpled to the floor in tears, her fingers trembling as they reached for the hem of her shirt, the ache gnawing at her ribs, deep and constant, the last time she had eaten was over two days ago on her home date with Rose.  

Dani had made them her specialty, Spaghetti, and lobster, no garlic bread, as she had hoped things would move into the bedroom after dinner... 

Now? If she wanted to eat, she’d have to kill herself. She would have savored the meal so much more if she knew this was her fate, crying against a bathroom floor her stomach twisting so violently it felt personal like her body betraying her.  

Alya didn’t come back.  

And Dani lay in her cot, still sobbing, something she wouldn’t even have the energy for in a few days if this continued.  

Her roommate's silent apart from Valentina asking if they could have her sandwich, which she gave the thumbs up to, she couldn’t eat it. Someone might as well enjoy it, as they split it down the middle each woman getting a half. 

“At least drink your water... Tomorrow she might have something different for you.” She heard Valentina say as she rolled the bottle towards Dani. 

Picking up the bottle, she noticed the water was a little cloudy and the seal was already broken... more drugs, she looked at her roomie's water bottles and theirs was clouded as well.  

“What’s in this...?”  

“Don’t worry it’s completely harmless, just some birth control.” 

“BIRTH CONTROL?” Her mind went back to earlier when Mistress said she wouldn’t let anyone else have her... but she was putting her on birth control, she panicked, almost starting to pour it down the drain before Valentina stopped her. 

“Calm down! Jesus, it’s just to stop our periods.” 

“Stop our periods?”  

“Yes, that’s it... it’s probably cheaper to do this than to buy tampons for three different women every month. Probably more convenient too.” Celeste nodded along backing her up. 

“Convenient? How so?”  

“Well three women all living in the same small space... eventually our periods would synch up and there’d be a week Mistress couldn’t call any of us.” 

“Surely she could tell us that, instead of just slipping it in our drinks...” 

“Actually... that’s my fault, I should’ve explained yesterday, but we were in a bit of a time crunch, and you got here way after dinner. So, I thought I could save it for later and just forgot. That’s my bad.”  

“Does she ever drug you guys in other ways?” Dani asked finally getting around to what she had wanted to ask almost eight hours ago. 

“Other ways?” both women lifting an eyebrow.  

“Like when she calls you, she doesn’t make you drink anything?”  

Celeste looking at Valentina shook her head. “No, did she do that to you?”  

She filled them in on everything that happened when she went into Mistress’s chambers, the cloudy glass on the vanity, the feeling of tiredness, waking up back here not remembering falling asleep.  

“Are you sure you didn’t just fall asleep? Mistress’s bed is crazy comfy...” Valentina didn’t seem to believe her at all.  

“NO. I know what happened... she drugged me.”  

Valentina made a face like she wasn’t convinced, “Why would she do that? She already has you; she doesn’t need to knock you out to have sex with you. It doesn’t make sense for her to do that.”  

She was right... it doesn’t make sense. She had her tied down. If she wanted to have sex with her, she would’ve just done it with a Dani who couldn’t move. Not knock her out with something way stronger than a sleeping pill. Despite it not making sense Dani would bet her life on it being what happened. 

“Mistress told me, that we didn’t have sex... that is what we get called to do right...?”  

“Other than sex what would she call us for? You probably just fell asleep, and she wasn’t going to touch a sleeping woman. I mean what’s the alternative? Knocking you out with drugs and staring at you all night?” she laughed hard as she said it, but Dani couldn’t think of what else she could possibly have done with her unconscious body. 

She believed her Mistress when she said they didn’t have sex, it wasn’t a part of her plan, not yet. But talking to these two about it seemed pointless, Valentina was basically laughing at her and Celeste still hadn’t said a word, looking confused. 

Honestly, every theory Dani could come up with in her head sounded ridiculous, and she just wanted something to take her mind off it. 

“Can I have a book?”  

Valentina nodded, smiling she unlocked the top compartment, and gave Dani a small selection.  

“Why do you have the key to that? If you don’t mind me asking...” She questioned flipping through the books, the only author she recognized being a few Stephen King books. 

“Hmm, I guess it’s something like seniority? I’ve been here the longest of the three of us, so I get the small privilege of a key to a drawer.”  

Dani picked ‘Under the Dome’ by Mr. King she found it ironic, a book about being trapped, she chuckled to herself as she gave the rest of the books back.  

“How long have you been here?” Dani asked, opening her book.  

“Just over a year, I only know that because you get a small cupcake for your first anniversary.”  

Dani buried her head deeper in her book at the mention of a cupcake. 

“Sorry,” Valentina added after hearing the loud grumble of Dani’s stomach. 

Dani buried her face into the book until 10:00 PM, Valentina and Celeste were sitting nearby also reading quietly as the clock turned over Dani saw that neither one of their collars went red... 

She looked in the mirror.  

Her again. She shouldn’t be surprised but she found herself shocked.  

Her eyes traced Valentina’s body... ‘God how does someone stay away from that for consecutive days.’  

She brushed her teeth quickly and applied the odd perfume, saying bye to her roommates Valentina asked her to shut the door behind her so she didn’t have to put her book down. And Dani obeyed. Stepping into the office shutting the door behind her. 

In front of the door again, her heart became a lump in her throat again, for a completely different reason today. Yesterday she thought they might have sex. Today she was praying there wouldn’t be any drugs on the vanity.  

Knocking once, she actually got an answer this time, “Come in.” The door swung open, and it was clear Mistress was way better prepared today, her hair dried, if still maybe a little damp, her glass of wine already there. 

Her body language, however... was full of impatience and frustration it seemed.  

Her arms crossed, tapping her foot on the ground, Dani wasn’t late she was sure of it, but Mistress looked and seemed annoyed. Dani didn’t dare to look at the vanity, maybe if she didn’t look it wouldn’t be there. 

“Good evening Mistres-”  

“Drink.” She pointed to what Dani had hoped wouldn’t be there... A glass of Murky grey water sitting alone on the vanity. 

She didn’t want to drink it, her head had been pounding all day, and she felt tired despite sleeping much of the day. There were more than sleeping pills in there she was sure of it... sleeping pills don’t make you forget you even fell asleep. 

“Mistress, I-I"  

“Drink, or I’ll have Alya come shove it down your throat.”  

”Please don’t, it’s hurting me.” She muttered stepping back, taking a step closer to the door.  

“What happened to my obedient girl... the one that wanted to be ‘the best’  for me? I’ll even answer another question, I’d say that’s a boon for something you’re going to do either way...”  

She was irritated but trying to be nice, about as nice as you can be while getting someone to roofie themself Dani supposed. She was terrified, but it was just as she said, if she did it the easy way, she could get some answers. 

If she did it the hard way... a woman who could snap her in half would do it for her. 

Reluctantly, defeated, she stepped to the vanity and repeated yesterday’s action of holding her nose and chugging the terrible drug cocktail. Slapping the glass down she tried to catch her breath and not vomit. 

“Good, now ask anything you want.”  

Dani only had one question. 

“Why are you making me drink this?” She whimpered, getting smaller and smaller, she’d sleep with this woman no drugs involved if she just whispered her sweet nothings and fed her... 

‘Why? Why is she doing this to me?’  

She looked like she didn’t expect Dani to ask that, she fidgeted briefly before answering.  

“You’re more like yourself when you take them...” She answered. Vague as all hell. 

“Wh-What does that mean?”  

“That’s the answer to the question. It's maybe not an answer you like but it is the answer.” She motioned towards the bed; Dani was to strap herself in again. And she did. 

The pills, Mistress either upped the dosage or Dani’s empty stomach was causing it to work faster as she felt it way sooner this time. Heavier this time.

The room became hazy as Mistress checked the straps herself, the tightening of them allowing Dani to remain conscious for a few more precious moments.  

Her fingers and toes slowly stopped responding to her wiggling inputs, a thick fog began to settle behind her eyes, a wave of dizziness hitting her like a brick. 

Dani tried to speak, ask for help, beg for it, but her mouth felt too heavy, her tongue moved but her lips wouldn’t part to allow the sound to exit. Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest, thudding fast and hard, before weirdly slowing down. 

She heard a voice, but it sounded far away, muffled like they were 1000 feet away speaking through their T-shirt.  

She never even felt her eyes close. 

The next time she opened her eyes she was back in the bathroom, but she wasn’t right...  

She was soaked through, head to toe covered in sweat, her shirt heavy and uncomfortable against her skin, her hair damp in sweaty strands across her forehead. The dizziness had faded... 

Into nausea, she was thirsty, so thirsty.  

The only light in the room emanating from the wall clock in some sort of night mode displaying the time 5:48 AM. 

She rolled out of her cot making a wet splat noise as her shirt made contact with the floor, her legs and knees wobbled as she tried to stand. She leaned heavily against the vanity as she turned the faucet on full blast. 

Lining her mouth up with it, she drank, and drank, and drank. She was like an animal, mouth to faucet lapping the water up. 

She drank until she felt sick, sicker.  

She turned around, confirming one thing, Valentina and Celeste did sleep together, the small woman cuddling into Valentina’s chest, Valentina pressed against the wall, her hands on Celeste’s hips... pulling her closer.  

Dani stumbled away from the Vanity, away from the sleeping women, wheezing for air, gasping for it. She could feel it in her chest; it would be in the back of her throat soon. 

Thankfully she stumbled to the toilet fast enough. She staggered down slowly lowering herself, gripping the bowl tightly as she retched into it.  

Violently hurling into it.  

Her entire body spasmed and twitched violently as her body ejected nothing but stomach bile and water.  

Wave after wave of pain in her chest and throat. Tears in her eyes she was sobbing as much as she was throwing up. 

She didn’t know how long she’d been at this; her knuckles were white from holding onto the bowl so firmly. She was only dry heaving into the bowl now; she had nothing left.  

She must’ve been loud as she felt two hands sweep the hair out of her face and hold it behind her head gently. She rested her head on the seat, turning her head to reveal a small girl holding her hair... 

“Thank you... Celeste.”  

“God, what is she doing to you?” Great Dani thought to herself, she was hallucinating now, it sounded like Celeste had just spoken to her... a sweet dainty voice too good for this world, too good for this bathroom.  

She retched again into the toilet, phantom chunks of nothing escaping her.  

But if Celeste had really said that it was a good question. 

‘What is she doing to me?’   

'Whatever it is... she's escalating...'

Chapter Text

Dani awoke against the back wall, her head leaning against the toilet, she didn’t remember falling asleep here, but the pain in her neck and head told her she’d been lying like this for hours.  

She couldn’t see the clock from this angle, but it was almost certainly before 9:00 Am as Celeste and Valentina were still sleeping.  

The Celeste from last night must’ve been a hallucination, if she wasn’t why would she leave her over here?  

Sick. Cold. Alone.  

Scared.  

Of course she was scared, what other reaction could she have? 

She had no idea what was happening to her, or what drugs were in that water exactly, she only knew it was making her sick. 

She could feel her heart in her throat, but it wasn’t beating fast... it was a slow methodical, irregular beat. Almost painful in nature. 

*BADUMP...BADUMP .... BADUMP..*  

She used the toilet to steady her gait as she dragged herself to her feet, standing she felt like a balloon. 

Floaty, but oddly heavy, like she could pop at any moment, and her tattered remnants would be scattered all over the floor. 

Was it the hunger making her so weak... the dehydration... or the drugs? 

All three were hitting her with a disgusting combo of queasiness. 

She staggered to the vanity, she had to brush her teeth, the taste inside her mouth was unbearable like she had drunken heated mop water. 

The two sleeping women were still sleeping... or so Dani thought at a glance. 

As she brushed, she saw Celeste’s face in the mirror. Faint tension around her eyebrows and mouth occasionally fake stirring, shifting dramatically, way more than someone that was actually asleep would. 

Another one of her terrible poker faces... pretending to be asleep. When Dani finished brushing, she stopped leaning against the vanity and lowered herself to the ground.  

And ran her index finger against the sole of Celeste’s foot. 

The reaction was instant, Celeste’s entire leg jerked, and a stifled squeak burst from her lips as she used her hands to cover her face in a last-ditch attempt to stop a small snort of laughter. 

“I’m not sure why you’re pretending to be asleep...” Dani whispered, yeah Valentina had said she was a heavy sleeper, but she was still just right there less than a foot away from them. 

Celeste didn’t answer because of course, she wouldn’t. She still pretended to be asleep despite them both knowing she wasn’t. 

And honestly Dani just let sleeping dogs lie... pretend sleeping dogs lie, she was too tired to care, she could ask later, climbing into her cot it was still a little damp with sweat.

Making it that much more uncomfortable, but it was better than the floor with a toilet pillow. This morning had proven that. 

She found little comfort in that, however. As questions swirled in her head. 

Had she been reported missing yet? This was day three, she had to have been... right? Had her job in finance noticed she didn’t show up and call the cops? Did they care at all? Her job was probably already listed as open, wasn’t it... 

Was her dad looking for her? She could just imagine him driving all over El Paso in his pickup truck looking for her, Dani had never come out to him... so he probably believed she was kidnapped by some no-good dude, and would end up buried in some guy's backyard if he didn’t find her... 

Not that it seemed like he would hate her or disown her if she came out, Dani was old enough to remember when gay marriage was legalized, and while her dad didn’t exactly march to the store and buy fifty pride flags, he seemed okay with it...  

“What two consenting adults do in their bedroom is between them.” He spoke, seeing the news report on TV that gay marriage had been legalized. He wasn’t overtly supportive; he more so just considered it none of his business.  

Her mom, however... was the reason Dani hid... the reason she couldn’t come out. When homosexual marriage was legalized, her mother cried. 

And not tears of joy. 

She hugged a 12-year-old Dani and told her something she would never forget. 

“The world is very sick Daniella... very sick, and it has lots of sick people in it.” Dani already knew at that point she liked women, in some context, she had already fallen in love with one... 

So, the mother and daughter cried in each other's arms, for very different reasons, and Dani knew she couldn’t ever come out.  

If she did her mother would think she was sick... one of the ‘sick people making the world sick.’  

She almost renounced her Colombian citizenship when her homeland legalized it a few years later. She was just as upset.  

If not more.  

But she could never find it in her heart to hate her mother... she only ever loved her, their time together, it meant the world to her. Cooking, and baking, she taught Dani how to make several traditional Colombian dishes and desserts.  

Tres leches cake, Empanadas, Tamales, Lechona, Ajiaco. 

‘God, why did I start thinking about food?’ The sharp pangs of hunger started to return, and Dani held her stomach to try and quell them. 

The pains took her out of her daydreaming of home, she missed them desperately, but missing them wouldn’t help her now, wouldn’t fill her belly or keep her safe. She'd have to do that on her own. 

Over her shoulder she heard the lights flicker to life, yellow translucent light filling the small room, she looked at the clock and back to her sleeping roommates.  

It was 8:00 AM, and with them both sleeping neither had turned the light on... another thing that was on a timer or remotely activated it seems. 

And it suddenly clicked why they stayed in this room. 

Control. 

The lights turned on and off when Mistress wanted them to, the shower sprang to life when she wanted it to.  

They could see only when Mistress allowed them to see, and they could be clean when Mistress wanted them to be clean. 

This room was four walls of raw authority.  

A tomb of pure power. 

And Dani was surrounded by it. 

Buried in it. 

She heard Valentina stirring awake, rolling against Celeste slightly and yawning. Dani had no idea why she did it, but she rapidly turned on her side facing the dark alcove, and pretended to be asleep... 

Now she was the one pretending to be asleep. She just wanted to see... well hear in this instance, what they did if they thought she was asleep. 

“Mhm,” Dani could hear skin rubbing together and light poking. “ Good morning baby.”  

‘BABY!? So, they’re like that?’  

Their cots were less than three feet apart from one another, so even though Valentina was whispering she could still hear her decently... 

“G-good morning.” She heard a familiarly soft voice, that made her question if last night was a hallucination at all, she sounded the same, her voice glazed in honey.  

“I felt you get up in the middle of the night... what were you doing?”  

Valentina’s voice sounded a bit... cold, and flat. She normally had a little ‘pep’ in her voice like a camp counselor or an annoying teacher. An act from the sound of her voice now.  

Dani didn’t hear a response to this until Valentina reassured her of something. 

“Don’t worry, she’s asleep. I checked.”  

‘No, you didn’t you liar!’  

“She-Dani’s sick... she spent all night throwing up.”  

“Daniella.” She corrected curtly. “And I thought I told you, not to get involved with her”  

“B-but-”  

“But nothing, there’s nothing we can do for her... we just need to keep each other safe. Okay? I can’t... I can’t lose you.”  

“It’s... it’s not right, to not help her.”  

“What are we to do Celeste? Try to stop her from going to Mistress. Stop Alya from coming to take her? We can’t share our food with her, not only is she allergic... but then we’ll starve ourselves. Everything we can do to help her suicide for us! I know it hurts, but try to keep ignoring her... for me... please?”  

Dani regretted her decision to eavesdrop... this conversation hurt. She understood they weren’t friends, but Valentina had told Celeste to intentionally avoid Dani, to ignore her. Valentina already had her written off as dead. They hadn’t even said anything outright mean, just the cold reality that if this continued Dani was dead.  

And it hurt most that Valentina wasn’t wrong.  

“Gimme a kiss.”  

“N-no, she’s right there...”  

“Please...”  

It was silent for a little while after this, as Dani imagined Valentina was doing her best puppy dog eyes. And apparently, it worked. 

The brief pause ended, the faintest rustle of movement. A soft kiss. Then another, lips meeting softly. Did listening to this make Dani a pervert? She felt a little like one... but it was far too late to come clean that she was awake. 

“We shouldn’t...”  

“Then tell me to stop,” Valentina said resuming the kisses, louder this time, rougher. Clothes brushing together, fabric being disturbed.  

“OW! Fuck sorry, be careful with my lip.” Dani heard a small giggle come from Celeste, their cot creaking as body weights shifted. 

Another kiss, wetter, slower. The rhythm changes. The breaths deepening, subtle moans into each other's mouths.  

Dani felt her jaw clench for half a second, her heart thudding in her chest, her eyes still closed, she could hear everything, the soft pop of broken-off kisses, and giggles that turn into more moans.  

God, it was turning her on. Behind her two hot women were making out, and she was the peeping tom, or the ‘Listening Laura’ she came up with.  

Today was day three of not eating... Was she really about to find the energy to masturbate? 

The hand slowly trailing down her shirt told her she was. She hadn’t been touched since Ruby... while that might seem like a short time ago, it felt like a lifetime ago to Dani. 

Dani bit down on the insides of her cheeks as her index finger made contact with her clit, just one finger, it’s all she could afford to move, she wanted to use more, but she couldn’t risk them seeing her hand moving or hearing her moan. If she fucked herself as hard as she wanted to, she’d be a mess. 

She was so wet, she didn’t need to run her finger along her entire slit to know either... she felt the familiar warm ache in her lower stomach, a flutter deep inside, and unmistakenly, the heat began to spread.  

A slickness against the soft skin of her inner thigh, a tension begging for pressure.  

“You’re so wet.” Dani almost gasped thinking Celeste was talking to her. They were panting now; things had gotten heavier between them, more intense.  

“Please... please touch me, baby.”  

“Hmm, should I? Or should I make you wait until tonight...”  

“NO! Please Celeste... I'll do anything.” Valentina was whimpering... 

‘Celeste is on top...?’ Dani could feel herself pulsating as she imagined the small woman, barely five feet tall dominating Valentina. Celeste already had Valentina as puddy between her fingers. A begging, needy mess.  

“Anything? I'll hold you to that you know, stay quiet...” Valentina immediately failed at this as Dani heard her breath hitch loudly, she could just barely hear the small rhythmic rubbing over Valentina’s muffled moaning.  

Her jaw and cheeks ached from biting down so hard; Dani switched to putting the collar of her shirt in her mouth and chewing on the fabric, tasting slightly of salt from her sweaty state this morning.  

The finger brushing around her clit picking up the intensity, the ball of nerves getting stiffer and stiffer as she did. Jolts of sexual electricity traveling up her core making her stomach contract. 

 God, she wished she could turn around and watch freely, this was better porn than the slop the industry was putting out, with two straight actresses’ just doing a job... not even kissing for twenty seconds before they randomly started scissoring. 

This was real. 

Real passion. Real desire... Real longing. 

Real hunger for another woman’s touch. 

“Where are my fingers?” Celeste asked in a low growl. “Tell me.”  

“Inside...” Valentina swallowed hard “Me.” She gasped out in barely a whisper at all; Dani could hear all her wetness. It squelching against the pressure of the fingers entering her hole...  

“What’s my thumb doing?”  

“C-Circling my clit.”  

There’s no way this is the same girl that almost cried losing a game of old maid, did she have a split personality or something? Such a sweet, shy almost looking girl was talking a woman... two women through to an orgasm. 

Dani following along with what they were doing stuck just the tip of her finger in and moaned into the wet fabric in her mouth. Trying to not let her toes curl. 

“You can fall apart,” Celeste murmured. “But only when I say. Understand?”  

Valentina nor Dani responded, but Dani felt immensely jealous that Valentina had probably greedily nodded her head. 

Dani heard the squelching increase in speed, getting louder, the moaning only being stifled by the sound of resuming kisses. Loud and sloppy, the sounds of two tongues just thrashing against one another aimlessly. 

She rubbed a little faster, her engorged clit seeing something closer to actual stimulation now, as she slowly slid the finger in and out of her pulsating hole. She breathed heavily into the wet shirt, her free hand now caressing her nipples softly. Slowly, to not get caught. 

She was so close. Dani could feel her orgasm building. 

“That’s it, you’re so close, aren’t you?” Celeste cooed.  

A soft broken moan escaped Valentina’s lips, helplessly.  

“You want to come for me?”  

“Y-yes.” Valentina choked.  

“Then come,” Celeste whispered. “Right now. Let me see how beautiful you are when you fall apart.”  

Dani shattered. 

Her body arching slightly, breath catching against the shirt, as a long cry escaped Valentina as the orgasm rolled through her, both of them. Hot, aching, overwhelming for both women, Dani’s fingers slowed then stilled as she sank deeper into the cot. Panting, tears in the corners of her eyes. 

She was being way louder than she wanted... but Their cot was shaking like a cement mixer and the sounds of Valentina's moans muffled hers well enough. 

“There you go,” Celeste said “I’ve got you.”  

Valentina still panting hard, trying to catch her breath said something Dani didn’t expect to hear.  

“I love you, Celeste...”  

And Dani didn’t hear an answer. 

“Daniella... Daniella, wake up! Showers in five minutes.” Valentina poked a Dani that had post-orgasm dosed off. The front of her shirt was a mess where she had, chewed and wiped her fingers. 

“God, you reek.” She did, her hair smelled of vomit, and the smells of shame and sweat stuck to her skin like leather. Admittedly she needed the shower a lot.  

“Sorry, I’m not feeling that great.” She said rubbing her eyes. Excusing her rancid smell. Looking up at Valentina her lip was bleeding slightly. 

“Your lip is bleeding.”  

“Yeah, must’ve yawned too hard waking up with morning, and re-split it... sucks right?” 

‘Liar.’  

She was a good liar, she didn’t laugh or smile, didn’t fidget or play with her hair or lose eye contact, if Dani wasn’t awake this morning she would’ve believed her, hell she almost believed her now. And she was awake to hear that wasn’t what happened.  

“Can you help me up?” Dani reached out a hand, and Valentina stepped back like a homeless person had just asked her for ten bucks. 

“Sorry, no touching... remember?” Dani bit her lip, she had forgotten, but it raised a bigger question. 

Why could these two fuck, and Dani couldn’t even get a helping hand up? From the sounds of it, they’ve been ‘together’ like that for a while, Mistress must know they’re doing this... why did the rule only apply to her?  

‘Whatever’ She thought ‘not like I can complain about getting special treatment.’ 

She crawled out of the odd space and used the wall to help herself stand, staggering over to the shower she tried hard to pretend Celeste wasn’t there, as she felt the heat surge to her face, Celeste had talked her through a secret orgasm. 

It helped that Valentina told her to ignore Dani, she didn’t even look up at her, her gaze stuck to the floor, and Dani appreciated it. As she had no idea what she’d feel if the girl met her gaze.  

The three women showered in silence, Dani was still humiliated about the whole thing, but Valentina was right, she reeked, no choice but to get clean as the freezing cold water pelted her. The shampoo and conditioner were in unmarked bottles that didn’t note their scent.  

Putting it to her nose, it smelled of strawberry. Honestly, there are worse things your hair could smell of, maybe Mistress just really liked the smell of strawberry? Is that why the perfume smells like that?  

Dani was certain the cold water was making her weaker. Weaker and sicker. By the time her icy torment was over again, her knees were ready to give out. She rapidly dried herself with her towel and dragged herself to her drawer to throw on her last shirt. 

If it worked how Valentina told her it would Alya would come today at noon and take their laundry, which seemed odd... Dani had assumed Alya was the head maid since she dresses differently and seems to always accompany Mistress, but why would the head maid being doing slaves laundry? 

In fact, why was she tending to them at all? This place had at least half a dozen maids and she hadn’t seen a single one of them since she was dragged around the halls. Shouldn't some lackey be seeing to them?  

It dawned on Dani just how little she understood about how this place ran, she didn’t know what Mistress did, she didn’t know what Alya did, she didn’t know what anybody else did. It made her feel small. 

Insignificant. 

Like a woman shut in a bathroom should.  

She sat down in her cot sullen, and somber. The only two things under the cot being her birth control water she hadn’t drunk and her book from yesterday. 

Ignoring the water, she laid down in her cot and resumed reading her copy of ‘Under the Dome.’ At some point drifting off as the hunger and sickness put an intoxicating combo of tiredness over her like a blanket. 

She awoke to someone kicking her cot. Hard.  

“Daniella, Mistress would like to see you.” The thick Russian accent filled Dani’s ears making her sit up in a panic.  

THWACK  

As for the third time she hit her head on the underside of the sink.  

“God she’s going to turn her brain into scrambled egg.” She heard Valentina whisper.  

Hitting her head like that was good for one thing... waking her up, she felt alert despite being asleep just seconds ago. The clock read 11:30 AM and Dani scrambled out of her cot trying to walk past Alya until she stopped her with a hard tug of her shirt pulling her back. 

“Perfume.” Alya said, pointing at the new bottle sitting on the vanity. Maybe Dani hit her head harder than she thought... she thought the perfume was only for nighttime or sexy calls. It wasn’t night... and this probably wasn’t sexy time. 

“Mistress was greatly disappointed you didn’t wear it yesterday morning when she called you, so now you have your own bottle. You will always wear it. Whether she calls you or not you will be expected to have it on.” 

Alya emphasized keywords like a video game's hint system. Dani guessed this was her way of helping her. Maybe? It was hard to tell. The accent mixed with the refusal to show any emotion made it difficult. 

Dani had disappointed Mistress yesterday by not wearing it, she figured she wouldn’t get that many opportunities to disappoint Mistress before something bad happened to her. She wasn’t a fan of this becoming her signature smell, but her own will was far below that of what her Mistress wanted. 

She sprayed two quick puffs of the cheap substance on her neck and Alya stepped out of her way so she could leave the room. 

Exiting the room, she saw Mistress, standing at her desk... she was different today. 

She stood like she owned the room, and she did —tall, poised, and utterly magnetic, her golden skin caught the light like honey, her dark hair pulled back into a low sleek bun, not a strand out of place. It only drew attention to the sharp lines of her jaw and the bold slash of matte red lipstick that somehow made her look even more dangerous. 

The suit she had on was tailored within an inch of perfection, dark charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, the waistcoat hugging her torso, showing off the elegant curve of her waist and strength in her shoulders, the crisp white shirt beneath was unbuttoned just enough to hint at the swell of her collarbone. A small silver cross on a chain resting just beneath the open V of her shirt. 

A whisper of faith on a woman that looked like sin incarnate. 

Long legs disappeared into matching slacks that clung just right at the hip before falling smooth and sharp over her heeled boots, a silver wristwatch, glinted at the wrist not to be outshined by the silver rings decorating her left hand.  

And when she looked up from her laptop. Smiling. 

Dani understood she didn’t stand a chance. 

She never did.  

“Come.” She beckoned Dani over to her desk, with a single word. 

Dani couldn’t read her mood, she was smiling, but she didn’t even say ‘come here’ just ‘come’ coldly, sternly. Efficiently.  

Mistress closed her laptop and pulled her desk chair back over from where it was resting against the wall, she sat down and ordered Dani to sit in her lap once again.  

And she did. Or she tried to, as Mistress stopped her from curling her legs over the armrest. 

“No, sit up, we will be reading something together today.”  

“Reading Mistress?”  

“Yes, I got a few interesting things in the mail today.” she produced a small manila folder from a desk drawer, the tab on the top left read the initials D.C.  

In big bold lettering across the front, it said ‘BURN AFTER COMPLETION’  

Mistress opened the front, to the first page, it was a picture of Dani... a creepshot from the looks of it, she was in her local park taking photographs for her scrapbook and from the look of it someone was taking pictures of her unknowingly. 

“W-W-what is this...?” she felt a pit form in her stomach 

“Can’t you tell? It’s your file. I bought it off the trafficking ring that sold you... 200 bucks plus express shipping of course. They’re supposed to burn these after for obvious reasons, but I knew when I saw you... I just had to know more. So, I made a call.”  

“NO! I-I can’t, I don’t want to read this!”  she stammered. Whatever was in here was sick, the creepshot of her already made her queasy.  

“Daniella today is all about growth. The contents of this file may hurt, but it’s necessary, it’ll help you change... become someone better. Happier.” She whispered into the back of Dani’s head.  

Mistress turned the page, to a flood of information about Dani.  

• Subject is 23-year-old Daniella Cortez [Redacted] 

• Subject lives alone in an El Paso [Redacted] apartment, building security ‘light’ 

• Subject works a 9-5 at ‘Summit Accounting Co’ [Redacted] 

• Several attempts to lure the target using male bait have failed (Switching to female operative) 

• Subject can often be found alone in parks taking scenery photos... ‘Green window’ (Possible)  

• Operative codename Rose [Redacted] has made contact through a dating app 

• Subject asks our operative on multiple dates a week 

• Subject is in contact with her family less than once a month 

• Subject is extremely closeted 

• Subject appears to have no or few friends [Redacted] 

• Correction; subject claims to have ‘online friends’  

• Operative Rose [Redacted] has missed her ‘green light’ window three times another failure will result in swapping operatives or forceful extraction 

• Subjec- 

“Stop it! please just stop it!” There was more, so much more, pages and pages of it. Notes denoting how lonely she was, how much she was hiding... how easy she was to kidnap because of it.  

How she was begging Rose... an operative, an actress to go on dates. How she didn’t have any friends, how she was too scared, too paranoid , too closeted , to have any. How she hid in online lesbian communities anonymously to have any sort of connection. 

Dani felt wetness hit her arm, she blinked and felt the wetness trailing down her face. She hadn’t noticed, but now she felt it, the wet chill on her cheeks, the burning sensation in the back of her throat. She lifted a hand to her face, touching her cheek like it belonged to someone else.  

“Please don’t laugh at me...” More than anything Dani was feeling shame... embarrassment. This file did nothing but point out how ashamed she was to be herself. It was an utterly humiliating way to see your life summed up. 

It might as well of just been the photo of her with the word ‘LOSER’ stamped over her face in big bold letters, and Mistress had just read it all over her shoulder.  

A shoulder Dani was crying into as Mistress swiveled her around and with a soft hand to the back of her head encouraged her to cry into the expensive fabric. 

Mistress was silent behind her for a short while, before she closed the folder and threw it in the trash.  

“You don’t have to hide ever again... not here. Not with me.” Whispered softly into her hair. It was everything Dani had always wanted to hear. 

Mistress let out half a breath then, without warning her hands slid under Dani’s thighs and lifted. 

Effortlessly, like Dani was weightless, Dani gasped, her arms wrapping instinctively around her neck. “Wait-what are you-” 

But she didn’t finish. Mistress took a half step forward and set her down on the edge of the desk, the coldness of the rings making Dani shiver as her hands slowly departed Dani’s thighs. Her shirt rode up slightly until the supple flesh of her inner thigh was showing. 

She stepped between Dani’s legs and tilted Dani’s face upwards by the chin towards her own.  

Dark eyes. Steady. 

Hungry. 

“The woman in that file, she’s dead.” Her thumb tracing Dani’s lips, she pointed her head at the now discarded file. “I’ll help you be someone new... someone not ashamed to be who they are.”  

“Someone that can stand beside me.” The words whispered like silk off the skin. Their lips were so close, a hair length from one another. 

Dani closed her eyes, thinking a kiss was coming. 

Hoping a kiss was coming. 

But it didn’t come.  

Instead, she heard a whisper in her ear. “I’m going to be changing your name. Soon. Very soon. And then, we can be together. Just us two.”  

The prospect of her name being changed pulled her out of the submissive trance-like state she was in, she opened her eyes to the ticklish feeling of Mistress smelling the perfume on her neck. 

“My name?” She spoke stunned. “But you said my name was pretty.”  

“I did, and it is.” She stopped sniffing, shifting Dani’s head back towards the file in the bin. “But that name carries... ‘baggage.’ wouldn’t you like to start over? Something new. I have something that fits more. Fits better.”  

“Fits better Mistress? What is it?” She asked. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” she wagged her finger in front of Dani’s face. “No spoilers. Everything isn’t ready yet, there’s still so much to do, and you have so much more growing to do.”  

Dani was unsure, and it must’ve been written all over her face.  

“You have anxieties about it... that’s okay, I anticipated that.” She reached down, opening a desk drawer she produced a small velvet leash. Placing it on the desk next to Dani. “Let's go for a walk.”  

Dani understood she was meant to leash herself. It was slightly humiliating, but she did it without complaint, the click of the buckle was louder than the hitch of Dani's breath as she did it. The leash was soft in her hand and not very long in the slightest maybe three or four feet in total.  

Dani wasn’t worried about the leash, the collar, or any of it. She was most worried about why it was getting easier to do things this woman asked of her. And why her saying “There’s my good girl” afterwards made her feel so warm. 

“You aren’t going to make me walk on all fours, are you?”  

“No,” she replied curtly. “It would take forever to get anywhere like that.” She took the leash around her palm and wrapped it around several times to make it even shorter. It was almost choking as the collar pulled against the side of her neck. They were standing close, within two feet of one another. 

Close enough for Dani to feel intoxicated by her smell again. 

[Good evening, Mistress.]  

[Good day Mistress.] 

Was all Dani heard as she was led down the hall by the leash. All the maids stopped and did a half bow to Mistress at the very least. She thought it would be embarrassing to be paraded around like this, but... 

Nobody was looking at her. 

Not a single maid acknowledged that Dani was even there. They just bowed did their greeting and left. Not even a side-eye. 

The first day she arrived all the maids that couldn’t avoid her gave her a shy somber side eye. Now she was like a ghost... it was eerie. 

“Wait! We’re going outside?” She pulled at the bottom of her shirt. Seeing that they were approaching a set of glass double doors. 

“Yes, we have a meeting with someone that’s going to motivate you to change.” She said with a grin that meant nothing but trouble. Tugging hard once at the leash made Dani lose her balance temporarily.  

“But-but I don’t have any underwear on.”  

“Did anyone in any of the corridors to get here look at you?” 

“N-no, but-” 

“They don’t have my permission to look at you. Nobody does.” She tugged on the leash again this time less roughly, more of a reassuring tug, if such a thing exists.  

Mistress held the door open for a Dani who tentatively stepped out... she didn’t see any soldiers around, or slaves, or much of anything.  

It was an empty courtyard, a different one from when she first arrived here, ‘God, this complex must be massive.’ she thought to herself.  

She had to stifle a laugh when she saw what was coming... 

It was Alya, driving a golf cart, her stern face not matching the colorful paint job of the cart at all, her ash blonde hair blowing wildly in the wind. She parked it in front of the entrance not taking out the keys. 

[Thank you, Alya, please call and have my meeting pushed back.] 

[They will not be happy Mistress.]  

[They won’t be. But I do not care.] She led Dani to the passenger side before getting in herself.  

At no point in their walk had she ever let go of the leash, until now, as driving at first, she used both hands. “Nobody is to touch this leash except me. When I let go of it, you hold it.” 

Dani nodded and wrapped the fine leash around her hand so nobody could hold it. Leaving the courtyard, she got a reminder of what kind of place this was...  

She saw field after field being worked, starved skinny slaves not looking at her either... she put her head down to get away from the images. Guilt washed over her, she saw how these people lived where they lived, and she was playing card games, sleeping in a cot in an air-conditioned room. Not out here, not in this muggy heat. She had a faucet she could drink from at any time. 

And she was cozying up to the woman that had done this to them. She had gotten wet when Mistress lifted her by her thighs and put her on the desk. When she closed her eyes thinking she’d be kissed she imagined being ravaged against her desk... Mistress making a mess of her.  

She was starting to think of herself as just as bad as Mistress.  

Mistress’s hand drifted down from the wheel, smoothly. Causally. Like she wasn’t thinking about it. Her long fingers trailed across the leather seat between them, then brushed the hem of Dani’s shirt. 

Her hand slid down, settling lightly on the inside of Dani’s thigh.  

Dani stiffened, her mind went blank. As the thumb moved in a circle against her inner thigh. She let out an exhale she didn’t know she was holding. 

She hated that it was making her feel better... she wished she would stop. 

She also wished she wouldn’t.  

In a confusing moment for Dani’s brain Mistress did stop as she parked the cart in the courtyard she was assessed in when the group got here. 

A patch of dried blood still on the ground from when Mistress shot that guy... 

“M-mistress what are we doing here?” Dani looked around, nothing but sheds and guard towers lined the area, how on earth were they having a motivational meeting here? 

“Do you trust me?” She asked. Turning off the cart. 

The answer should be no, it really, really should.  

But it wasn’t. 

This woman. Her Mistress spoke to a different part of Dani, sure she turned her on, she already held the record for the number of times a woman had made her wet without ever even kissing her.  

But She spoke to the scared Dani, the paranoid Dani, the closeted Dani, and told her things didn’t need to be like that... that she didn’t need to be alone. That she didn’t need to hide from the world.  

And that she would help her be happy.  

“I trust you, Mistress.” Dani said with conviction handing her the leash. 

Mistress walked them both to a small delipidated shed it looked like a Gardner's shed that has gone without use for years. The small door to it was shut. “You go first.” She ordered. 

Dani opened the door and was hit by the pungent smell of sweat and piss, but that was the least of her worries as she saw a woman sitting on a chair.  

Tied to the chair. In the center of the room. Her small frame made comically so by the large chair; she wore the slave's grey shirt and shorts but her shorts... they were soiled down the front. 

Her feet were bruised and bleeding, scratches, and several toenails missing. Her hands tied behind the chair Dani could only see the swelling around her pinky and ring finger as both were unmistakenly broken. 

There was a hood over her face, she was screaming but they were muffled and incoherent. 

Another tongue cut out or a gag?  

“Mistress? What is this...?”  

She glided around the small shed like there was more room than there was, all the way to behind the smaller woman held captive. 

“You don’t recognize her? That’d be very bad for you if she doesn’t recognize you.” She said to the hooded figure, which made the screams louder. “Here try now!” She said as she ripped the hood off... 

Revealing light brown hair, and emerald, green eyes, the track star of their container had been delivered.  

“What don’t tell me you’re surprised... I did tell you I got a ‘Few interesting things in the mail today’ didn’t I?  

Mistress laughed. 

And laughed.  

And laughed. 

Chapter Text

In front of Dani sat her last lifeline of escape. Their track star, their firebug. She hadn't reached help.  

Now Lindsay was being used as some kind of test for Dani. 

She looked a bit dehydrated and pale, but other than that she was nearly identical to her appearance in the shipping container. She still had her hair, she wasn’t branded, and from the sounds of the gag in her mouth, she still had her tongue.  

Her eyes settled on Dani, wide like she hadn’t ever expected to see her again, she looked around Dani’s neck, seeing the collar and leash, and she laughed, she was laughing muffled into the gag.  

Mistress intrigued by what was funny removed the gag... Lindsay did still have her tongue... 

Unfortunately.  

Her voice hoarse from screaming she mocked Dani in almost a smoker's voice. 

“Found another bitch to eat you out already huh? Why die with any honor or integrity when you can just sleep your way to safety every time... nasty whore.”  

The words dripped with venom and were swung at her like a club. 

“That’s enough of that...” Mistress said reattaching the gag. “You’ll regret that in just a few moments... I assure you.” She whispered to Lindsay. 

“Our little arsonist here actually made it out of the Colombian jungle, and stumbled into a police station, if you can believe it...” She held up her hand, thumb, and forefinger barely an inch apart. 

“She was this close, to being on a plane back to America, book deal in tow. ‘How I Survived a Colombian trafficking ring.’ that has real potential to be a best seller... Had potential.”  

Mistress glided from behind Lindsay to behind Dani, dramatically hugging her around the waist, something this room was way too hot for. Resting her head possessively on Dani’s shoulder. 

“Unfortunately for her. Every cop in the state is in my pocket. It's a pity really... it was a great attempt to escape.” 

Mistress having massive amounts of power and influence outside of this compound really shouldn’t have been shocking to Dani, but it was... it was the final death nail in any idea of escape. If she could get out, she’d be swiftly returned by the police.  

Not that she could get out. 

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore. 

Not if Mistress was going to help her. 

Make her better. 

Make her whole.  

“What’s she doing here Mistress?” Lindsay thrashed around in the chair desperate to get free. Of course, to no avail. 

“That’s an easy one.” Mistress rubbed her hands together.  

“I’ve tied her fate to you... to your behavior rather.” She snickered, looking at Lindsay. “I told you, you’d regret that...” Lindsay’s eyes went wide, and she thrashed wildly, almost knocking the chair over a few times.  

Weak whimpering noises emanating from the gag. 

Dani was out of the loop. “My ‘behavior’ Mistress?” She thought she was being pretty good for her. 

How much more did she want her to submit? 

“I suppose it’ll be easier to show you.” she took a step back and opened her arms wide and said one simple word. “Hug.”  

Dani looked at the woman’s outstretched arms in confusion and heard Lindsay groan something into her gag. “NGH HUHR” Came repeatedly from the gagged woman. Dani stepped forward, wrapping her around Mistress’s waist in a hug. 

Mistress did hug back... briefly before conveying her disappointment. 

“27 seconds.” She whispered looking at her wristwatch, she tsked “I didn’t ask you to hesitate, I didn’t ask you to think... doing what I tell you. When I tell you, will become second nature to you. And your friend here will help you. Watch closely.”  

Mistress walked right past Dani, towering over the tied-up Lindsay. 

The crack echoed through the room, sharp and unforgiving. Mistress struck Lindsay across the face once. Ringed fingers. Backhanded. 

Lindsay’s head snapped to the side, hair falling in messy strands over her face. Muffled grunts of pain came from the gag. 

This was simply training. 

Conditioning. 

‘Do what I want, or I’ll hurt someone.’ This was the message being drilled into Dani’s head. 

No hope of escape. 

No hope of mercy. 

Only compliance. 

Quick compliance.  

Mistress turned her back to Lindsay like she was no longer in the room like she had served her purpose.  

“For every time you resist me. Question me. Hesitate. Tell me no... Alya will come here and break one of this poor, poor woman’s fingers, and do you know what happens when she runs out of fingers...”  

“You’ll kill her...?”  

Mistress chuckled and made a loud incorrect buzzer sound. “No. But she’ll wish I had.”  

Dani understood this only meant one thing... thrown outside to the men. A fate worse than death. One that would make you wish for death. 

It sent a chill down Dani’s spine and made her wiggle her barefoot toes against the hard concrete floor of the shed. 

Mistress set her this challenge because she knew... 

Knew Dani wouldn’t abandon another woman to this fate. 

That she couldn’t live with herself if she did. 

Lindsay may be the woman tied to a chair. 

But Dani was the cornered animal. 

“So, let’s try this again.” She opened her arms again and repeated the simple instruction. “Hug.” 

And Dani didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, it wasn’t what her Mistress wanted her to do. 

Just act. 

Dani’s head was resting against the woman's chest her arms wrapped around the woman's waist before Mistress could even open her arms all the way. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She cooed wrapping her arms around her prize. “Daniella, I will give you the life you’ve always dreamed of, and more. The ability to be who you are proudly. Luxury, riches, jewelry. All I'm asking for in exchange is that you give yourself to me. Mind, body, and soul.”  

“Isn’t that fair my darling?”   

 Dani could see just past Mistress to Lindsay who looked between the two of them, blood resting in the corner of her mouth slightly wetting the cloth gag tightly secured against it. She hung her head in defeat... both of them did as Dani uttered what Mistress wanted to hear. And what was becoming truer and truer to her. 

“It’s very fair Mistress.” Mistress laughed, softly caressing the curls of Dani’s hair. 

“I’m having a new-collar custom made for you...” She spoke softly into Dani’s hair. “One that reflects your new name... new status, you’ll accept my changes, won’t you? Darling?”  

Dani knew why she was playing along... she didn’t care for Lindsay. Not really. The first thing she did when she could talk was call Dani a whore. 

She was going to be good for Mistress. 

Accept her changes.  

Change. 

Not for Lindsay’s safety. 

Not for her own. 

Because she wanted to be the person Mistress said she could be. Because being called darling by her Mistress put her under a spell, and she wanted more, because being Dani hurt. Dani was weak-she was weak, pathetic, barely strong enough to have dreams, too weak to follow them.  

Because she wanted to change. 

“I will accept your changes, Mistress.”  

“You must really want to save your frie-” 

“No.” Dani cringed just a little, unsure if she was allowed to interrupt Mistress when she was speaking. “I don’t care about her... Y-you said I could... you could make me someone who can stand beside you. I want to be that person!”  

Her eyes went wide, then her smile went wider. Not sadistic, but warm and tinged with confusion, as her brain caught up to what Dani had said. It was rare for Mistress to look surprised by something Dani did, she was normally so cool, so calculated, but she looked happily gob-smacked.  

Mistress caressed her cheeks with her thumbs, content, happy with Dani even. “I promise, I'll make you that woman.” Mistress turned around looking at Lindsay seemingly remembering she existed. She was giving Dani a death glare, for the obvious saying ‘I don’t care about her.’ reason. “I’ll be keeping you as insurance... just in case. But of course, let me know if you want to go free and I'll let you go.” she said to the gagged woman. 

“Nngh luhh muhh guh” She tried, the gag twisting her plea into gibberish. She repeated the plea until she started sobbing, which just made her that much more unintelligible.  

Mistress cackled. “You don’t want to leave? What a trooper, to stick it out.” She mocked sarcastically. 

 “I think we’re done here, Daniella.” She put her hand out for the leash, and Dani unwrapped the fine material from her hand and handed it to Mistress. She was happy to be headed back to somewhere air-conditioned. The sweat beads on the back of her neck were robbing her of the little hydration she had. 

The air in the room was sticky, and pungent with bad smells, nothing compared to the cages, but still unpleasant. Lindsay gave her a pleading look as the two women exited the shed. Completely unnecessarily in Dani’s mind, she was going to behave. Lindsay’s fingers were safe. 

The remaining ones anyway. 

Dani walked barefoot along the winding dirt pathway back to the cart, dirt and dust clinging to her soles for the second time. Carefully trying not to step on any pebbles or rocks. Mistress walked ahead of her, happily humming a tune to herself, ecstatic with the results of their meeting. 

“Mistress?” Dani had a small request to make, one she immediately forgot as her Mistress turned around to look at her. 

She was smiling, and the world seemed to hush around them, it wasn’t just the curve of her lips. It was the way her eyes lit up, soft and sure, like she saw something beautiful in Dani standing before her. It wasn’t a smile Dani saw her ever give anyone else. 

It was meant unmistakably just for her.  

And when Mistress stepped closer, her fingers gently slipped into Dani’s hand, steady and tender. The same hand that held the leash, the velvet encasing both of their palms as Mistress laced her fingers in between Dani’s. 

“Don’t fall behind, slowpoke.” If she thought Dani was walking too slow, she could’ve just yanked the leash, yet there was no yank.  

No rush, no command, just connection: quiet, deliberate, and unbelievably tender. 

The leash in both of their hands, fingers entwined as Mistress led them back to the cart. Her face was so hot Dani thought she was experiencing heatstroke. 

Her mind went blank, she could barely remember getting back in the cart. She couldn’t see the slaves tending the fields on the ride back, she could only see the fingers tracing her own.  

The thumb caressed the back of her hand. 

She completely forgot she was going to ask for a pair of shoes.

She regained herself when she felt the cart stop and turn off, the intimate rubbing of fingers halted. Mistress grabbed her out of the cart, not by the hand, but with a subtle yank of the leash. 

She was led back inside by it, the tender hand gone, the delicate fingers along with it. The leash wrapped around Mistress’s hand tightly, so much so that as she was led back to the office, they could never be more than a foot apart. 

Was the hand holding just a brief taste of paradise? A sample of what she could have all the time if she behaved, or did she not want the maids they were passing in the corridors seeing her being tender? 

Whatever the reason amounted to very little as they were back in the office now and Dani said a silent apology in her head to whoever's job it was to clean the floors as she had tracked dirt and grime all over the white carpeted floors. 

Mistress unwrapped the leash from her hand and went over to her bedroom door, something Dani took as meaning she was dismissed. 

Foolish. 

Dani walked towards her own hybrid bathroom, and bedroom herself. Until she felt a presence over her shoulder and a question whispered with malice. 

“Where is it, that you think you’re going?” A hand wrapped around her waist pulling her away from the door, the other claiming the leash again. 

“I-I Thought you dismissed me. I'm-” 

“That’s the problem, isn’t it... You ‘thought’ Did I ask you to think? I told you yesterday you don’t go anywhere until I tell you.” Dani felt what was coming, a tightening of the leashing in Mistress’s finger told her.  

A violent yank of the leash ripped her to the floor. Her knees slammed against the hardwood with a resounding thud. “And I hate to repeat myself.”  

Mistress crouched down beside her, no part of her touching the ground other than her shoes, whispering in a low growl. “Do you genuinely believe you can become someone worthy to stand beside me... when you can’t even follow instructions?”  

Dani shook her head fervently. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I made a mistake!”  

“Since you’re having trouble following instructions on your feet, let's try it another way. Crawl.” The command hung heavy in the air. Not barked, not cruel, just a consequence of Dani’s actions. 

Completely avoidable if she had been good.  

Mistress pointed behind her desk as the place Dani had to crawl to. And embarrassingly she obeyed.  

One hand in front of the other on all fours, knees burning as they brushed the hardwood flooring. Inching her way, closer and closer to the desk, her face brimming with heat. Not blushing with love.  

But embarrassment as her shirt rode up to the back of her thighs her butt teasing to be exposed. And Mistress watched it all. Silently, her expression closest to disappointment, but not unkind. Just certain. 

She stopped right behind the desk. Sitting on the floor next to the smooth leather chair at Mistress’s desk. She didn’t move an inch. Waiting to see if her punishment was over. 

Or just starting.  

“Now, I'm going to go change my shirt.” Mistress said leaning against the door to her chambers. “You are to sit there, and we’ll see if you actually want to be the person beside me. Or if you're all talk... I hope for your sake, you aren’t.”  

Dani heard the door open and clack shut behind her as she sat on her knees, not moving, she looked around the room, it was still rather minimalist. Just the desk, the office chair, and a single file cabinet were the only true furnishings in the room. Even the file that had been discarded in the small trash bin was gone. 

She peered onto the desk... Mistress had left her laptop out here. Dani still remembered the code on the note. ‘Evergr33n’ maybe it was to the laptop? Every bone in her body told her to check the laptop... to try the code. Brimming more so with curiosity than any will to escape. 

But the voice in the back of her head, screamed at her to stay. To follow the command Mistress had given her. Mistress wasn’t asking for much. Just for her to sit still. She was already in trouble for doing something stupid. Mistress would probably start breaking fingers if she disobeyed again. 

Or worse.  

She’d stop being tender and loving with her.  

What had hurt most about Mistress making her crawl across the floor wasn’t the violent yank of the leash, it wasn’t when her collar slammed against her neck, it wasn’t even the time spent humiliatingly crawling across the floor.  

It was that Mistress questioned if she really wanted to be the woman by her side. That she was questioning Dani’s loyalty already... all because she foolishly had a thought on her own. 

She twiddled her thumbs in her lap, not out of boredom but anxiety. What if Mistress was still angry when she came back? This was the first time Mistress had ever been displeased with her. It was an awful feeling. 

She had to apologize properly when Mistress came back, or all her work when they met with Lindsay meant nothing. 

So, she sat, quietly. Patiently. As Mistress changed her shirt, she must’ve been hot in the shed as well, not that she ever let it show... 

Dani heard the door unceremoniously open behind her. And Dani froze. Stilled like she had been encased in stone by Medusa’s gaze. 

Mistress sat in the office chair with a sigh, she didn’t address Dani, so she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to speak. She didn’t grab for the leash either... she simply opened her laptop and began working.  

The sounds of keys clacking filled the room. Filled Dani’s ears. It wasn’t silence... it was worse. It was like she wasn’t even there.  

Insignificant.  

Like she was Dani. 

And not the woman Mistress promised her she could make her into. 

“M-Mis-tress... I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to disobey. Believe me I-”  

“Stop.” Her apology was cut short by the command of the woman sitting above her. “If you're going to apologize, don’t you think you should at least look me in the eyes?” She was right... Dani was staring at the desk drawer in front of her, in fear. Cowardly. 

Not fear of being hit, but fear of another look of disappointment in the woman’s eyes.  

She pivoted on her knees slowly. Wheeling around to catch a glimpse of her Mistress’s face, just to test the waters. She didn’t look angry... her eyebrows raised not in confusion but a look of reserved judgment.  

Their eyes met, Dani’s Forest green eyes, meeting her Mistress’s chestnut brown, Mistress’s eyes scanning back and forth looking for one thing. 

Sincerity. 

“I’m very sorry!” She pleaded. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m so angry at myself for letting you down.” She looked up at her giving her the full puppy dog eyes treatment.  

“Stand up.” She commanded and Dani obeyed. Her knees sore from sitting on them so long she used the desk to steady herself. Completely pointlessly as Mistress’s next move was to pull Dani by the leash into her lap once more.  

“I shouldn’t be so hard on you...” She stroked Dani’s hair “You’ve only been here three days. Three days in Valentina was still trying to spit on Alya every time she saw her.” 

Dani adjusted herself so she could sit comfortably in the woman’s lap, like when they were reading the file earlier. “Really? That doesn’t sound like either of them... Alya to allow herself to spit at and Valentina to be even angry.” 

“Well, Valentina was still ‘ Heather’ then. And Alya... well Alya punched her in the throat every time she spit at her... and she very quickly learned to keep her bodily fluids to herself.” she chuckled. 

“I’m proud of you.” Mistress added. “Three days and you’ve become very obedient... you just need to make some tweaks, so I don’t have to repeat myself.”  

‘She’s proud of me? She recognizes how good I’ve been for her?’ Dani feeling validated laid down in the woman's lap, similar to yesterday, feet over the armrest, face buried in her Mistress’s shoulder, inhaling the sweet cologne smell of passionfruit and leather. The new crisp dress shirt freshly applied with cologne. 

Mistress’s hand retook possession of Dani’s waist. God, she wanted to spend forever like this. 

“Shall I order us a fruit assortment?” Mistress asked and Dani had to stop herself from exploding to screeching yes. She nodded into the woman’s shoulder, and Mistress pulled the walkie-talkie from a drawer. 

[Send up a fruit platter. Now.] and she didn’t wait for an answer as she threw the device back in the drawer, it was only now that Dani noticed something... She didn’t appear to have her gun on her. 

At no point in the day had she seen it holstered over her left hip as usual. Why didn’t she have it? Was the meeting she had no weapons allowed? She clearly wasn’t any less bold or confident without it... it was odd, like seeing your friend without their glasses.  

As Alya walked in fruit platter in hand she couldn’t decide if Mistress not having her gun made her more or less safe. 

Alya looked to Dani, lying in their Mistress’s lap, and then to Mistress as she set the assorted fruit down on the desk. Apples, oranges, bananas, mango, pear, all cut in perfect slices, stacked in a row with a chef-like presentation a toothpick sticking out of each slice. 

Dani had never salivated looking at fruit before, her stomach clenched at the smell of ripe fruit, her first food in days.  

But she didn’t reach for the plate, she knew better. She waited. As agonizing as it was. 

Mistress lifted a slice of apple and pressed it to Dani’s lips with the toothpick, Dani leaned forward desperate but not panicked as she kept her eyes on Mistress’s hand, so as not to bite the hand that was literally feeding her. 

She didn’t mean to moan as the apple filled her mouth, warm, fragrant fruit dissolving in her mouth with velvet sweetness. Another slice followed, Mango this time, just as sweet, no, sweeter. As the fruit slowly exploded sugar all over her palate.  

“You could feed yourself you know?” Mistress said lightly almost amused.  

“I could...” She replied. “But I get the feeling you like it better this way.” She also had a fantasy about a hot woman feeding her fruit, but she wasn’t going to tell her that. 

Juice slid down Dani’s lower lip as she fed her another slice of apple, and Mistress brushed it away with her thumb, slow, unhurried, possessive. 

Dani couldn’t believe it, but Mistress fed her most of the fruit platter, her stomach had something akin to a meal inside it now, as Mistress pressed the last slice of mango to Dani’s mouth. 

She should feel full of energy; not only was it her first food in days, but each bite was as sweet as candy. The edge of hunger had dulled not gone but subdued, replaced by a strange warmth in her limbs and a heaviness in her eyes. 

‘Why is lying like this more comfortable than my cot for Christ's sake.’  

The fabric of Mistress’s dress shirt was the closest thing she’s had to a pillow since coming here, her cheek pressed into it, nestling.  

A moment passed and then fingers found her hair, stroking gently. Measured.  

Dani exhaled, slower this time. Lashes falling shut.  

Falling asleep into the sweet smells of her Mistress.  

An odd sleep, as she was still hyper-aware of what was going on around her, the clacking of keys on the laptop, the hand kneading her waist, the odd caress of her cheek, or Mistress tucking loose strands of Dani’s curls back. 

And finally, the door opened and closed.  

[You spoil her Mistress.] The choppy Spanish of Alya was easily recognizable even in Dani’s half-dream, half-awake state. 

[I do... but she’s important enough to spoil.] 

[If I may be so rude Mistress, but why? Why is she important?] 

There was a long pause before Dani heard anything resembling an answer. [I’ve always had a plan, one that was something more akin to a dream... a fantasy. This girl makes the fantasy a reality.]  

[So, she’s a pawn? You're using her?] 

A small snort exited Mistress involuntarily from the sounds of it. [Oh, Alya, it’s unlike you to be so wrong...] 

[She’s the most important piece on the entire board; she’s the piece the game can’t start without. She’s the piece that’s going to make all the others move.]  

[You can’t possibly be saying-] 

[Oh, but I am.] Dani felt a soft caress on her cheek, the fingers gliding like they were touching gold. [The slumbering girl before you is the king. And when I reveal that she's on the board... That’s when the game begins.] 

Chapter Text

At some point, Mistress handed Dani to Alya for her to be returned to her cot. Mistress had to attend her meeting, as she couldn’t put it off any longer.  

Which was okay with Dani, as when Alya dropped her in her cot, she sprang to life. Narrowly missing another bang of the head, but her brain still felt fried...  

‘Me the king? How? Why? What does that even mean? What game is she playing? Against whom? And what happens to me after said game ends?’  

How could she possibly be the king when she sleeps in a cot, placed in a bathroom... shouldn’t ‘the most important piece on the board.’ have their own room, or at least be fed at regular intervals?  

Trying to wrap her brain around how Mistress talks not only about her but to her. Vs the treatment she actually receives was mind-bending.  

On one hand, you have Mistress seeing her in the lineup of girls when they first arrived, and she picks out Dani of all people, she’s never hit Dani or threatened to kill her, and it seems, in the beginning, her threats to ‘throw Dani outside to the men’ were all bluffs, not only that but add, today’s events of hand holding and affectionately feeding her... telling her they could be together.  

And she could see how maybe she could be important. She could see how Mistress saved her. Wanted her. 

Needed her.  

On the other hand...  

She was being drugged every night to the point of sickness, being forced to bathe next to two strangers... Valentina and Celeste are good girls, but they don’t seem to hold any relevance to Mistress’s plans.  

She found herself pacing around the small space of the bathroom, it was supposed to be helping her think, but in reality, after about five minutes it just made her feel tired. Question after question filled her head... and the worst thing about it was. 

The questions didn’t have answers.  

Not ones she was privy to.  

“Can you sit down? You’re making me nervous.” Valentina flashed a wry smile as she said it. The couple, or what Dani imagined they were of a couple, were sat on their cot both reading.  

“What do you do when questions don’t have answers?” Dani asked. She couldn’t possibly tell them about what happened, but a different perspective might help. 

Valentina raised an eyebrow, shutting her copy of ‘Crime and Punishment’ “That’s quite philosophical, no? I suppose, if the questions you're asking don’t have answers, maybe you’re asking the wrong questions.” 

Once again, intrigued by what was being said, Celeste whispered something in Valentina’s ear for her to relay to Dani. 

“She said...” Valentina paused and gave Celeste a look that said really? When Celeste nudged her on the arm, she repeated what she had whispered to her. “She said, If the questions don’t have answers, you could just wait until the answers present themselves to you.” 

It wasn’t a sexy answer, it wasn’t one that was going to make Dani rack her brain and come to an Epiphany, but it was probably the correct answer. 

All she could do was wait. 

See how Mistress’s plan unfolded, and hope she could make lemonade, out of the limes Mistress was undoubtedly going to serve up to her. 

“Why’d you ask something like that?” Valentina crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed just enough that Dani knew she wouldn’t get away with saying something nonsensical. 

“Just— Things with Mistress, I just wonder what she’s thinking sometimes is all.” Not particularly a lie, just not the truth either. 

“You two really aren’t having sex, are you?” If there was any resentment behind the question, Dani couldn’t tell, to someone like Valentina who was a veteran of not only this room, but someone that must’ve had sex with Mistress well over 100 times the look of someone having sex with Mistress must be obvious. A look Dani didn’t have. So, there was no point in lying. No point in half-truthing this one. 

Dani shook her head no. “So, what is it you two actually do?” Valentina inquired and Dani was a bit, unsure of the answer. What is it that she and Mistress do together?  

At night she’s drugged so she doesn’t know, and during the day— well today they read a file together and then went for a walk, had a ‘meeting’ and for the second day in a row Dani laid in Mistress’s lap. 

“Uhm, I guess we... talk.” That was the only constant throughout all the activities they did together. Dani needed to change the subject, as her roommates were making skeptical faces at her. “Mistress told me you used to spit at Alya.” 

Valentina’s face went beet red. “God, why is she telling you that?” her hand rubbing at her throat, seemingly where Alya used to punch her. “I was very different back then... this room was different back then.”  

“How so?”  

Valentina motioned Dani to her cot to sit, maybe it was a long story, and she obliged, sitting down, Valentina began. 

“When I first got here the rules were the same—but not enforced, and there wasn’t a me explaining all the rules and looking out for you. It was a every woman for themselves kind of environment, women stole food from one another, raped one another, and killed one another... it was almost a prison-like atmosphere. No, it was a prison.” She corrected herself. 

“How if we’re Mistress’s property would she let one of us kill one another?” to Dani, this didn’t sound like the rules not being enforced... but them not existing in the first place. 

Valentina shook her head, and Celeste subtly but noticeable to Dani began lightly stroking the platinum blonde’s arm in support. 

“There were more of us a year ago. Five in total—you could kill if it was a girl Mistress wasn’t using. Her favorites were off limits for murder and rape, but she left this room alone mostly, not interfering, letting an alpha appear and do most of the policing for her.” 

It was hard to believe this room was ever a ‘prison-like atmosphere.’ not because the room wasn’t bleak and small, it was. But because Dani couldn’t imagine Mistress having any pets that looked like prisoners or were physically imposing enough to hurt someone.  

All three women in the room were on the petite side, all three were clearly here for their beauty, not their brawn, yet somehow a year ago a beauty rose to the top of the pack. 

“So, who was it... who was in charge a year ago when you got here?”  

Dani regretted asking as Valentina’s entire body tensed, and Celeste joined her in her stiffening the small girl's eyes going misty at the thought of whoever it was.  

“Vivianne.” She uttered the name from her lips like a curse that shouldn’t be spoken like the woman could pop up behind her at any moment. The woman wasn’t in the room, which likely meant she was dead, but these two... they still seemed immensely scared of a woman who appeared to be long gone. 

“She was barely human, more of a force of nature. Like gravity. You... everyone had to pay her dues, half of your dinner was hers. If you got a request, she had a list of things she wanted that you had to use your request on. The first five minutes of the shower were hers alone , leaving just five minutes for the rest of us. This is a picnic compared to then.” 

Dani was scared to ask, but she needed to know for her morbid curiosity. “What happened to her?” 

A beat of silence followed— Celeste watching her, her eyes saying, ‘No don’t tell her.’ but Valentina did tell Dani, maybe as a veiled threat, a warning. Or simply unashamed of what she did. 

“She was going to... going to hurt Celeste.” Valentina locked eyes with Dani, no pride in her face. Just a grim kind of truth. “So I got rid of her.”  

Silence stretched between the three and a chill ran down Dani’s spine.  

No matter what room Dani was in, she was sharing the space with a murderer. 

She’d be a complete hypocrite if this changed anything about Valentina for her though... Mistress was—is a murderer and Dani couldn’t stop herself from being charmed by her.  

At least Valentina did it to protect her beloved. 

“It’s okay if you’re uncomfortable around me now... but just know since I did it, nobodies been raped in this room, and nobody else has been murdered in this room. I’ve made this space safe. I had a silly dream, that I could make this room like a found family for everyone in it... but I’ll settle for cordial roommates.”  

Dani had to admit she was a little uncomfortable, but she wasn’t going to let this show. She wanted to lighten the mood a little. Dani waved her hand in front of her face. “What’s a little murder among friends?”  

And nobody laughed. 

After her joke bombed the three women separated, Dani pushing her cot back under the alcove beneath the sink, Celeste sitting on the two women’s cot reading and Valentina going to the other side of the room, leaning against the back wall as it appeared that her telling Dani about what she did not only upset her but Celeste as well as they had a bit of a whispered lovers spat afterward, and separated. 

However, they would all have to reconvene as the clock struck 4:30 and Alya knocked three times as she did yesterday entered without waiting for an answer. 

Pushing the familiar metal cart inside she stopped it in front of the vanity. Despite Dani being closest she was the last to arrive, not excited for her inedible sandwich and birth control chaser.  

Valentina and Celeste had already grabbed their water and PB&J, but they lingered at the tray... looking at Dani apprehensively, a glint of sorrow in the women's eyes.  

What another sandwich she couldn’t eat? That’s what she expected standing from her cot. 

And then she understood why both women were looking at her like that. 

On the tray was a single piece of bread. Both sides slathered with thick, sticky peanut butter. The smear oozed a little over the edges—crude, messy. 

Deliberate.  

The smell alone was making her throat itch. 

Dani stared at it in silence. 

A silence that dragged... thick and suffocating as Alya, Celeste, and Valentina were all watching to see what she would do. 

Something inside her tore. Ripped, not broken like a smashed vase, but peeled away like failed origami. 

A sound slipped from her lips, high-pitched at first. Then again louder. Her shoulders began to shake.  

She was laughing. 

It shouldn’t have been funny; it was her faltering nutrition on the line after all, but it was funny.  

What would she get tomorrow? A jar of peanut butter? Alya was fucking with her, and it was funny. Not intimidating.  

Not menacing.  

Just funny.  

The hunger subdued by the fruit now returned, as she saw and smelled food, even if she knew she couldn’t have it. It was almost cruel that she was fed the fruit, as it reminded her stomach that food existed and her body now wanted some at regular intervals. Like she was human. 

She could barely see Alya through the tears welling in her eyes, but she looked... 

Displeased, of all things. Her head tilted slightly in confusion Alya bit her bottom lip in what appeared to be genuine annoyance. Not the reaction she expected? What did she want? Dani to cry? To throw a fit and yell?  

Her entire body trembled as she looked back to the bread—stupid, ridiculous, deadly. And she laughed again. 

Harder. The kind of laugh that scraped the back of her throat. 

Tears ran down her cheeks, a mixture of laughter and not.  

Dani slid down the vanity and crawled back into her cot, the hard support beams pressing into her back and shoulders as she let the dying embers of chuckles out and a bottle of water was rolled under her cot. 

She heard the metal cart be rolled out of the room, and the door slam harder than Alya normally shut it. 

Her roommates didn’t even bother to ask if they could have the sticky bread... they knew they could. 

An hour passed, or maybe two, she didn’t know, Dani didn’t go to sleep. The return of the gnawing hunger wouldn’t allow it. She just stared at the darkened wall of the alcove. Was she sulking?  

The sounds around her seemed to fade into obscurity.  

Until she smelled something. A familiar smell. One that she was wearing herself.  

The fragrance of cheap vanilla and strawberry filled the room; she frantically turned over in her cot to see two pairs of legs standing at the vanity. The sounds and smells of sprayed perfume fill the room.  

“W-What are you two doing?” She scrambled out of her cot with animal-like quickness... at eye level with them she saw it.  

A pit formed in her stomach, and she froze. 

Looking rapidly between the two women’s collars... 

A faint red hue emanated from both 

They were both turned off.  

Mistress called them?  

Them. Not her? Them.  

‘No, this has to be a mistake!’ She looked at the clock... it was only 6:00 PM, not 10:00 why was she calling them? She was back from her meeting, and she called them... not her.  

‘But I’m the king... I'm supposed to be the most important! She can’t! SHE CAN’T!’  

‘No, no I need to calm down. She hasn’t called them for that since I've been here. She wouldn’t... it’s a misunderstanding... must be.’  

Dani took a deep breath and tried to contain her panic but the awful feeling in her stomach wasn’t dissipating.  

“Uhm, Mistress called for us... so we’re going?” Valentina said flatly like she read it from a book. The look on her face was neutral not understanding the pain this was causing Dani. 

“YOU CAN’T” Dani shifted uncomfortably looking between the women. Celeste’s dark eyebrows raised in confusion. “I mean... she—Mistress probably just wants to talk to you two... so the perfume wasn’t necessary. Right?”  

“Right...” said Valentina, with Celeste taking half a step behind her lover. They were looking at her like she was a crazy person. But they didn’t know what Dani knew, didn’t experience what she had.  

Mistress said it would be just them... 

She held Dani’s hand. 

Dani told herself Mistress was just going to talk to them, going to tell them they weren’t needed anymore. Fly them home even.  

She was only pulled out of her fantasy by the echo of the door clicking shut louder than it should have. 

Dani stared at it, unblinking.  

The room was quiet now, quiet in a suffocating way, the silence was too loud. Please come back.

please come back.

Please come back!  

Five minutes passed and Dani’s eyes had only left the door to glance at the clock to make sure time was still moving.  

Then ten minutes passed... 

Dani’s collar started to feel too tight.  

She stumbled back to the vanity counter short of breath, frozen against it. Hands gripping the fake marble so hard her knuckles ached and went white. 

Her fingernails dug into her palms.  

‘She said it could be just Us... I don’t... I can’t. She smiled at me — me! I'm the king, she said so herself... s-she betrayed me!’  

She imagined them now, Mistress laughing into Valentina’s bust. Celeste moaning underneath Mistress’s skilled touch. They should be the ones resenting her. She was the one receiving special treatment. She was unbranded, but protected, she was new but cared for... Mistress fed her from her own hand for Christ's sake! 

And now, but now, she was the one left behind, in the silence. 

For a moment her reflection caught her eye—messy curls tangled cascading down to her shoulders, wide eyes, bloodshot with rage and despair, the collar snug around her neck like a bad joke. 

Not special. Not chosen.  

Not the king  

Not anything.  

Her fingers curled against the edge of the vanity. 

Then— 

CRASH  

Dani swept her arm across the vanity in one reckless motion. Knocking over brushes and combs their toothbrush holder and the perfume bottle to the floor. Glass shards scattered the floor as the bottle broke and the smell filled the room.  

Thick, sweet, too much. It coated her like filth. 

She followed the largest shards of the broken glass with her eyes to the other side of the room. When her eyes landed on the red blinking of the camera. 

Is she watching? 

Is this what she wants? 

Dani armed with new energy ignored the shards of glass and walked over to the camera. Positioning herself below it, talking to it... pleading with it. 

“MISTRESS! PLEASE DON’T SLEEP WITH THEM. DON’T BETRAY ME... I’VE BEEN GOOD! I’VE BEEN SO GOOD FOR YOU MISTRESS.” She didn’t even know if it had sound. It didn’t stop her. Because if it did... if Mistress was watching... she could convince her not to touch them 

To only touch her.  

“THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME! PLEASE! I WANT TO BE GOOD FOR YOU. I CAN SATISFY YOU! PLEASE! ”  

She was met with only the suffocating silence of the bathroom. 

“Please don’t abandon me, Mistress.”  

The silence that followed felt bottomless, of course, it was quiet. She was talking to a damned camera. 

Until— 

CLICK  

The door opened behind her with ease. Dani’s heart jumped, her breath catching in her throat. She knew Mistress wouldn’t abandon her “Mistres-”  

But it wasn’t Mistress... It wasn’t even Valentina or Celeste. 

It was the maid. Alya. 

Quiet. Slender waist, muscular arms. Uniform crisp. Eyes lowered, as usual, she walked in hamper full of laundry. She froze mid-step.  

Her eyes scanned the room. Combs and brushes scatter the floor, the shattered perfume bottle, then slowly her piercing gaze made its way to Dani. 

Not angry. Never angry. 

Almost in a quiet knowing. Like she knew this would happen.  

Like she was waiting for it.  

She watched Dani’s chest heave, in rhythmic motions of rising and falling as she breathed heavily like she’d just run a marathon. 

“This is what happens when Mistress Spoils a pet.” She set down the laundry on the vanity and walked closer to Dani. Slowly. Methodically. Like she had all the time in the world. Her ballet flats clicking against the tiles. “They forget their place and throw a tantrum.”  

“That’s okay however, I’ve been waiting to put you in your place.”

She stopped mere inches from Dani, and she got an inkling of just how much bigger the maid was than her. At least four inches taller. Broad shoulders that led down to sculpted arms like they were made from clay. Muscle definition that caught in the low bathroom light. Even through her navy undershirt.  

She rolled up her sleeves slightly, her veins curved faintly along her forearms, tension just beneath the surface like something leashed. 

“T-there’s a camera right there you can’t do anything to me!” Dani pointed to the camera and backed up her back hitting the back wall just beneath it. The hurt in her chest was very quickly being replaced by pounding fear. 

Alya simply snickered, confidently, aloof, she didn’t even look up at the device. “ I’ll let you in on a secret...” Alya mocked. “She doesn’t watch the camera while she plays with others...”  

And the hurt returned... Mistress was-is, ‘playing’ with them. In the far reaches of the back of her mind, she could trick herself into believing they were simply having a long... long conversation. 

A delusion. 

But that wasn’t going to get Alya away from corning her. Wasn't going to stop her from teaching Dani her ‘place.’ 

“Get away from M-” Dani didn’t even get to finish the sentence, as Alya’s hand shot up —iron fingers closing around her jaw, forcing her mouth shut with a harsh click of her teeth. Fingers digging into the bone of her jaw squeezing cruelly. 

“Kneel.” The Russian commanded. Grip tightening the seconds after Daniella didn’t comply. The grip hurt like if she squeezed any harder, she’d break Dani’s jaw. 

Dani whimpered against the pressure, throat tight with shock, her body stilled. Her words were gone. Inaccessible to her, just like that. She tried to push the hand from her jaw, but it didn’t budge. Like a vice grip. 

Seemingly out of patience and with no more than a weight shift. She shoved Dani downward by the jaw, hand guiding her like a leash made of pain. Dani stumbled, legs collapsing beneath her clumsily hitting the floor with a suppressed gasp. 

She knelt. 

Not by choice, not like the king, but down to where she was told to be. 

Like a dog. 

A pet. 

Alya released the grip of her jaw at Dani’s forced compliance.  

“Y-y-you can’t do anything to me! I-I'm special. Mistress will have your head.”

Mistress’s words replayed repeatedly in Dani’s mind ‘I'll never let another have you.’ Doing whatever this was to her had to carry some penalty.

“I’ll tell her! I’ll tell Mistress you hit me!”  

Alya rolled her eyes and dug around in her pouch for something... producing a small piece of paper she began reading from it. “Dear Dani—I’m really, really sorry. I did really like you... Love ‘your rose.’”  

Dani sat and listened to her read the whole thing... not in unfamiliarity but in abject horror. Alya was blackmailing her... with the note Rose had left her. She kept it, not to show Mistress but to use it for herself. 

Confusion swirled in Dani’s mind; fear pounded in her chest. Her pulse quickened and she felt beads of sweat trace her brow. “But you were helping me... you helped me, with the straps.”  

Alya crouched down to Dani’s level. Her hand shot beside Dani’s head, and the sound of flesh slapping the tile filled the room. Alya’s palm went flat against the wall, fingers spread. 

The maid wasn’t touching her but was pinning her against the wall. 

Her lips curled as she pressed her face forward. Lips brushing Dani’s cheek as her lips moved to Dani’s ear.  

“I helped you for one reason.” Her breath hot and heavy whispered against Dani’s ear.

“Because you’re so fucking pretty when you beg зайчонок—zaychónok.”  

The Russian was alien against Dani’s ears. Threatening and confusing. Not as confusing as the reason Alya helped her. Dani cast her mind back to every time Alya helped her... 

The first time with the note, she was on her knees... naked begging, groveling for her not to show the note to Mistress. The second time she had tears in her eyes as she begged Alya not to tighten her wrist restraints. 

‘OH MY GOD. Is this why she isn’t feeding me? She wanted me to beg for food...’

Dani’s blood ran cold as Alya pulled her face back—Her face was drenched in arousal. The woman Dani called an ice queen, an expressionless doll, her cheeks were flush, lips parted slightly. 

Her pupils were blown wide. Her chest rose and fell fast beneath the sheer navy of her undershirt. She stared at Dani like a burning woman. Drenched in want.  

“умолять зайчонок—Beg. Beg or I’ll show Mistress this note.” Alya had her pinned in a corner... figuratively and literally.  

“Please don’t do this! I won’t tell Mistress anything! If you stop here I'll pretend it didn’t happen.” When Alya didn’t budge, Dani tried to push her away. 

Stupid. 

Dani’s shoulder hit the wall with a crack, before she could recover the maid's hand was around her throat, fingers tightening with calm precision. Not enough to cut off her air, not yet.  

The other hand collected Dani’s wrists with ease. Pressing them against the wall. Dani thrashed once.  

An even dumber decision. 

Alya squeezed. Air vanished. Dani’s mouth opened, eyes wide, feet scraping against the floor desperate to stand. The hand at her throat kept her kneeling.

“Keep still.” She hissed the command like ice. 

Dani tried to comply. She did. But her legs trembled. She tried to nod, but Alya didn’t ease the pressure. Not until Dani’s eyes began to glaze over. And only then did she loosen her grip just enough for Dani to choke down a breath. 

“Try again.”  

Dani coughed, throat burning and raw. “Please! Please Alya let me go!”  

Nothing. Just steel in her piercing baby blues. Dani whimpered she needed to beg again.  

“I’m—I’m begging...please...”  

Alya tightened her grip again. “That’s not begging. That's whimpering. BEG.”  

Her voice was becoming hoarse and painful. The edges of her vision blurred, not just from a lack of oxygen, but an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. 

She mustered all the oxygen she could gather for one last beg. 

“Please—I’m begging you—I’ll be good! I swear I'll be good for you Alya! Just don’t—just please don’t hurt me...”  

The maid finally smiled. A small, satisfied curl of her small pink lips. 

“That’s better. It’s so pretty when you do it properly.”  Alya removed her hand from Dani’s throat.

However, she did not recall the hand pinning her wrists above her on the tile. Dani thrashed in panic realizing they weren’t done. 

Alya hooked her free hand up her skirt and pulled down a pair of pink lace panties...to her ankles. Dani looked at the familiar garment and back to the ash-blonde woman. A wry smile stretched her face. Sickeningly so.  

She had on the underwear Dani arrived in... 

Was that what she was doing when she stumbled across the note? Stealing Dani’s underwear... 

The underwear wasn’t the important bit, however; it was why she was taking them off that scared Dani. 

“Please, no! I’ve been good... I begged! I Begged Aly-” She was met with a sharp slap across the face. Not hard enough to bruise—but the shock forced her into silent submission.  

The maid stepped forward, bodies flush. And Dani remained kneeling. 

Dazed, confused her breaths came in shallow broken pulls. The tile wall was cold against her back, but the warmth that loomed in front of her was suffocating in its own way.  

Alya stood above her, silent, composed. Like a queen surveying her conquest. 

A hand threaded into Dani’s curls, methodical and possessive. Not yanking... but controlling. A fist full of hair. The maid tilted Dani’s head upward with ease by the hair. Forcing the rapidly dismaying woman to look at her dead cold eyes. 

No hate in them. 

Only satisfaction. 

Only hunger. 

“Look at you.” She said in a thick husky voice. “On your knees... where you belong—If Mistress won’t use you for your intended purpose. I will.”  

Alya leaned in, the hem of her skirt brushing Dani’s shoulders, then without warning she took her last step forward... Pressing Dani against the wall with the full commanding weight of her body. 

Thighs straddling her, trapping Dani in place. There was no room to turn her head. 

No room to escape. Just skin and the iron-clad grip of the hand in her hair. The other hand pressed to the wall now to steady herself.  

“You know what I want...” She whispered low and burning as she lifted the hem of her skirt... revealing her glistening cunt. The underwear... Dani’s underwear was a wet mess at the maid’s ankles.  

“And you’ll give it to me. Won't you, PET?”  

Dani’s lips parted in nothing more than an act of surrender. She said ‘yes’ as a shaky breath escaped her.  

Alya’s smile deepened as she positioned herself over Dani’s face. She dropped the hem of her skirt over Dani’s head, obscuring Dani in darkness.  

Then she began... She shifted her hips, slow, deliberate, owning. 

Grinding her cunt down into Dani’s lips. Her head was pinned between the woman’s vice-grip-like thighs and the hard tile wall. 

Dani opened her mouth, allowing herself to lap up the wetness being smeared across her face. The only way this would end—That Alya would stop, was if Dani made her cum.  

Dani lowered her face as much as Alya’s strict hand would allow. Finding her pulsating entrance, she used her tongue and hooked inside it. She did it repeatedly as she heard guttural animalistic moans come from the Russian. 

And Alya thrust herself forward with every lick, with every centimeter of Dani’s tongue that nestled itself deeper within her. 

She grounded and gyrated her hips forcing more of herself into Dani’s mouth. Her head lightly tapped against the wall uncontrollably as Alya began to smear herself on Dani from her chin to her nose. 

Dani wasn’t enjoying herself, but she could feel a dull ache coming from her own pussy, and a pressure beginning to mount between her own legs. 

She needed to make Alya come before she got any wetter herself. 

She tilted her head back up. Swirling her tongue against the Russian's clit. “Yes, pet! Right there! Right fucking there!”

She moaned heavily, in between pants. The woman was a big ball of tense muscle; she could feel her pulsating. 

The muscles in her thighs tightened around Dani’s head like it was in a hydraulic press. Alya’s release was close. She could taste it on her tongue. 

The grip on her hair got tighter to the point she thought Alya would rip her scalp off. Dani closed her mouth around Alya’s engorged clit and sucked, and she felt the woman’s hips roll and buckle. As she straddled Dani’s face like a face hugger and met her release. Some in Dani’s mouth, most of it squirted on her chin. 

“Ещё!—Yeshchyo! Мне мало одного раза.”  

“Ещё!”  

“Ещё!”  

Whatever she was saying in Russian wasn’t good. Even though she met her release... Dani felt her cum in her mouth, against her face... she didn’t slow. Didn’t relent. 

Didn’t stop using her face. 

At some point, Dani was pushed to the ground. Her lips were still sealed to the Russian's bottom lips. As Alya rode her face the more traditional way now.  

Dani’s head banging against the floor instead of the wall now. Dani’s jaw ached. In repeated motion of licking, sucking, slurping.  

But also, Alya was concentrating what felt like every pound of her into her pelvis as she pushed herself as deep into Dani’s mouth as she could.  

It was still pitch-black underneath the woman’s skirt. With her sight heavily impaired all her other senses heightened and she could taste the woman deeper. Cleaner.  

Hear every moan. Every slick and squelch the woman’s cunt made against her face. 

The moans coming from such a stoic woman... they were turning her on... this was a woman that barely said anything in all the times Dani had ever seen her. Now she’s moaning and gasping greedily above her. 

Desperately shaking her hips on top of Dani’s face. Trying to squeeze every ounce of pleasure from this encounter.  

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Я опять… я сейчас кончу!”  

Dani didn’t speak Russian, but this one was obvious... she could feel her pulsating again. She was greedily pressing down her clit more and more. Alya let go of Dani’s hands as she convulsed on top of her. 

She was Cumming. Dani felt another urgent release against her face... only this time Alya rode out the dying embers of her orgasm instead of continuing she reached a stationary position hovering over Dani’s face. 

Dani’s face was a mess... lips glossy, chin dripping, the maid’s cum clinging in strands across her face like proof of how deep she’d gone. Like a mark of ownership. In her hair...wetting the front of her shirt. 

“Mistress is missing out. But if she doesn’t want you... I’ll take you.” Alya said rolling off her. Admiring her handiwork. Pulling up the stolen panties. Before rapidly leaving the room. 

And Dani stayed on the floor as the door shut behind Alya with muted finality. The room was left in stillness... except for the soft, broken sounds of Dani trying to breathe. 

She lay curled on the cold tile floor; her bottom half pressed directly against the unforgiving material. The ache was seeping deep into her bones, but she didn’t move. Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Trying to hold herself together as sobs shook her fragile frame. 

Her face was sticky with the remnants of Alya’s desire, her own thighs slick filing her with confusion and shame.  

The air around her stank of sex, shame, and cheap perfume.  

Time passed like a thick fog. Heavy. Unmeasured. Then the door opened. And Dani flinched. 

Alya stepped back inside. Wordless. Her flats clicking against the tile. She didn’t look at Dani... not once.

She moved with surgical precision tidying up the bathroom. Crouched down beside the mess she swept up the broken glass from the perfume. Returned the combs and brushes to the vanity and folded the laundry before setting the hamper back in the corner. 

Did this count as helping her? Not allowing the others to see her meltdown from earlier?

Or simply doing her job?  

Alya walked closer to her and Dani flinched and recoiled but didn’t run. Didn't move she couldn’t. She stopped beside the curled woman on the ground. Then, with eerie gentleness... she slid her hands beneath Dani’s limp form one hand at the knee the other supporting her back and lifted. 

Alya lifted her like she weighed nothing at all. Her grip wasn’t soft or comfortable. It was simply there.  

“I was good... please don’t hurt me again. I was good.” She didn’t respond... didn’t need to, as she placed Dani in her cot under the sink like a broken doll.  

Dani heard a drawer open and close, and the faucet turn on and off briefly Alya approached without a word. Turning Dani towards her, which made Dani flinch, but not resist. 

With a wet rag in her hand, Alya crouched beside the cot and began to clean Dani’s face. 

Methodically. Calculated movements. Ones that elicited the most fear from Daniella. Tracing the cloth around Dani’s cheeks, her jaw, her chin. Wiping away her scent and stickiness. Alya paused... just long enough for Dani to feel dread, as she cleaned between Dani’s thighs with the rag. 

She was being gentle— it wasn’t comforting to Dani at all, however, precise, unhurried, like washing something fragile. Not out of any affection, but order. 

That's all this was.  

Restoring order. 

“Sleep. Mistress won’t be done with them for a while.” Dani closed her eyes because the woman told her to.

Remembering why she was so upset in the first place... Mistress’s betrayal.  

The tears slipped out... she had wanted to wait until Alya left the room, but she couldn’t contain them any longer. 

Then without another word, Alya left the room. Shutting the door with sickening gentleness. The gentleness was worse than the earlier slam. Worse than yelling. 

It was the sound of being used and forgotten. 

She didn’t move. Didn't shift in her cot. She let the ache seep deeper into her bones. The warmth of the rag still clung to her face. Like Alya’s hands were still on her. Only now disguised as care. 

Dani hated that the rag, the cleaning had felt good.  

Not arousing.  

Just warm.  

Like she was human again after being used like a tool. 

Her face was clean now; her face wasn’t sticky anymore... but she felt filthier than ever on the inside.  

A sick hollow feeling in her chest, when tenderness came too late and without love, when it was just another game to break her.  

Her breath shuddered out of her, in ragged pulls. Her eyes burned from too much crying. Her body felt heavy with something more than fatigue... 

Powerlessness.  

She couldn’t be the king... Dani didn’t know of any powerless kings.  

And yet 

Some small, traitorous part of her wanted Alya to come back... not to touch her, not to hurt her... just to see her. To acknowledge her, to make the roaring silence stop. 

But no footsteps came. 

Just the cold bite of the cot beneath her. The taste of shame in the back of her throat.  

She closed her eyes. And finally, exhaustion won. 

She didn’t sleep, not really. Just drifted to somewhere dark where dreams couldn’t reach her.

She woke in pieces. A dull ache in her lower back from the cot's frame. Her eyes raw, her lashes half stuck together from tears.  

For a moment she forgot where she was. 

Then the smell hit her. Clean tile. Faint perfume. 

And it all came back. 

She sat up, every movement stiff. Her thighs ached. Her stomach was tight with hunger—or something akin to it. The shame hadn’t left it had simply gone quiet. 

“Good, you’re awake. It's 10:00 and are collars are still on so it's you.” Valentina mused, and Dani didn’t want to turn her head to look at the women... her returned roommates but she did.  

She forced herself to. 

They were glowing. Faces flush, hair dampened by their after-activities   shower. Valentina had a sickening trail of hickeys going down her neck, deep red and evenly spaced... placed with methodical care.  

Celeste had a bite mark beneath her jaw, the skin broken slightly tender, and pink. In what Dani imagined was a perfect indentation of Mistress’s teeth. 

Dani’s heart sank and she felt the anger boil to the top again... they should be the ones resenting her... they should be the ones wondering why mistress called her! They should be the ones worried about their spot.  

But they weren’t. They sat idly on their cot, holding hands boldly. Not a care in the world. Unfazed by this environment.  

Dani stared at them. Her chest tight.  

Lucky.  

The word rang in her ears, sharp and ridiculous. 

They hadn’t ended up on the cold tile floor sobbing. Carried to their cot like a broken toy. Cleaned like a mess and then shut away in silence like returning a broom to the closet. 

Dani tried to make sense of it all. Was she weak... was there something wrong with her?  

Why was she the only person going through this? 

Dani didn’t reply to Valentina... she wouldn’t have been able to stop the venom from spilling between her lips if she did. She didn’t brush her teeth or reapply the perfume. She didn’t even want to go. Her body wanted to stay in her cot. 

But refusal wasn’t an option. Not here. 

She padded her way out the bathroom door. Through the office. Past Mistress’s unguarded laptop on her desk like a venous fly trap in waiting. 

She didn’t knock. She didn’t want to.  

She reached for the handle, cold brass filling her palm she turned it and with a click, the door opened and she stepped inside. 

The room was dimly lit, even less so than other nights, the overhead lights seemingly on the lowest setting, a single lamp on the nightstand on and humming small golden light, weakly, not strong enough to illuminate even half the room. 

The heavy velvet drapes hung blocking a large window, blocking any moonlight from trickling in. The air smelled of sandalwood and rose and Mistress sat on her fainting couch. Glass of wine in hand. Perfectly poised.  

Her silk night robe clung to her body in soft folds shimmering slightly as she moved, the fabric open enough to reveal the hollow of her throat, the line of her collarbone, the suggestion of soft skin beneath.  

The robe was tied loosely at the waist with unconscious elegance. Her hair still damp from a recent rinse.  

No makeup 

No jewelry. 

Just her.  

“You forgot to knock, my love. ”  

My love? MY LOVE? 

“How dare you... HOW DARE YOU call me that after you... After you SLEPT WITH THEM!” something inside her snapped, boiled over, at being called my love by this woman. 

“You betrayed me! I’m not your darling. You said — You said we could be together... just us. How does fucking them—you lied... LIAR! I’ve been good! I did everything you asked.”

Dani hugged herself as she felt her vision blur, the tears clouding her vision she tried to blink them away, but they fell and were replaced by new tears. 

Dani spoke to the ground... unable to look at Mistress during her meltdown... knowing one look of disapproval would stop her. 

Would silence her. 

“I leashed myself for you!”

“I crawled on all four for you!”

“I drugged myself for you!”

”I just wanted to be the person beside you!”

“I just wanted to be Worthy of you!” 

“I TRUSTED YOU!”  

Dani’s knees buckled and gave out, forcing her to kneel under the weight of her crying. She reached for the hem of her shirt.  

Ripping the garment over her head, Mistress remained silent. And Dani remained not looking at her. She threw her shirt off to the side. 

“I can satisfy you! You don’t need anyone else... just me! I’m willing. I want to! Just please don’t abandon me!” She couldn’t see anything, the room was too dim and her vision to clouded with tears at the burning sensation in her eyes. 

Silence hung in the air like a balloon.  

POP— 

“This is pathetic.”

Mistress shattered the silence and Dani in one swoop. She had let Dani empty herself. Let everything out before she crushed the now-naked Daniella. 

The vulerable Daniella. 

The room got colder.

Not the cold hardwood biting, but the calculated frost of indifference. 

Dani flinched raising her head and blinking tears out of her eyes so she could see Mistress’s face. Her gaze didn’t waver. She was staring straight through her. Her eyes were cold and unblinking.  

Mistress calling her pathetic stabbed like a knife to the heart.  

Mistress placed down her glass of wine and stood. Stepping ever closer. She began to circle Dani like a predator.  

Dani closed her eyes. Fingernails biting into her thighs.  

Accepting that her Mistress would strike at any moment. 

Without a word, Mistress stepped forward her silk-clad body moving like a shadow across Dani’s bare skin. She grabbed Dani’s wrists and forced them and her flat on her back against the unforgiving floor. 

With deliberate weight, Mistress pressed herself down—her knees settling onto Dani’s palms. Pinning her firmly. 

Painfully, as Dani gasped, the sharp pressure drove the air from her lungs. Her body straddled Dani’s chest. All she could do was uselessly kick her legs in the air.  

Every inch of Dani’s upper body weighed down, her trembling frame, every inch of pressure a reminder. 

She wrapped her free hands around Dani’s throat and began to squeeze. Her eyes icy with murderous intent. 

“You know your biggest problem, Daniella? You think you’re smarter than you actually are... to come in here fucking blubbering about betrayal... you know nothing of betrayal. You know why I don’t allow you to think? Because you aren’t smart enough to come to the correct conclusion.” 

“Nobody betrayed you I had sex with them yes...” She paused her speech but tightened her grip and the world began to fade at the corners for Dani. “Goodbye sex.”  

“I was going to let them go... but what happens to them next is your fault... and your fault alone.” Mistress pressed her thumbs into Dani’s neck painfully. Agonizing, her hands still pinned she clawed against the hardwood floor.  

“To think I was going to give you your new collar tomorrow—you haven’t learned obedience. I was going to reward you, with a new name a new status, and you didn’t even have to bleed for it!”  

Dani could feel her eyes glazing over and her weak kicking against nothing getting even weaker. 

“Now you will!” Dazed she released the grip on Dani's throat... a rush of oxygen came gasping into her, but Mistress wasn’t going to let her recover. 

She grabbed Dani by the hair. And threw her against the bedpost. Barking a single command.

“Stay!”  

Mistress didn’t rush; she never did she went to the nightstand and pulled out a small brown bag.  

She drew Dani’s arms behind her back, behind the bedpost, and with a hard clink and a pressure shooting into her wrists. She handcuffed Dani’s hands behind the post... she tried to move her arms forward and was met with the resistance of the bedpost.  

The cuffs bit into her wrists, slicing into them. “Mistress! It hurts! It hurts, please don’t!”  

“I told you. We can be together after we change your name and get your new collar. This is how you earn your collar. Do you not want to be with me? Is that not why you barged in here crying accusing me of cheating before we were even together?”  

She motioned for Dani to kneel, and under the weight and pressure of being together with Mistress, she obliged.  

Mistress Rapidly cuffed Dani’s ankles together and with a third pair of cuffs snagged her ankles to the bottom of the bedpost. She couldn’t stand... 

Dani was stuck on her knees, cuffed to the outside of the bedpost kneeling on the hardwood floors. Leaning forwards at all caused the cuffs to bite into her wrists and ankles respectively.  

She was in an agonizingly painful posture, in an embarrassing pose, naked and cuffed to the outside of the bed. 

Yet.  

If this is what it took to get her new collar... so be it... to be someone else. To be able to stand next to Mistress to be together with her. To not feel the fear anymore. To never see Valentina and Celeste come back with hickeys and love marks from Mistress again, she could endure this. 

It hurt. It hurt so much. But she didn't say anything she was under no illusion that she had agency. Just her bound and silent, waiting for her next instruction. 

Mistress reached into the paper bag again and pulled out a ball gag—smooth, black, and with holes punched through it. Dani’s eyes widened, but she didn't resist. No point now. Kneeling and unmovable against the bedpost. 

With practiced ease she fitted the gag into Dani’s mouth, securing the straps tight behind Dani’s head. Painfully so.  

Dani’s breath caught in her throat, the muffled sounds coming out of her gagged mouth carried a mix of fear, pain, and something deeper—a reluctant submission. 

Mistress’s hand trailed from behind her head to down her back, snaking her fingers downwards until she took a firm grip of one of Dani’s ass cheeks.  

Possessive. Hunger. For the first time since Dani took off her shirt, Mistress acknowledged her naked body... drinking it in, with a bite of her bottom lip and the gripped cheek being prodded and massaged. 

“To try and tempt me with this body...” Mistress licked her lips and moved a hand back to Dani’s throat. “When you aren’t who I want you to be yet...”  

“Oh—my, this is interesting.” Mistress’s hand trailed around Dani’s inner thighs and a sudden faint wetness caught her attention. 

Her gaze sharpened and without hesitation, Mistress ran her fingers across the entirety of Dani’s folds. Producing a small whimper from Dani. But confirming what both women knew to be true. 

Mistress held up her two fingers a trail of Dani’s nectar hanging between them. “You’re wet my dear...”

She chuckled wiping her fingers against Dani’s face, where drool from the gag was spilling out onto her chin and cheeks.  

“Are you a Masochist my love? Are you enjoying this... getting off on it? This is punishment, Daniella. How am I supposed to punish you if you get off on it?” 

Dani’s breath hitched against the gag. Heat burning in her cheeks, spreading faster than the drool or tears ever could. 

Her body betrayed her—again.  

Wetness soaked through her skin, a traitor's confession. 

Shame rolled through her in crashing waves.  

The cold cuffs, the unyielding bedpost, the gag silencing her pleas. 

How could she want this —this twisted mix of pain and want?  

Was she a masochist?  

The word echoed in her mind like a curse. If she was what did it make her? Weak? Broken?  

Because beneath the humiliation, beneath the pain she could feel Mistress’s control over her. 

She could feel a spark. 

Mistress was silent but active, as Dani felt Mistress attaching something to her inner thigh. The cord snaked discreetly between her legs, vanishing between the leather loop that held against her leg. 

“Nhgh ngh nurg” Dani whimpered at the feeling of something small and round being pushed inside her.  

Mistress backed away and lifted a remote.  

Click  

The first buzz was subtle. 

Not enough to make her moan. Just enough to make her body whine. Low, insistent, and maddeningly steady. The egg inside her was trembling.  

Dani’s thighs twitched. Her knees spread open wider. Her body began leaning into the sensation. As far as she could without the cuffs slicing into her. 

Mistress, stood back smugly as Dani came apart at her feet. 

The hum intensified. Just slightly. 

Dani clenched down—on the ache, on the need. She screamed into the gag, pushing drool and saliva out to her chin. 

She was soaked. She could feel it…humiliating and raw. She was slick from the inside out, and she couldn’t hide it. There was nowhere to hide. And yet still—still there was no relief, just the maddening vibration digging into her. 

Hot. Constant. 

Unfulfilled.  

Mistress had one last thing she wanted to do to Dani, and it sat on the vanity. The glass, the drugs, Mistress took it from the Vanity and brought it to Dani’s mouth.  

Dani thrashed her head wildly... she could semi-handle the rest of this —or as she learned about herself, she could even like some of these things, but not this... never the drugs.  

“It’s not obedience if you’re only doing the things you want to.” Mistress was right Dani wasn’t listening to her when it came to things she didn’t want to do. Dani practically volunteered to change for Mistress. 

She allowed herself to be tied up. 

This was punishment... she needed to show Mistress she accepted her changes if she wanted to be a new person, that she wouldn’t waver in the face of a command from Mistress.  

She stopped thrashing her head. And allowed Mistress to slowly pour the liquid through the holes in her gag.  

Without complete control of her tongue, she gagged on the substances, but she drank it all, as Mistress poured it all. 

“Good girl.” Mistress pet her hair, and Dani felt happy to receive the praise.

Dani had burst in here crying, angry, not understanding Mistress’s point of view. Not smart enough to understand that she was having ‘goodbye sex’ with the others. She was being punished because she deserved it. She didn’t trust Mistress’s plan. She questioned Mistress’s plan for her. 

“I don’t care if Daniella breaks… because by this time tomorrow, you’ll be somebody else. Someone I can love.”  

Whoever she’d become she’d be Mistress’s priority. Mistress would abandon Daniella...yes but she wouldn’t abandon her. She was the king. Just not as Daniella. 

It hurt. It all hurt so much. The gag was tight against her face, her knees dug into the hardwood floor, the cuffs digging in at her ankles and wrists, but it could be worth it if her Mistress rebuilt her in her image. 

She could be loved.  

Daniella just had to die first. 

“Feel free to make as much noise as you want...” Mistress produced a pair of soundproof headphones from a drawer. “You’ll be there a while.” She turned out all the lights completely and Dani was alone... engulfed in darkness.  

Mistress got in her bed and said one last thing to her. “Goodnight Daniella.”  and Dani muffled it back.  

Dani herself would be unconscious soon, the drugs taking effect, even the pulsating of the vibrator inside her, and the discomfort of the handcuffs wouldn’t keep her lucid.  

Her limbs began to feel heavy like they were filled with sand, her fingers twitched once and then slowed. Thoughts blurred at the edges. Words became thick and meaningless in her mind.  

She blinked slowly as if her eyelids had forgotten how to stay open.  

The room swam a little, violently—just enough to make her breath shallow, and her grip on reality loosen. Then the world narrowed to a pinpoint. 

She learned not to be frightened by the darkness. Darkness wasn’t frightening. 

It was quiet. 

It was hers.

Alya’s Room 4:00 AM  

Alya rolled out of bed, it was 4:00 AM, time to return Daniella from Mistress’s bed to her cot. She still didn’t understand what was so special about the girl that she got to sleep in Mistress’s bed with her.  

Or how she was ‘the king.’  

To Alya, she was just another of Mistress’s many pets. Maybe with a sweeter mouth and a little easier on the eyes than the rest but still just a girl that didn’t know her place. 

Alya’s jaw clenched she didn’t feel any guilt about what she did. To feel guilt, you’d have to have done something wrong. 

She inhaled slowly through her nose, and exhaled just as slow, like the breath could push Daniella’s begging face from her mind —tear-stained, trembling. She was so pathetically delicious like that. 

She noticed that Daniella had gotten wet beneath her. “She wanted me.” Alya muttered to the empty room.  

She told herself that enough times that it became true.  

Because the truth was harder. 

The truth that Daniella made her feel things... ever since she groveled naked in the bathroom, she felt something. A spark. Just for her. She had to tell her to get dressed directly after she started begging, or Alya would’ve pounced on her then. 

She was Mistress’s pet, but she could make Daniella hers too. She already had... her only regret was that she didn’t kiss her earlier.  

So no, she didn’t feel guilt. 

She felt power.  

She felt a longing she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Alya shook her head... no reminiscing. She had to pick Daniella up. She exited her bedroom, which was right across the hall from Mistress’s.  

She didn’t knock as Mistress was likely sleeping, and she didn’t want to disturb her. She cracked the door open quietly and stepped inside... 

Immediately she noticed that Daniella wasn’t in Mistress’s bed... she didn’t look like she was anywhere in here. Had Mistress sent her back on her own? Or had she escaped... a chill ran down Alya’s spine and she took a step towards the office, then another one. 

When she saw a faint outline of a woman hung by her wrists to the front of one of the bed posts. She took a half step back before taking a step closer. The room was pitch black she could only make out the woman’s outline... until she got closer. 

She bit the inside of her cheek at seeing the state Daniella was in. Hair sweated and stuck to her face, blood trickling down her arms, from where a set of cuffs was too tight. Her naked body hung limp, her face pointed at the floor. A mess underneath her, of piss and her own wetness it looked like. 

Alya lifted Daniella’s head by the hair... her eyes were open —but devoid of any life, the forest drained of all their green, a vacant dopey look in her eyes. Her breaths were coming out in shallow wheezes. Her lips were dry and bleeding around a ball gag. 

Alya knew what this was... It was breaking someone... breaking Daniella. For not knowing her place. For her tantrum that must have continued in here. 

Foolish.  

There was an odd feeling in Alya’s chest... She didn’t want Daniella broken. Not this way. Breaking someone, this quickly just leads to—well this an unresponsive woman. A docile woman. Not pretty broken. 

Nobody home broken. 

Docile women don’t beg. Nobody home women don’t beg. She was making Daniella ugly. Ripping the beauty from her eyes. Alya didn’t want that. She stood. Seeing a note attached to the bedpost. 

“Come back for her at 8:00 AM.” And Alya left the room. 

But she came back mere minutes later, a towel in hand and a bottle of water. She wiped the sweat from Daniella’s body.  

Daniella didn’t make any sounds during this... just continued her raspy breathing. Alya removed the ball gag and the woman’s jaw stayed open like it was her default setting. 

Carefully, slowly she dripped some water onto the pet’s lips, wetting them. She glanced at the bed to see if Mistress was stirring. She wasn’t. Alya tried to pur a bit of the water in her mouth, but Daniella wouldn’t swallow. Only making a choking sound as she gagged, when it hit her throat. 

She couldn’t drink. 

Not like this. 

Alya’s throat tightened.  

She glanced at the bottle and back to Daniella.  

And then she did it without thinking. 

She took a mouthful of the cool water, leaned in close, and pressed her lips to her Daniella’s gently.  

The first contact was dry and warm. Her mouth moved slowly, carefully as she coaxed the water between Daniella’s lips.  

Daniella’s throat bobbed as she swallowed on what seemed like instinct. A small sound escaped her. 

Alya pulled away, only to fix the woman’s posture. She leaned her back, so her wrists weren’t being sliced by the cuffs and closed her knees to steady her. After giving her a little more water Alya reattached the gag.  

Before saying goodbye Alya allowed her forehead to rest against Daniella’s. Their breaths both shallow. 

“You’re not hers.” Alya whispered. 

Not entirely. 

Not yet. 

If Mistress was going to break her in such an ugly way... Alya would pick up the pieces, and make her whole again.

Chapter Text

Dani didn’t wake up. 

She simply gained sentience, like a small child that clocked that they were a person for the first time. 

There was no groggy feeling of having just woken up, just burning eyes and ache in places she didn’t know was possible. 

She blinked  

Once, twice, a third time. 

She wasn’t in Mistress’s room anymore, but she wasn’t somewhere completely unfamiliar. 

The bathroom, the one she had been bathed in when she first submitted, white tile, white toilet and she was sat on the edge of the tub, she felt the cold fiberglass beneath her bare body.  

When Mistress said she would earn her collar through punishment she wasn’t exaggerating. She felt worse than punished, tortured Taught and corrected. Her knees ached, bruised, lips cracked, jaw sore, her ankles faring slightly better than her hands and wrists that were a mess of cuts and dried blood. There wasn’t an inch of her body that wasn’t sore. Outside and in. 

The vibrator was gone... but it had stayed in all night, her walls were swollen and irritated, from built up pressure that was never released. 

She shuddered, she was sat on the edge of the tub alone, who put her here? And where did they go? Was it morning? Was the punishment correction over? Most importantly... were Celeste and Valentina, okay?  

Mistress had said, ‘what happens to them would be Dani’s fault.’ Her fault for Dani’s tantrum... for accusing Mistress of betraying her. She hoped they were okay. She'd try to save them if she could, but the idea of even getting up made her knees scream. 

So, she sat on the edge of the tub, cold, naked, scared, beaten. Saved.  

Alone. 

Wishing Mistress would come hold her... that anyone would come hold her. She sat there for what felt like hours, until she heard the door click, and she recoiled. She didn’t want to be alone, but what if it was Mistress back to punish correct her more? She couldn’t take anymore. In mind and body, she was defeated. She wouldn’t be able to run away... 

Run where? With this body? It wasn’t happening. 

She let out a sigh of relief when the door swung open and it was just Alya. 

Just Alya? She laughed to herself. Dani wondered just how much this place had fucked her brain that relief washed over her seeing the woman that raped her just the day before. She just knew the alternative was worse.  

She liked Mistress. Wanted to be with her. By her side but she wasn’t who Mistress wanted her to be yet—which meant she could fuck Dani up, hit her, beat her, torture Teach her. Both psychologically and physically, and worst of all threaten others. But Mistress wasn’t without kindness, Dani could recall, the faint sensation of Mistress wetting her lips in the night. If she didn’t care about Dani at all she wouldn’t have done it. 

Her attention snapped back to the blonde maid in front of her when she saw a small white kit with a green plus on the front pop open. Dani watched as Alya pulled out bandages, ointment, cotton balls peroxide, ibuprofen and a bottle of water.  

She was thirsty, so thirsty. She didn’t want to ask for it, however, because how much would Alya want her to beg? Would said begging turn her on? She didn’t want to risk it. 

Alya crouched at Dani’s knees opening the bottle of peroxided and wetting a cotton ball against it, and she began to dab the wet cotton against her wrist, the peroxide hissed against the wound, little white bubbles blooming as the cotton ball sucked a small trail of crimson. 

Dani flinched, not sure if it was from the sting or the cold, but she did, and Alya looked up at her. “Sorry, didn’t know you were lucid.” There wasn’t any actual remorse in her eyes of course, but she began to dab again. Lighter.  

Dani couldn’t even feel the sting anymore.  

Am I hallucinating or did Alya just apologize to me?  

Examining Alya she looked a bit disheveled... which for her simply meant a few strands of hair were ruffled and out of place. It was a small sample size, but she was being decidedly weird today. “Why are you doing this?”  

Alya didn’t look up while she answered. “If these get infected, they’ll scar.”  

“Mistress doesn’t want them to scar?” Dani asked. 

“I don’t want them to.” Alya replied. 

“You’re creeping me out... Why are you being nice to me?” 

Alya looked up, her gaze piercing, words on her lips she looked unsure about saying. “It wasn’t right what Mistress did yesterday. Barnyard animals are treated with more respect in Moscow.”  

Dani chuckled to herself, how did Alya think she had any right to talk about yesterday's rights and wrongs “At least when she punished me it was because I deserved it... I was bad, stupid, deserved it.”  

“You didn’t. Not that.” 

“Stop it! I deserved it. It doesn’t mean anything if I didn’t!” her suffering lesson was pointless if she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t a lesson if she didn’t deserve it. She wasn’t hers if she didn’t deserve it. It was a lesson. Course correction for Dani who had gotten on the wrong path. 

Alya didn’t say anything in response, only stood and reached over Dani to fill the tub with hot water. Dani could feel the heat radiating below her, the steam curling upwards like breaths from a slumbering beast. 

Alya slowly lifted Dani in a recreation of how she carried her to her cot yesterday, and how she must’ve carried her to the bathroom, and placed her gently in the tub. The water was hot, almost too hot against her raw and bruised skin. It stung against her cuts, but soothed her aches 

“She cares about me. She wet my lips and gave me water last night! She wouldn’t do that if she didn’t—” She was cut off by the sound of the Russian woman giggling.  

She didn’t know Alya could giggle, it was like the cow on a children's toy making a clucking noise. Completely unnatural and unnerving. 

“W-what’s funny?” arms crossed tight over her chest. She wasn’t sure why her voice cracked like that, wasn’t sure why she was trembling again.  

Alya didn’t answer at first. She knelt by the edge of the bath, pulling the small plastic first aid kit closer, fingers wrapping around the bottle of water tucked inside. Her nails, sharp, clicked lightly against the plastic. 

“Mistress did not give you water in the night,” she said, eyes on the bottle as she twisted the cap off with a slow click . “I did.” Then she snickered. Not unkind, not quite. But not gentle either. 

Dani turned, lips parting in a dumb little gasp. “You—what?” 

Alya leaned forward, the corner of her mouth quirking, eyes dancing with something wicked. “You don’t remember? Of course you don’t. You were barely conscious. Couldn’t even hold the bottle. Gagged when I tried to pour it down your throat.” She tilted the bottle, pouring just a trickle of water onto her palm, letting it drip dramatically back into the tub. “I had to help you drink. Mouth to mouth.” 

Dani flushed. “You’re lying,” she muttered. 

“Am I?” Alya’s tone was sing-song now, her fingers lazily trailing the rim of the tub. “You whined like a kitten. Nuzzled into me. Very cute. So helpless.” 

Dani’s jaw locked, her hands clenched into fists beneath the water. “Why would you—why would you do that?” 

Alya finally looked her in the eye, and the teasing drained out of her like breath from a room. 

“Because she left you like a broken toy,” she said. “And I’m not made of stone.” 

Dani didn’t move. Her heartbeat thundered in her throat. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry or crawl out of her own skin. 

“You shouldn’t care,” she said again. Quieter. “You’re just her maid.” 

Alya smirked. But this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Even maids have hearts, little rabbit,” she murmured. 

She reached out, brushing Dani’s damp hair back from her cheek with the back of her hand. 

“Besides,” she added, “you looked cute gagging on the water.” 

“You’re sick, you know that?”  

“Am I more or less sick than the woman that chained you down like furniture in a windstorm?” She said smugly picking up a rag, wringing it out and trailing it across Dani’s back... they still had the entirety of the bath to do now. 

And Dani didn’t have an answer.

She hated that the bath was starting to feel safe. Hated that the quiet between them wasn’t cruel. That it felt… careful. 

Alya worked in silence for a moment, steam curling up between them like a veil neither of them was brave enough to lift. 

Dani shifted slightly, voice low. “You talk like someone who’s seen worse.” 

Alya gave a small, amused hum. “I’ve seen plenty.” 

“In Russia?” Dani asked, hesitating. “Before all this?” 

The rag paused mid-stroke. 

She didn’t reply, but Dani pressed further. “What’s a Russian woman doing in Colombia?” She asked intrigued. 

“Running and Hiding.” Alya said completely monotone, it sounded like a touchy subject, but Alya knew all about her. So why couldn’t Dani know more? 

“Hiding? I don’t imagine you running or hiding from anyone.” Dani couldn’t imagine Alya running away from anything. 

“That’s because you’ve only met Mistress. She’s a kitten compared to her own family... yet alone the Russian mob.”  

“YOUR ON THE RUN FROM THE RUSSIAN MOB?” Dani sat up in her bath, straightening her back against the tub wall, Alya was basically like John Wick or James Bond to her now. 

“And the Russian authorities.” Alya whispered after like no big deal.  

“What did you do?”  

“I didn’t take a fall.” Alya said somberly. Before Dani could ask what that meant Alya started in a storyteller-like voice. 

“There was once a girl from Moscow. 
She wasn’t good with books, or letters, or numbers. 

So, the girl dropped out of school and got a job in a warehouse. 
She lifted heavy boxes all day and all night. 
The girl grew up big and strong. 
And the girl grew into a woman. 

A co-worker told the woman about an underground MMA arena. 
And the woman became a fighter. 
She broke arms, shattered legs, busted skulls for money and fame. 
The woman became the best. 

The fighter fell in love—with her trainer. Another woman. 
Russia’s not a safe place for two women to be in love. 

So, the couple saved money. They dreamed of escape. 
They watched American TV to learn English. 
They got so close. 

Then one day, a man approached the fighter. 
Said she could make easy money if she took a fall. 
Lose, on purpose. 

He paid the fighter up front.  

But when she stepped into the ring… 
She couldn’t. 

Her pride wouldn’t let her. 
She won instead. 

The man worked for the mob.  

When the fighter got home... 
She was dead. 

My girlfriend. 
Butchered like a show pig. 

The authorities came. Accused me of the murder. 
Said it was ‘homosexual deviant rage.’ 

So, I ran.  

Boats. Planes. Whatever I could steal or stow away on. 
I moved through countries that wouldn’t trade me for oil. 

Argentina. Peru. Ecuador.  

South America swallowed me.  

Then, in Colombia—six men tried to rape me. 
I broke four of their jaws. 

A crazy Latina woman hired me after that. 
She said she liked the look in my eyes. 
She agreed to hide me. 

And the woman… the fighter… the runner… 
Became the maid.” 

The words hung in the steamy air like smoke. 

Dani wasn’t sure why the surface of the water rippled until she touched her cheek and found her fingers wet. 

She was crying. 

Alya didn’t look at her. She just dipped the rag again, this time without force. No pressure, no performance. 

Dani swallowed the knot in her throat. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” 

“Me too,” Alya said. 

She didn’t say anything else. And neither did Dani. 

Alya bathed her in silence after that. 

And for the first time since the collar, Dani didn’t feel like someone’s property. She felt like Alya’s confidant.  

Like allies. 

When the rags, and the rubbing stopped Alya sat her on the edge of the tub again, applying ointments to her knees and bandages to her wrists. It felt almost intimate. Almost loving.  

Alya lifted Dani again in a princess carry and made her way for the door. 

“Woah! Woah! Stop! Aren’t you forgetting something...? Like some clothes... I can’t go out there naked.”  She wasn’t even wrapped in a towel. It was unlike Alya to be forgetful of something like this. 

“Sorry.” Alya said looking away. A second apology today...this one less good.  “Mistress has informed the staff you aren’t to be clothed until tonight.” 

“Excuse me?!?”  

“In fact, she has confined all non-essential personal to their bedrooms until tonight.” 

“She can do that?” She basically has most of the staff locked in their bedrooms? What the actual fuck is going on?  

“Can I speak to Mistress?” Dani said flailing in Alya’s arms, her grip not getting any weaker. 

“Impossible.” Alya said, “Mistress is gone for the day and won’t be returning to the villa until tonight.” 

“What!? Where did she go?” Alya shrugged, and seemingly sick of debating opened the door of the bathroom and began walking down the corridor. “WAIT! STOP ALYA PLEASE! I’M FUCKING NAKED!”

She closed her eyes in sheer panic, she was okay with Alya seeing her naked...she’d seen Dani naked before, but what about anybody else? She said only essential staff were allowed to leave their rooms, but that could be any number of people.  

Five? 

Ten? 

Fifty? 

It could be any number. 

“Open your eyes little rabbit, it’s just us.” Dani squeezed a single eye open and looked around the corridors as she bobbed up and down in Alya’s strong arms. 

Completely deserted... 

By now she would’ve seen another maid, that avoided her gaze, cleaning or running away from Alya. Now there was nobody. 

And this didn’t seem like the way back to the office, back to her bathroom, back to Celeste and Valentina. 

Dani didn’t have the hallways mapped out in her head so she couldn’t be sure, but they were passing unfamiliar expensive abstract wall art she hadn’t seen before, and the carpet had now transitioned into hardwood flooring. 

This wasn’t the way back to the office at all! 

A deep panic set in. Not for her, but for Celeste and Valentina... 

“NO! Please take me to the bathroom!” She realized how weird she sounded shouting that. “PLEASE! Are Celeste and Valentina, okay? Please don’t let Mistress hurt them!” 

“They’re fine?” Alya said confused... “Is there a reason they would not be?” She asked. 

“Mistress said something would happen to them... and it’d be... it is my fault, for my tantrum yesterday! Please don’t let her hurt them! I’ll be your woman! I’ll beg really fucking pretty for you! Just find a way to let them go.”  

Alya stopped walking for a moment. Seemingly weighing the pros and cons of following Dani’s request. Apparently, the cons were higher as she kept walking. And for a third time today muttered Dani an apology. 

“NO! Alya put me down! Listen to me!” But Alya wouldn’t listen and eventually they reached an unfamiliar door, ornate with gold trims but the handle caked in dust. She flailed in Alya’s arms, a pointless attempt to get free.  

Even if she could get the hulking woman’s grip from her, she’d simply fall to the ground and do what? Run? That wasn’t happening... She wasn’t being carried because her knees were fine and dandy. 

Alya creaked open the door ignoring Dani’s cries not to. It was a bedroom, medium sized, hardwood floors. Cream colored walls. No windows. A double bed covered with a white cloth to stop dust from gathering on it. The air inside felt old, stagnant like time didn’t move inside. 

The bed was the only furniture in the room. Not a mirror, not a vanity, no bedside table. Nothing.  

There were no light switches, and the only light was coming from the corridor. The room was empty, but stuffy, dark and bare. Cold, clinical, and undoubtedly where she’d be staying... 

“No! NO PLEASE! Don’t leave me here. You can’t! Take me back to my room! My roommates!” She begged, she pleaded. Not sure if it would do anything other than turn the woman on.”  

Alya didn’t reply, and Dani knew this was something that wasn’t up to her. Up to either of them. She set Dani down gently on the floor. And ripped off the cloth covering the bed, white pristine linen underneath. She pulled the covers back, fluffed the pillows and recollected Dani.  

Tucking her into it... It was worse than strange being tucked into bed by Alya... Dani saw the morning light outside while being carried by Alya in the corridors. It was morning, yet Mistress wanted her asleep? 

Dani couldn’t believe it... she was in a bed instead of her cot, yet she was begging to be returned to her cot. To the black tile bathroom... with her friends. 

“Please don’t leave me here...” Dani whimpered, she was past the verge of tears she was in them.  

Alya cast her eyes to one of the dark corners of the room, Dani couldn’t make anything out in it and Alya shut the door without a word. Enveloping Dani in darkness. There weren’t even any cracks in the door. It was pitch black. 

Like she was back in the container. 

Cold, searing darkness. 

The room was freezing. She felt the buds of her nipples harden involuntarily. She cocooned herself in the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She didn’t have any faith she’d stay up right if she stood. 

But she tried anyway. 

To her surprise she could stand... 

On wobbly knees.  

She inched forward in the direction she believed the door was in. Arms in front feeling for the wall like a mummy. I must look like an absolute idiot right now. She thought to herself. 

She eventually found the wall, but not the door... how did she get so disoriented in the room already? She slowly moved along the wall feeling for the door. Until the wall sunk in a little and she felt the air change just a bit. 

She stopped; she was in front of the door. She felt around for a handle, she thought about waiting until her eyes adjusted to the dark, but how long would that take again? Hours? She didn’t have time. 

Her hand brushed against gold, and she bit her bottom lip in anticipation. She placed her hand on the doorknob and yanked so hard she almost threw out her shoulder. 

It was locked. 

Of course. 

“LET ME OUT!” She banged; she yelled. “ALYA? MISTRESS? LET ME OUT!” 

Yet she yanked, again and again.  

“PLEASE! I’M SCARED! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!  

Throwing her entire body into it. 

Her injured body. 

On a yank she wasn’t counting anymore she felt her knee buckle inwards. 

The pain shot up her leg like heat, sharp, immediate. She went down hard, the cold hardwood flooring being the only thing to greet her. Teeth gritted, she screamed. 

“FUCK! FUCK!” Her knee twisted at the very least, worse probably, likely. “My knee, there's something wrong! Please I hurt myself! Please let me out...” 

Yet there was nothing. 

Complete and utter silence. Only the sound of her pained whimpers and heavy breaths. 

She was alone. 

Nobody listening. Nobody watching. 

Or if they were she wasn’t worth saving. 

She crawled around on the floor trying to find the bed again. Her body was like this because she spent a night on a hardwood floor, she wasn’t going to do it again. 

After all, who knows how long she’s going to be kept here.  

The bed was soft, but not comfortable, the room was too cold, and she had a billion things racing through her mind. 

Where is Mistress? 

Why isn’t she allowed back in the bathroom?  

Are Celeste and Valentina, okay? Alya seemed to think so but she didn’t seem to know much. 

As usual, the questions didn’t have answers. 

So, she laid there, and time passed, or it didn’t. 

She thinks she slept, but she wasn’t sure. When you close your eyes and open them and the room has the same amount of light it’s impossible to tell. 

She never heard anyone in the corridor outside. 

Why would she? Mistress has all the staff locked in their rooms from the sound of it. 

She curled into a ball in the middle of the bed and cried. 

The wetting of the sheets beneath her the only metric she used to tell time was moving. 

Dani didn’t know how long passed, impossible to know. She only knew she wanted out. 

Out of the cold, out of the crippling isolation. Out of this room. This was a taste of what it would’ve been like had she woken up in the container alone. 

Cold, scared, alone. 

Always alone. 

Forgotten. 

“Please don’t abandon me.” she whispered to no one but herself. Her fingers gripping the sheets tightly. 

The words barely made a sound, but they echoed louder than any scream inside her own skull. 

She didn’t even know who she was begging. She didn’t care. 

She just needed someone—anyone—to stay. 

To not leave her in the dark. 

But they already had... for hours? Days? She didn’t know. 

Then—footsteps. 

Soft, measured. 

Not Mistress. Lighter than that. No heels. No scent of perfume or leather. 

The door creaked open. A triangle of light cut into the dark. 

Dani squinted, heart hammering. 

It was Alya. 

She stood there, backlit and wordless. Her silhouette sharp and still. 

Dani wanted to say something, anything. But her throat was raw.  

Alya walked in without speaking, crouched beside her. She slipped her arms under Dani without warning. 

Dani gasped, wrapping her arms around Alya’s neck as she was hauled off the bed. 

“You don’t have to—” 

“Yes. I do.” 

The words were clipped. Final. 

She carried Dani like luggage. Like something fragile that pissed her off just enough to be careful with. 

The hallway was cold. It was dusk outside now, the sun close to completely gone over the horizon. 

Dani’s face was pressed to Alya’s shoulder, but she didn’t cry this time. She didn’t speak. She just clung. Alya didn’t react, not the same as this morning... it wasn’t, she wasn’t quite right.  

They reached a door thicker, darker wood than the others. 

Mistress’s office. 

Alya shifted her hold and knocked once. No answer came. But Alya turned the knob anyway. She didn’t look at Dani as she carried her inside. 

She didn’t need to. 

Whatever waited in that room wasn’t for her. 

Alya was just the delivery girl. 

She dropped Dani in the chair that was across from Mistress’s desk once more. The chair returned... it felt like a bad omen. Mistress could make a single chair feel like the impending apocalypse. 

Mistress wasn’t present. The office sat empty and Alya stood over her shoulder like a statue. Arms behind her back, jaw clenched, eyes forward on Mistress’s bedroom door. 

Dani looked to the bathroom door.  

Shut. 

Silent. 

Not necessarily a bad sign... 

“Are they okay?” Dani squeezed the words out like the last bit of ketchup. Not expecting an answer.  

She didn’t get one. 

Instead, she heard the soft click of Mistress’s bedroom door open. 

And she stepped out. 

Dressed to the nines.  

All black suit, tailored within an inch of perfection, like she was dressed for someone's funeral. The blazer hung over her shoulders elegantly, the waistcoat hugging her curves, the slacks hugging her hips and waist. The holster over her left hip...no cross, no bolo tie, wearing lightly applied makeup... the first time Dani’s ever seen her in makeup. 

She was carrying a box in her hand.  

Gold, the size of a dinner plate, the height of two water bottles. Ornate... sat on the desk, as she sat in her office chair.  

[You may leave us Alya.]  

The command hung heavy in the air, and Alya lingered, just for a moment, words on her lips she seemed unsure of. 

[Are you sure this is right Mistress?] choppy, clumsy, said almost in fear. Was that really Alya behind her speaking? 

Silence. 

It hung in the air for a beat. Several beats. Too long. 

[It’s unlike you to care... don’t tell me you’ve grown soft? I don’t need softness. Especially before the games have even begun.] 

[No Mistre—] 

[LEAVE!]  

The words final, cutting, threatening. No room for negotiation. Or interpretation. 

And Alya did. Not any lingering, no sad looks, just loyalty and obedience. She bowed and left the room.  

Final. 

She focused her attention on the only person left in the room. 

Her pet. 

Her Dani?  

“God, I have had a day. Meetings after meetings. Meeting with the family jeweler, to get your collar. Man, what a pain! That guy talks FOREVERRRR” She slapped the top of the box. “You ready to see it? I spared no expensive of course.” She smiled. Not sadistically but like she genuinely believed she was giving Dani a gift. 

Dani would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about what was in the box...but there were more pressing things. 

“Y-you had me locked in that room... it was dark... cold...and I hurt my knee. I—” 

“Do you want to go back in there? It’s where you’ll go if you don’t behave.” She sighed sitting back, removing her jacket from her shoulders tossing it on the desk.  

The threat of the room made Dani straighten up. Her pulse pound. She didn’t want to go back... 

She shook her head fervently. “Please don’t put me back in there Mistress. I’ll behave.” 

“Really? You will?” She looked towards the bathroom... “So, if I go in there and blow both of their heads off, you’ll still be behaved?” She stood from her desk. “Let’s see, shall we?” The box in one hand against her thigh, the other on her revolver, fiddling with the holster she took steps past the desk, towards the bathroom. 

“NO! Not that please! I’m being good for you Mistress, just let them go!” Dani stood herself, trying to balance on one leg like an ostrich. She hobbled behind Mistress. Desperate to catch up, but she always stayed two steps out of reach. 

“MISTRESS PLEASE! They’re my friends! Please just let them go! I made a mistake I was bad, very bad, punish— correct me, teach me, but don’t hurt them... please don’t fucking hurt them.” 

Mistress stopped a step from the door. And Dani caught up, hugging her waist, in some twisted plea, pressing her naked body against her hoping it would distract her enough she’d Give up.  

“Mistress. Please!” Dani sobbed, her voice raw and shaking. “You can be so merciful, and I—I’m always so grateful when you show me that kindness. You didn’t betray me. I was wrong, I was stupid, I was blind! You only have eyes for me, and I—I only have eyes for you. ” 

She clung to the woman’s back, knuckles white, trembling. 

“Let’s just be happy. Together. In love. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Whoever. Just… please! ” 

Her words broke apart against Mistress’s spine. All she could do now was beg. 

A breath escaped from Mistress. Steady, deep. Like the tension in her chest had released. “…Fine,” she murmured. “Let’s tell them the good news, then.” 

Dani froze. “Really?” Her voice leapt up like a flame desperate for oxygen. 

She clutched Mistress tighter, dizzy with hope. “Thank you! Thank you! I’m so grateful. Thank you, Mistress.” 

Mistress turned the handle. The door clicked open with a soft, traitorous pop. 

Dani expected voices. But there wasn’t. 

Silence. 

Neither Celeste nor Valentina came to the door. 

Mistress guided her over the threshold, helping her limp across the tile. Their cots weren’t visible yet. 

Dani stepped forward, hope blooming in her chest like something radioactive. 

She called out, smiling. 

“GUYS, YOU’RE GOING HOM—“ 

Her voice cracked. 

Something in the air changed. 

The smell hit first—iron-rich and dense, like rust and pennies and old blood in the back of the throat. 

Mistress stiffened beside her. 

Then Dani saw it. 

Celeste slumped against the wall. A single, clean gunshot wound to the chest. Her eyes wide open, drained of their warm honey glow. Her blood darkened the fabric of her shirt beneath her, trailing down the side of the cot in slow, quiet streams. 

Her arms hung limp. 

Pale. Still. 

Dead. 

Dani’s mouth opened but no sound came out. 

Then—Valentina. 

Face down on the tile, her back torn to ribbons, a grotesque mess of stab wounds. 

Rage had done this. 

Rage, hate and something deeply personal. 

A knife protruded from the back of her skull. Buried deep, like it belonged there. 

Her hands were outstretched. 

Reaching. 

Reaching for Celeste. 

Dani dropped to her knees. 

Celeste must’ve died first. There was no terror in her expression. No confusion. Just stillness.  

Valentina… Valentina died in agony. 

Both of them lay sprawled across the bathroom tile. 

Blood seeped from them like ink from a squid, the two pools merging in front of the vanity. 

Silent. Thick. Final. 

Dead. 

Already dead. 

Already dead.  

“Oh, sorry, I neglected to mention I killed these two like an hour ago.” She scratched the back of her head like she made an oopsie... “You didn’t think I was going to kill them in this suit, did you?” 

Dani retched.

It came from deep in her gut, the kind of nausea that twisted her organs into knots. She doubled over and vomited on the tile, her body rejecting the carnage before her eyes. 

Gone.

Gone.

When Mistress said she would let them go, Dani had imagined plane tickets back to America. She’d pictured Celeste and Valentina holding hands in customs, adopting a cat, a yard with string lights and cheap lawn chairs. Happiness. The gay American dream, wrapped in soft blankets and safer futures.

Not this.

Not cold bodies and parted hands.

Not a blade driven through Valentina’s skull before she could reach the woman she loved.

They didn’t even get to die together.

Dani crumpled inward, holding her ribs like she could keep her soul from spilling out.

She hoped wherever they were, they were together.

Her voice broke.

And then it rose.

“You’re a monster!” she screamed.

She didn’t care anymore. Let Mistress drag her back to that black room. Let her be punished until her bones snapped. Dani had to say it.

Mistress didn’t flinch.

She crouched beside Dani, calm. “Me? A monster?” 

She tilted her head, gaze narrowing. “I may have held the weapons, Daniella, but your words… your jealousy... they drove the blade. You killed them...just as much as me.”

“No—” Dani shook her head violently, her voice raw with disbelief. “WHAT IS THIS?”

Mistress rose.

She stepped back into the blood-slick center of the vanity arms out, graceful as a stage performer bowing after the final act.

“This,” she said, voice low and triumphant, “is Daniella's final act, my dear.”

Dani shook where she knelt. Her mind screamed against the truth, even as it unfolded before her.

“You got them killed,” Mistress continued. “Your tantrum did. Your need to be special. It’s fine to call me a monster, but be honest with yourself—we are monsters.”

She stepped forward, heels clicking off the tile like a metronome shredding Dani’s identity.

She placed the golden box beside her with eerie tenderness.

Then, without a word, she undid Dani’s collar. The familiar weight slipped away, and she tossed it deliberately into the pool of blood.

The silver tag bearing “Daniella” vanished beneath the surface, swallowed whole.

Her name, erased.

Her fault.

All her fault.

“But,” Mistress said, almost kindly, “you don’t need to live with that guilt. You don’t need to remain the girl who got them killed.”

She opened the ornate box.

Inside was a collar—not leather, not steel, but gold. Solid, seamless. Curved with surgical precision to the contours of Dani’s neck, polished to a mirror shine. Blood-red rubies inlayed around the surface, still gleaming as if freshly set. At its center: a pendant—a serpent coiled around a rose, its fangs buried deep in the flowers heart.

Mistress’s emblem the one Dani almost always saw her wearing.

Her crest.

And engraved in tiny, perfect letters, with laser precision. One name.

INES

Mistress lifted her. Dani's legs trembled, but she didn’t resist.

They stepped together into the blood. Towards the vanity, to the mirror.

The collar closed around her throat with a click—seamless, irreversible. The gold kissed her skin like a shackle made of light.

No way it had been made in the last two days...

This had always been the plan.

She had walked into it. Crawled, even.

To be Dani again would mean carrying the guilt. 

Mistress had made sure there was no way back.

This wasn’t just a name change.

This was a transformation.

A death.

A rebirth.

“Beautiful,” Mistress whispered, sweeping matted strands of hair from Ines’s face. She kissed her cheek—cold, reverent. Their first kiss. Here. Among corpses.

“Just how you were always supposed to be.”

Then she drifted out of the room like a ghost, her footsteps fading.

And Ines—no longer Dani—stood there. In her place.

Motionless.

Alone.

Staring at the mirror.

Her reflection didn’t blink.

Blood at her feet. A golden collar around her neck. Two women dead behind her.

She didn’t know how long she stood there.

Then—footsteps.

Not heels.

Flats.

Three sets.

Behind her, a Russian voice. “Young Mistress…”

The maid who had taken her measurements on day one was standing over Alya's shoulder.

“Lady Ines,” she said. Head bowed in reverence.

Another, younger maid she hadn't seen before appeared beside her, glancing at the bodies, eyes shimmering with sorrow. “Madam Ines,” she whispered, uncertain.

None looked at Daniella.

None saw her.

Only Ines.

Her name hadn’t just changed.

She had.

From pet…

To accomplice.

And there was no way back.

Chapter Text

The blood was sticky beneath her feet. Not warm anymore, just thick and dark, clinging to the tile. Dani—Ines stood still, her arms slack at her sides. 

Staring between the trio of maids that came in here, declaring her ‘Young Mistress’ and the bodies of her two friends. Dead.  

Alya had said it like a vow... but it didn’t feel like one. She doubted they would listen to anything she said. 

She didn’t speak as they moved around her. The three of them looked at one another pensively. 

Ines flinched when Alya positioned herself under her shoulder and helped her hobble out of the pool of blood and nearer to the shower head. 

Leaving bloody footsteps in her wake.  

The older maid clapped loudly three times, and what could only be described as a gaggle of maids burst into the room. 

Half a dozen at least... some seen around the villa by Dani —Ines, others not.  

Eyes downcast, they were carrying a water basin. She flinched when it was placed at her feet, and a bit of hot water sloshed out. 

A hand brushed her elbow. Fingers brushed in her hair. 

[She’s afraid...] One of them whispered, not unkind but more like a diagnosis. 

[Then do your jobs quickly.] Replied the oldest maid curtly. 

A low stool was brought in, and she was pushed down onto it... not forcefully, but firmly enough to know if she tried to get up, they would repeat the action. 

She sat because standing was harder. What could she do on one bum knee? 

They wet her hair slightly and began combing through it slowly, untangling it, strand by strand. If she weren’t naked, in a bathroom with two dead women in it, and almost ten strangers looking at her, it’d almost be relaxing.  

It wasn’t relaxing in the least. 

Then the scissors and razor appeared. 

“Stop!” She said, her voice hoarse. “No. Don't cut it.”  

She jerked her head away wildly. Until she felt a grip on the back of her neck like a Boa constrictor. 

Alya. 

“Please relax. It will be over soon. Young Mistress.”  

Snip  

Snip  

Locks of her hair fell to the floor. 

[She said two inches. No more.] Came from the ringleader. 

When the hair was swept away and Alya let go of her neck, they began to clean her. 

She jerked at the first touch of the cloth. Warm, perfumed, deliberate. 

Embarrassing. 

“Please.” Ines whispered, “I can do it myself.” 

“You’re not meant to, Young Mistress.” The youngest maid of the trio said. 

She didn’t know where to look. She didn’t know how not to cry in this situation.  

Strangers brushing her down like a horse. 

Bathing her like a dog. 

While calling her young Mistress. 

Like she had power. 

When she didn’t even have the power to wash herself. 

She didn’t resist when a maid lifted her leg. 

Not because she agreed. 

But because she had already said no, and it hadn’t changed anything. Because her voice felt like ash in the back of her throat. Because if she spoke, she couldn’t pretend this was happening to somebody else. 

And now the basin was in place, the towel folded underneath her, the silver razor glinting. 

“Be still, Young Mistress.” A maid said gently. “It’s expected...” 

Her breath caught. 

Not requested. 

Not asked. 

Expected.  

The first stroke of the blade across her calf made her flinch. Not from pain—the maid's hand was careful, practiced even, she flinched from the sheer idea that this was happening to her. 

Not with her.  

Her other leg followed, they worked in silence. Shaving her legs in tandem, one holding the blade, the next holding her ankle, and the third smoothing rose-scented cream onto her legs. 

And then she felt them shift. 

Fingers against her inner thigh. A pair of hands spreading her knees... 

Her shame burned so hot it burned. 

“NO!” She tried to slam her legs closed, but the women held them open. 

But they didn’t stop. Just one of them muttering: “Mistress gave very specific instructions.” 

The razor touched her. 

She went still. 

There couldn’t have even been much down there...  

They shaved her like they were preparing a sacrifice.  

Detached. Yet gentle, thorough. No malice. No pleasure. Just three women doing their job, the cold precision of people following orders. 

They didn’t bring her a dress or normal clothes. 

They unfolded the garment slowly: a black slip. Thin, sheer, edged with delicate lace. Too sheer to be modest. Too silky to protect anything. 

“Wait,” Ines said, trying to wiggle away.  

But they were already behind her, slipping the strap over one shoulder, someone holding her arms as they guided the fabric down. 

It was barely clothing. She felt more naked with it on. 

She caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror as Alya helped her hobble out. Curls that used to graze her back, now at the midpoint of her neck. 

The dark lace traced her hips. The neckline plunging far too low.  

She looked like a doll. 

A possession. Something that was owned. 

“What’s going to happen to them?” Ines said, looking at the bodies. Her eyes drifting down from the mirror. 

“... It’s always been customary here to burn dead—” 

“No. You bury them. Together. One hole. Somewhere clean... Somewhere quiet.”  

No one moved. No one said anything.  

“I want them buried together.” She repeated, louder now. She was going to get this for them. 

Still nothing. 

She turned to the small assortment of maids. “You said I was Young Mistress. I wonder what happens if I tell Mistress you didn’t listen to me?”  

A few of them noticeably shuddered. The ones that spoke or understood English did anyway. 

She looked back at the bodies. Her chest felt hollow. Every second, they sat there. Decaying. 

“Now!”  

She yelled. And four of the maids sprang into action. Slowly lifting Valentina and placing her on the cot with Celeste.  

They were actually doing it. Doing as Dani Ines told them. It took some threatening sure... but it looks like the role as ‘Young Mistress’ wasn’t purely ceremonial as she thought. 

She thought being young Mistress was like when a celebrity got a key to the city, a nice gesture, but utterly pointless. They hadn’t listened to her earlier, though? So why now? 

Maybe they weren’t going to listen to her at all. Maybe they were just going to take Valentina and Celeste outside and burn them anyway. 

But even the illusion of choice. Of control, was more than she had before. 

It was the only thing she had. 

She wanted to see what else she could do. 

She saw the young maid who walked in with Alya and the older one, who seemed to have some level of authority. 

She spoke English well enough to call her ‘Madam Ines.’  

“You,” Ines pointed at said maid. “Do five jumping jacks.” 

Ines didn’t plan it. The words came out sharp, quiet, and ridiculous. She just wanted to see if she would listen. 

The silence stretched as every maid in the room froze. 

Then, without a word, the maid turned, straightened, and stepped into the middle of the room. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

She jumped, clean, silent, her expression never changing. 

Ines stared. 

She didn’t feel powerful. 

She felt sick. 

Mistress had truly made her some kind of Mistress junior. She had said her status would change when her name did... she just thought that meant they would feed her now. 

Alya walked her out into the office. Feet cleaned and bare.  

She, however, didn’t turn towards Mistress’s bedroom... instead steering Ines back into the corridor. The maid that Ines had made do jumping jacks following. Silently. 

No one explained where they were going. Ines just knew her knee hurt. 

“Can’t you carry me? My knee is killing me...” She asked Alya, who eyed over her shoulder at the younger maid trailing them. 

“No. Mistress would prefer if no one carried her woman.” Alya said to her. 

‘Her woman?’  

Alya had just carried her, not even an hour ago... 

So, Dani wasn’t her woman? But Ines is?  

What's the difference between them? 

A few inches of hair and a golden collar?  

A name?  

Wherever they were, the hallways were quieter here. Wider, lit with soft amber sconces and carpeted in the same velvet whiteness as most of the house.  

The air smelled like something faintly sweet, almost chemical. 

Ines limped, her right knee stiff and tender, until they reached a set of double doors at the end of a long hall. Ink black, tall, and the doorknobs solid gold. 

Alya opened the doors unceremoniously. 

The walls were a deep wine red. The fireplace was on and crackled low. The curtains were drawn shut, heavy and ornate enough to swallow the moonlight whole. At the center of the room sat an enormous four-post bed—black canopy, black silk sheets, pillows piled high. 

No sign of Mistress. 

No sign of anything personal. No clutter. No scent, other than what smelled like floor cleaner. 

“She isn’t here?” Ines asked Alya, but the trailing maid answered. 

“This isn’t Mistress’s chambers.” She replied. “It belongs to you, Madam Ines.” 

‘What? Separate bedrooms like we’re a divorced couple living in the same house.’  

It's not that she wanted to sleep in the same bed as Mistress tonight, but she wanted to see her. Mostly so she could yell at her... 

For everything. For killing Valentina and Celeste. For having almost a dozen maids present while they bathed and shaved her privates. 

For making her an accomplice in all this. 

Just to see her face. 

To see if she was sorry at all. 

Alya helped her limp to the bed, while the other maid pulled the covers back. Alya knelt beside the bed as Ines sat, then swung her legs over slowly. 

The mattress was cold. 

“Someone will be here to look at your knee in the morning.” Alya said, taking a small bottle of ointment out of her pouch 

Ines didn’t reply. Was she really spending the night here? Was a name change all it took to go from a cot to a luxury bed like Mistress’s? 

Alya smoothed a cream onto the swelling of her knee with practiced fingers. It burned slightly, sharply, medicinally. Then a bandage.  

And finally, the other maid drew the blankets up to Ines’s waist. 

Alya stepped back, but the other woman remained... 

A beat passed of the young maid not saying anything, when Alya was looking at her to speak. To explain. 

Then, after a pause: 

“My name is Rosaria. Mistress has assigned me to you.”  

Ines blinked... “Assigned?!” 

Rosaria bowed her head. “I’m your personal maid, Young Mistress.” she said simply without fanfare, ceremony, or any care about how Ines felt about it. 

It felt final. 

Dani Ines looked to Alya to see if this was true, and she averted her gaze... 

“I-I would prefer Alya...” She didn’t know this woman, didn’t know if she could trust her whatsoever. Alya broke the rules, acted on her own. Did things Mistress probably would kill her for if she knew she did them... 

Would this woman break any rules to help her? Defy Mistress for her?  

“Not that I dislike you or anything.” She scrambled not to hurt the woman’s feelings. 

“Impossible.” She replied. “Alya is already Mistress’s personal maid.” 

Ines’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her hands gripped the edge of the sheets, whitening her knuckles. 

She looked at Alya again. Really looking this time... and Ines saw it, the distance. The stiffness of her posture. The way she stood out of reach, eyes downcast.  

Alya didn’t speak in agreement to remain in Ines’s service, nor did she ask permission to stay. Mistress had already decided. 

And nobody in this room had room to argue. 

Rosaria remained by her bedside, composed and unreadable. Her black and white traditional maid’s uniform pristine, her dark hair braided and pinned. She looked little older than Ines herself.  

“I understand this is an adjustment.” Rosaria said, not unkindly. “But I swear it to you, Young Mistress, I will serve you well. My instructions are clear.”  

“Instructions,” Ines repeated. The word sour in her mouth. 

She wasn’t being cared for. 

She was being managed. 

Alya was already moving. Already bowing. 

“Sleep well, Young Mistress.” She said softly and turned. She didn’t look back. The door closed with a gentle click. 

Rosaria bowed again. “Would you like me to open the curtains? Or remain until you fall asleep?” 

Ines hesitated... she didn’t want to sleep. 

Why couldn’t she have Alya? She wanted Alya... They were starting to open up to each other; she even told her about her girlfriend who got murdered, and she gave her water, against Mistress’s wishes. Cared about her in some way.  

Rosaria moved silently to the curtains, drawing them back. Soft patches of moonlight filtering across the room. 

Then, still and upright, she took a seat in the corner chair and folded her hands in her lap. 

Waiting. 

Watching. 

Ines laid back and stared at the ceiling. 

She didn’t feel like a ‘Mistress,' however, that was supposed to feel. 

She felt like a girl wrapped in silk in someone else's bed. 

The silence stretched long and cold. 

“Rosaria?” 

“Yes, Young Mistress?” 

“Would you tell me...if Mistress planned to hurt me?” 

Her answer came without delay. 

“No.” 

Ines turned and looked at the shadowy woman in the chair. 

She pulled the covers over her head and tried to pretend she wasn’t there.

She jolted awake, in the bath, Alya expertly running a sponge over her back, warm water... lavender scented. She felt around her neck... 

Velvet... not gold. 

Was that a dream?  

“Alya? Where Am I? What happened? Are Celeste and Valentina okay?” 

Alya tilted her head in a fit of confusion. “I collected you from Mistress’s room this morning...” She said, slowly and kindly. “You’re alright now. It’s all over, okay? You're okay, Daniella.”  

Dani exhaled. The tension beginning to seep from her shoulders. For once, she felt clean. Not just from the blood, but her body felt oddly light. 

Alya brushed her fingers through Dani’s wet hair. 

And Dani leaned into it. 

“This is nice.” Dani said, eyes closed, embracing the warmth. 

She heard the sponge dip again, and something thick being smeared on her. 

She opened her eyes. The water was warm... too warm. The scent of lavender curling into iron. 

She turned to look at Alya. 

But Alya was gone. 

In her place stood Celeste, her curls stringy and dark with blood, eyes pale and hollow. Her mouth hung open slightly... a hole the size of a golf ball blown in her chest. 

“You let it happen.” She whispered. 

Dani froze. “N-no, I didn’t—Celeste, I didn’t—”  

“LIAR!” Celeste yelled, getting into the bath with her, her gaping wound bleeding into the water. “LIAR !” She repeated, sinking into the water, without a splash. 

The water turned black. 

Then Valentina rose from it. Taller than she remembered, shoulders rigid, face hard with betrayal. Knife protruding from the back of her skull. “You could have stopped her.”  

“N-no! T-that's not TRUE! I tried, forgive me I TRIED!” 

“You betrayed us!”  

She tried to lift herself out of the bath, tried to move anywhere... but she was bound by unseen hands. She looked down, and the water had turned to blood. Thick and clinging to every pore. 

And rising. 

“You belong to her now.” Valentina said. 

“You chose her.” Celeste’s voice echoed, though her body was gone. 

“You killed us! YOU KILLED US! YOU KILLED US!” They repeated in unison. 

Dani began to scream. 

Valentina wielded the golden collar, snapping it shut around her neck. She felt the gold chill against her neck, the bite of it locking shut. Cutting off her breath— 

“Hnnngh!” She jolted upright with a sharp gasp, lungs dragging in breaths like she had been drowning. 

Sweat clung to her skin. Her heart pounded against the silk sheets. The room was dim with the light of early morning. 

A dream... it was just a dream. 

“Ines, I am Ines. Not Dani... Ines. Not my fault, it wasn’t my fault.”  

She whispered to herself, trying to distance herself from the guilt... from the responsibility. 

She rubbed her eyes and blinked, then her eyes landed on the chair... 

Rosaria was still there.  

Sitting in the same chair, posture still perfect, hands folded on her lap. Her expression hadn’t changed. Not a strand of hair out of place. 

Ines stiffened. Her throat tightened. 

“Were you...” She sat up slightly, voice scratchy. “Did you sleep there?”  

Rosaria blinked once. “You never dismissed me, Young Mistress.”  

Ines stared at her. “You mean you’ve just been...sitting there? All night? 

“Yes.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Would you like to dismiss me now?” 

“I—no, I mean... I don’t know. I just...” Ines looked away. She wasn’t going to finish the sentence; she was going to ask her if she was being creepy on purpose. Maybe it was her fault... maybe she was missing something. 

She’d lived a normal life without servants, and she figured it was just common sense that she’d let herself out, but she didn’t know this kind of etiquette. 

“I’m sorry if I kept you... And I'm sorry about the jumping jacks the day before.” 

Rosaria tilted her head at the apology, as though turning over a foreign object in her mind. 

“There is nothing to apologize for.” She said flatly. “You are the Young Mistress. You do not need to concern yourself with the comfort of your servants.” 

She rose from the chair in a single smooth motion. No sigh, no stretch, no sign that she’d spent hours immobile. Her uniform still immaculate. 

“I am trained to endure worse than a night in a chair.” She added, “And I've already forgotten about the jumping jacks.” 

“You have?” 

“No.” Rosaria said plainly, “But I have filed it under ‘irrelevant.’” 

Ines laughed... nervously, unsure if that was a joke or not. It didn’t sound like a joke. 

“Your schedule for today is light. The doctor will be here in a few hours, but you have nothing mandated before that. Would you like my assistance with washing up? Or would you prefer breakfast first?” 

The thought that she was actually going to be fed breakfast made her stomach growl with need...but she was drenched in sweat. 

“I’ll shower first.” Ines said, “...But I don’t need any help.” She winced as she pulled her knees up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. 

She slid off the bed with a hiss when her right knee protested the movement and stumbled slightly. Unable to put much, if any, weight on the joint. 

Rosaria was there immediately, steadying her with a cool hand under her arm. Ines allowed the maid to walk her over to the bathroom, her bathroom. 

The bathroom was Marble galore, a shower and a bathtub that looked big enough to qualify as a jacuzzi, pristine tile, toothbrush, hair products, and lotions all set out. 

“Thank you, Rosaria, I’m good from here...Go get some sleep, I’m sorry again that I didn’t think to dismiss you... This is all new to me.”  

Rosaria didn’t let go immediately, her gaze flickering to Ines’s knee instead, then back to her face before she let go. 

She didn’t acknowledge the thanks or the apology as if they were useless to her. 

“I will remain outside the door.” She said, “Call for me if you need anything, you may not yet, but you will.”  

She quickly bowed and turned, not waiting for Ines’s response, closing the door behind her with quiet finality. 

The bathroom was silent now. She peeled off her slip from the night before and entered the shower... 

It was Earthy, the floors made of a smooth stone, no tiling, instead grand slabs of marble and stone entwined. She turned it on and let the steam envelop her. 

Her first hot shower in almost a week, she let the water cascade over her and drown out the world around her until the edges of everything blurred. 

Ines stood under the water, motionless. She could still feel the heat of the dream on her skin, the blood, the guilt , the drowning sense of identity, slipping between Dani and Ines like two different lives sewn together wrong. 

She breathed in slowly. Trying to remind herself of who she was supposed to be. 

Ines. 

Not Dani.  

Ines. 

Chapter Text

The name—her name- echoed in her skull like a prayer. 

Ines. 

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and towel wrapped tightly around her, Rosaria was waiting outside the door just as promised. Not leaning. Not distracted. 

Just... standing. As if Ines was in the bathroom for 30 seconds. 

She offered no comment on Ines's flushed face. 

Instead, she stepped aside and gestured toward the dressing screen she had set up beside the bed. 

“I’ve laid out an outfit for you.” Rosaria said, “Mistress instructed that you be ‘presentable.’”  

Behind it, hanging neatly on a small wall rack. Were three pieces. 

A white cotton dress shirt, crisp and freshly steamed. 

A charcoal gray skirt, soft, hemmed below the knee to hide the bruising on her knee. 

And a simple navy cardigan, folded neatly beside a pair of all black slippers. 

No bra or underwear... 

Again. 

“Uhm, Rosaria? Do I still not get any underwear?” 

Rosaria didn’t blink. “There were no undergarments included in Mistress’s directive.” She said calmly, like discussing the weather with her. “Mistress believes comfort breeds complacency.”  

So, she would be underwear-less for the rest of her days?  

“Could I speak to her? Will she come see me?”  

“No.”  

Ines’s breath died in her throat. 

Just that. One word. 

No. 

No explanation. No apology. 

“She won’t come?” 

“Mistress is occupied with her work.” Rosaria stood like stone. Composed, efficient, unmovable. “When you’ve healed, you will have your own duties.”  

“My own duties?” She said more to herself than to Rosaria, and just as she anticipated, the maid did not answer. 

Only looked at the clothes she had picked out.  

“May I assist you in getting dressed, Young Mistress?” 

“No... I can manage.” She said quietly, tired of strangers seeing her naked. 

Rosaria bowed and excused herself, not very far... just to the other side of the screen, but it was a semblance of privacy, one Ines would take. 

She managed the dress shirt and the cardigan well enough. She was full on ‘Winnie the Pooh-ing' it. Top half dressed, bottom half completely naked.  

She should ask for help with the skirt, she knew she should...but it’s hard to ask for help when you’ve finally been given some small level of autonomy. 

Since she’s gotten here, she’s had a choice in so little, been treated like a doll, had things done to her against her will... 

Asking Rosaria for help was just aiding in the dollification. 

She clutched the skirt in her hand and took a small, measured breath.  

She did the shirt herself... she could do this. 

The skirt, though, when she bent her knee to step in, her knee gave out. 

It wasn’t gradual. 

It was a sharp, biting collapse—her leg buckled, and she crashed sideways with a startled gasp.  

A dull thump. A hiss of pain followed as she crashed into the screen and then the floor. 

Before she could even gather her bearings, Rosaria was there. Ines hadn’t called for help, but the maid had moved the moment she heard the impact. Swift, silent, already halfway around the screen by the time Ines was trying to push herself off the cold hardwood floor. 

“Don’t,” Rosaria said, kneeling beside her. Her voice even. Not alarmed, not cruel, not frustrated that she had asked Ines if she needed help several times. 

Just there for her. 

Ines froze, half-naked and humiliated on the floor, far worse than just asking for the initial help. She tried to speak, tried to apologize for causing trouble... but Rosaria had already slipped an arm beneath her and helped her up with effortless precision for a woman that was roughly the same size as her. 

She didn’t scold or even question why Ines hadn’t asked for help. 

“I thought I could manage.” Ines whispered, eyes wet with frustration. 

Rosaria didn’t respond, only guided Ines to sit at the edge of the bed, picked up the skirt, and knelt again. 

She didn’t ask for permission this time. She just worked. 

One leg, then the other. No rush. Her movements were gentle but economical, like she was dressing a fragile doll...Ines didn’t know if she wanted to cry or disappear. 

“I’m sorry.” And she meant it. She's bad at ‘this,'  whatever it is—being a Mistress. She didn’t dismiss her, so she spent all night in a chair, and she fell over after Rosaria offered to help multiple times... 

She must be exhausted from not sleeping, frustrated from Ines not listening to her, or letting her help. Yet she’s been nothing but gentle and patient. 

And all Ines was doing was trying not to be the doll she already was. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I told you, you’d need my help eventually.” She got up, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. And walked back behind the screen. 

“Breakfast is ready when you are, Young Mistress.” 

Like nothing had happened. 

The tray was set across her lap with quiet precision. 

A linen napkin. A silver fork, a white porcelain plate with a golden trim. Holding a mouthwatering two-thick slices of French toast dusted with powdered sugar, a neat portion of soft scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange juice set off to the side. 

Her stomach growled embarrassingly loud. 

She barely chewed, shoveling a bite of egg into her mouth, then another. She didn’t care about looking regal or proper. She hadn’t eaten like this... in days? A week? The only thing she’d been given to eat was some fruit days ago. 

She was scarfing it down like someone might take it from her if she ate too slowly. 

Rosaria didn’t move. Didn't raise her voice. Just said flatly: 

“You should slow down. You haven’t been eating properly. You'll make yourself sick.” 

Ines paused mid-bite, blinking at her. “How would you—” 

“I received a full report from Alya before I was assigned to you.” 

Of course she had. 

The eggs turned heavy in her mouth. She swallowed slowly, setting the fork down. 

“She told you everything?” 

Rosaria tilted her head slightly. “Everything relevant, peanut allergy, that you were dehydrated. That the only meal you’ve eaten since you’ve been here was some fruit.”  

Ines imagined Alya left out the part where she was purposely trying to feed her peanut butter. 

Among other things.  

“Did Mistress tell you anything about me?” 

Rosaria didn’t answer immediately, until, in the same flat, even tone, she said: 

“No. You wear her family crest; it is not necessary.” 

Ines ran her fingers over the snake and rose pendant that hung from her collar...so it really was a family crest like she thought. 

But whose family? 

“I’m not from her family.” Ines said, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. 

Before Rosaria could respond, a knock at the door cut through the tension. Three polite raps. Precise. Professional. 

Rosaria turned her head towards the door. “That will be the doctor.” 

She didn’t ask permission to answer. She simply moved, footsteps soundless across the floor. The door opened no wider than it needed to, and she murmured something too low for Ines to hear. 

Then Rosaria stepped aside, and a tall woman in a slate-grey suit entered, carrying a sleek black case. 

She was willowy, with sharp cheekbones and long ginger hair tied back in an immaculate ponytail. Her tailored grey suit hugged her frame like it had been stitched around her body, and a stethoscope looped neatly out of her jacket. 

“Young Mistress,” She greeted, offering a polite nod. Her voice was smooth. Ines wished she was better at placing accents because the woman was undoubtedly American, but she couldn’t discern where from. 

“I’m Doctor McKay, I understand your knee is bothering you... Is that correct?” 

Ines, unsure how to respond, looked to Rosaria, who stood by the door like a statue. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “My leg gave out, or my knee.” 

“Right.” The doctor set down her case with a quiet click and crouched beside the bed, pulling on a pair of thin black latex gloves. “May I?” She gestured towards Ines’s knee, ready to examine. 

Ines nodded. 

Doctor McKay carefully lifted the hem of the skirt Rosaria had helped her into, folding it back just enough to reveal the bruising underneath. 

She stopped her from pulling it back too far however, painfully aware that if she pulled it back anymore, she’d have a view of Ines’s vagina. 

The doctor's fingers were gentle but precise, pressing along the swollen joint, watching Ines’s face closely. “Sharp pain here?” She asked, pressing the inside of her knee. 

Ines hissed a “Yes.” Through the pain. 

“That’s good, no nerve damage.” She said, nodding to herself. “How about here?” She pressed her knuckle to the outside of Ines’s knee. 

“Doesn’t hurt as much.” 

The doctor nodded, expression unreadable. 

“You’re lucky, it’s not torn. Sprained, most likely from strain. The swelling appears to be what’s causing most of the pain and limited mobility. You'll be in pain for a few days, but with compression and rest, you’ll recover. Ice, elevation, and limited walking. No stairs.”  

Doctor McKay turned to Rosaria. “I’ll need the brace from the second aid drawer. The one marked M.” 

Rosaria moved immediately, slipping out of the room without a word. 

Alone with the Doctor, Ines felt a little smaller. 

The doctor’s eyes would occasionally drift over her collar, just for a moment... was she checking out the rubies inlaid in it? The name on it? Or the pendant that dangled just below her throat? 

Her voice came out low, brittle, and a little more awkward than she would’ve liked. “Does everyone here know what this means?” she asked, grasping at her pendant. 

Dr. McKay didn’t look at her right away. She was adjusting the length of gauze on the tray beside the table. 

Finally: “You mean you don’t know who it represents?” She shook her head in disappointment, mumbling something Ines could barely hear under her breath.  

“...You could at least tell the poor girl who she belongs to—”  

The doctor exhaled through her nose, not quite a sigh. “That crest,” she said finally. “It isn’t decorative.” Her eyes flickered over the pendant again. “The crest is old. Older than most people realize, but everyone in this country knows who it belongs to.” 

“Mistress?” 

Dr. McKay gave a small nod. “In a sense.” She hesitated. “Her family, it’s her family’s crest...what you wear around your neck not only marks you as part of it. It marks you as claimed by the family and protected by it.” 

Ines ran her finger over the pendant. Snake devouring a rose... could a simple crest mean all that? 

Claimed. 

Protected. 

Possessed.

“Who are they? Who is this fami—” The door creaked open, interrupting them. Rosaria stepped inside, brace in hand, not a word spoken.” 

Dr. McKay turned. “Perfect timing.” 

That conversation was over. She didn’t know how it was possible to get so much and so little from a conversation at the same time. 

The doctor wrapped her knee first and then put the brace on it. The brace was incredibly stiff, but not painful. 

“No running, no stairs, and no attempts to show everyone how independent you are, for at least five or six days. At worst, two weeks.” 

That earned a faint smile from Rosaria, more with her eyes than with any lips or teeth. 

Dr. McKay disposed of her gloves and repeated everything Rosaria would oversee, ice on and off every twenty minutes, anti-inflammatory pills to reduce the swelling, and elevation of the leg. 

She gathered up her kit with smooth, automatic motions. No more answers, no more glances at the collar. 

Dr. McKay reached for the door, hand pausing on the handle. 

“For my wallet’s sake, I hope you get injured twice a week...” She said flippantly. “But for your sake, I hope we never meet again, Young Mistress.”  

The title landed between them weirdly.  

And then she was gone. 

The rest of the day passed in quiet monotony. 

Rosaria administered the pills like clockwork, her voice never louder than necessary. She applied the ice, adjusted the brace, and propped up Ines’s leg with perfectly fluffed pillows. 

Dinner. 

Painkillers. 

Ice. 

A bath to end the day. One Ines took with burning cheeks and eyes on the ceiling as Rosaria revoked her shower privileges after she fell this morning. 

There was no TV in the room. No phone. Not even a wall clock for Ines to stare at and count the seconds. 

The house was a quiet tomb. 

Mistress did not come. 

That night, Ines dreamed she was back in the bathtub again. Only this time, Celeste’s blood ran thicker, staining the water like ink. Valentina’s hand reached for hers, but it was cold. Lifeless. She could move in this dream, but the bathroom door was locked.  

She screamed, but only silence came out as Valentina clasped the collar around her neck once more. 

She woke up in a panic, heart pounding, breath caught in her throat. Sheets tangled. Collar heavy. Rosaria already sat by her bedside. 

“You were talking in your sleep.” She said plainly. 

Ines didn’t ask what she had said. 

Day Two  

The second day, her body ached less, but the heaviness in her chest grew. 

She was allowed to sit in an adjacent room; Rosaria called the sunroom for a short while. Rosaria helped her there, silent as ever. The brace hidden under a long skirt. 

Ines stared out at the garden. The grass looked perfect. Trimmed. Controlled. 

Not even the wind dared to ruffle the hedges. 

“I didn’t kill them.” She whispered once, without prompting.  

Rosaria said nothing. 

That night, Valentina’s eyes followed her through the halls of the villa in her dream—Empty, endless, blood on the walls, the corridors going on forever but never leading anywhere. Celeste’s cries could be heard bleeding from the wallpaper. It ended how it always ended. 

Valentina slapping the collar on her. 

This time, the pendant on her collar glowed red hot. It choked her.  

It burned. 

She woke up with tears on her cheeks. 

Rosaria was already sitting in the corner chair as if she’d never left. 

Maybe she hadn’t. 

Day Three  

By the third day, Ines could walk short distances without help. 

“Your balance is improving.” The maid commented, “The swelling has gone down significantly.” 

Rosaria fed her soup that she didn’t want to eat. It tasted like nothing. 

Mistress still hadn’t come. 

Not even a shadow under the door at night. Not even a secondhand word passed to Rosaria. 

That night, the dream was worse. Celeste was alive—but crying, sobbing into Ines’s lap, blaming ‘her’ over and over again. “Dani. Dani, why did you take her from me? What did we ever do to you?”  

Then Valentina walked in.  

Dead. 

Not only dead, but each and every day... 

She'd been decaying. 

Rotting. Each night more. 

Her skin was grey, and the maggots were feasting. 

She had Mistress’s gun in one hand. The collar in the other. 

“This is the future you chose.”  

A shot rang out. Ines woke up screaming. 

Her hand flew up to her collar. Still there. Still hers.  

Rosaria stood by the door. No expression. 

“I’ll prepare a calming tea,” she said softly. “And change your sheets.” 

Ines curled in on herself, clutching the pillow. Voice raw. “Why won’t she come see me?”  

Rosaria didn’t answer. 

She never did. 

Day Four  

The fourth day dawned gray. 

Rain tapped softly against the windows, and the garden was shrouded in mist. Ines sat with a blanket draped over her legs in the armchair; Rosaria had moved closer to the window.  

Her knee throbbed faintly beneath the brace, but it wasn’t the pain that kept her silent. It was the ache behind her eyes. 

Like she hadn’t rested in days. 

Because she hadn’t. 

Breakfast came she barely touched it. Tea followed. She drank it without tasting it. 

Mistress still had not come. 

Rosaria never commented on the fact that Ines was getting smaller and more silent by the day. She only kept the schedule. Medication. Stretching. Small walks around the room. A fresh blouse.  

She combed Ines’s hair without prompting and braided it gently to one side. 

Ines spoke only once that morning. “Thank you.”  

Rosaria paused mid-motion, looking at her in the mirror. “You’re welcome, Young Mistress.” 

That night, after the lights were dimmed and her room returned to quiet shadow, Ines couldn’t sleep. 

She lay curled on her side, sweat drying cold on her skin. The dreams always came eventually. They would find her. Celeste’s sobbing. Valentina’s judgement. Blood in the water. Voices she couldn’t shut out. 

She stared at the ceiling for a long time. 

Then: “Rosaria?” 

A pause. “Yes, Young Mistress?” 

“Will you... Will you sleep in the bed with me tonight?” Her voice cracked. 

Silence. 

Not out of want. Not desire. Not anything romantic. 

Just fear. 

She couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn't keep waking up in a cold bed all alone, screaming into the dark, her hands wrapped around her collar like it was strangling her. 

She swallowed. “I just don’t want to be alone. Just for tonight. Please.” 

Rosaria stood. 

Her footsteps crossed the room without a sound. Then the slight rustle of fabric as she lifted the other side of the blanket and lay down—still dressed in her uniform, hands folded behind her back. Body stiff but present. 

“Do they blame you in your dreams, Young Mistress?” 

“No. Not me.”  

Rosaria didn’t speak again after that. She didn’t offer comfort.  

Ines didn’t even think Rosaria closed her eyes. 

But she stayed. 

And for the first time in four nights, Ines didn’t dream. 

Day Five  

Ines woke slowly, her head tucked against the pillow, a quiet warmth at her back. 

Rosaria was gone from the bed. The blankets on the far side were smoothed and unwrinkled. 

No sign she’d ever been there. 

But Ines remembered. She remembered sleeping. Dreamless. 

Safe. 

A small mercy. 

It was still early when Rosaria returned from the hallway with a folded note in her hand. 

Ines took it without a word. The handwriting was elegant. Precise. A single sentence. 

You will come to me now.  

No name. No time. No apology. 

Her fingers trembled slightly as she set the note aside. 

Rosaria was already in her wardrobe, pulling a skirt and a dress shirt out with a black cardigan. Heavy wool, despite the warm weather. No jewelry. No accessories, just the collar.  

Rosaria did not ask if she needed help dressing. She simply knelt, waiting with the skirt held open, and Ines wordlessly stepped into it. The brace on her leg slowed everything down, but neither of them complained. 

The shoes were polished and flat. Easy to walk in. 

The maid turned back to the wardrobe, for one last thing... 

A cane. 

“W-what’s that for?” She asked, she knew it was a stupid question, but she hoped it wasn’t for her. 

Even if it was an elegant matte black, she’s 23 years old for crying out loud. 

“Young Mistress... there is a hierarchy of power here, and you are on it—you cannot show weakness by leaning on your maid.” 

“You think I'm weak?” 

Rosaria turned cane still in hand. Her expression unreadable as always. “I think you are recovering from both mental and physical injury.” She said evenly, “That’s not weakness. It's fact.”  

She stepped closer, extending the cane to Ines’s hand like a ceremonial sword, instead of a tool for walking. 

“But if you walk through this villa leaning on me...they will see it as weakness. And they will use it.”  

Ines didn’t take the cane at first. She hated the idea of needing it. Hated the idea of what it symbolized. 

This entire conversation stung. 

The implication that she was weak...having to do a public show of strength to show she wasn’t hurting when she was. 

That she was part of some ‘hierarchy’ to have to prove that she was the Young Mistress. 

After a long beat, Ines took the cane. It was light, but solid in her hand. Matte black, with a golden snake’s head as the handle. 

Of course. 

She looked up. “So, I walk alone?” 

The maid didn’t blink. “You walk ahead. You lead, I follow.”  

She bowed slightly, then stepped aside. 

And Ines, with her pride aching more than her knee, did just that. 

Ines thought she hated the white carpeted hallways...until she reached the hardwood floored section. 

She heard every click and tap of the cane as she walked on it. 

Rosaria several paces behind her, whispering her directions—because there was no way in hell she knew where she was going. 

Forward...Left...right...forward. She whispered directions behind her like some creepy tour guide. 

A pair of maids rounded the corner. Ines didn’t recognize them, but they seemed to know her. 

They froze at the sight of her. 

Then, in perfect sync, they bowed at the waist. Hands folded neatly in front of their skirts. Heads lowered. 

“Good morning, Young Mistress.” One murmured. 

Ines didn’t respond. She didn’t want to be rude, but she was unsure if she was allowed to respond. When she and Mistress went for a walk, Mistress didn’t acknowledge them. Ines kept walking, one careful step in front of the other. The cane clicking softly beside her. 

As she passed, one of the maids glanced up. Whispering followed behind as soon as they believed she was out of earshot. 

She wasn’t.  

[She’s using a cane.] 

[I thought she was still confined to bed?] 

[The doctor said she’d be in bed with that injury for a month! She’s tough.] 

[Of course, Mistress wouldn’t choose a weakling!]  

[Look at that collar. That pendant—she really is—] 

Their voices disappeared behind the curve of the corner. 

False rumors had spread already; the doctor had said two weeks, maybe . Not a month. The propaganda machine was already at work... making it look like her walking in the halls was some feat of superhuman strength. 

And Ines had a feeling the main culprit of said rumors was the woman walking behind her. She was in the room when the doctor gave her diagnosis. She could spread whatever fake number she wanted that would make Ines look strong. 

She wasn’t angry with her. But she wished she had told her she’d done something like that. 

Ines kept walking. Chin high. Shoulders stiff. 

She hated every step of it. 

But she walked ahead. 

And Rosaria followed. Silent. Unshaken. As if everything was going as she planned. 

Rosaria moved past her when they arrived at Mistress’s office door. Knocking on the door once and then opening it when only silence followed. She moved to the side to let Ines enter first, but did step in behind her. 

Mistress sat behind her desk. Hands folded in front of her, posture relaxed but alert. She didn’t rise, nor did she smile. She simply looked at her like she was evaluating. 

Ines swallowed on instinct. 

“Mistress,” she said softly, bowing her head just enough. Not sure if this was protocol. Not sure if this mattered at all. 

The chair across from her desk was gone... this was a standing conversation for her...much to her throbbing knee’s chagrin.  

Mistress’s eyes flickered between the collar, the cane, and Ines’s face. Landing on the cane. 

“It’s nice to see that you’re walking on your own.” Her gaze softened. Warm almost.  

Did it count as ‘on your own’ if you’re using a cane? 

Ines stood up a bit straighter, unsure how to react. 

“I’ve...been following your progress,” Mistress continued, rising from her chair with fluid, commanding grace. “Rosaria gives me a daily report.”  

Of course she does. 

Ines doubts Rosaria had any choice in the matter, but to know the days were being cataloged and surmised for Mistress filled her with dread. 

“She tells me you’re having nightmares.”  

Ines looked at the door. 

Not the office door. 

Not the door back to the corridor. 

The door she’d been avoiding looking at. 

The symbol of her guilt. 

The bathroom door. 

It was closed, no light pouring out of the small gap at the bottom. No sound, but the voices in her ear. 

“You chose this. You chose her.”  

“Dani, why did you take her from me?”  

Her fingers tightened around the handle of the cane. 

That door. That room. 

The memories surged back too fast to stop, not just of what was...but the dreams mixed in. Fiction and reality blending. The vacant look in Celeste’s eyes. Valentina’s back cut like a birthday cake. The knife in the back of her skull, both women blaming her. 

“You killed us!”  

“NO! Not me!” She screamed at the door. “IT WASN’T ME!” 

Ines’s throat clamped down. Her lungs felt like they’d been filled with water. Her heart started to thunder. Not just faster, but wrong. Offbeat. 

She turned her head away, blinking fast. Her vision tunneling, the corners of the room blurring. 

Mistress’s voice was saying something, but Ines couldn’t hear it over the buzz in her ears. Her fingers went numb against the cane, and her knees buckled, but she didn’t fall. 

Just staggered backwards several steps like she’d been struck. 

“I—I can’t—” She rasped. Pulling at the collar. 

The door was just a door. 

But it wasn’t. Not to her. 

The cane dropped to the floor with a clatter. 

She clawed at the collar like it was strangling her. 

And then— 

Mistress was there. 

No commands. No thundering footsteps. Just a hand around her waist and one around the back of her head. 

Guiding her down to the floor to lean against the wall. 

Not restraining. Supporting. 

“Ines.” A hand landed on her shoulder. Steady. 

Warm. 

“It wasn’t you. I did it. Let me carry that burden... okay? Darling?”  

Ines squeezed her eyes shut. “It—There was so much—blood, I-I didn’t—” 

“I know.” Mistress said. 

“Get her some water. Now!” she said to Rosaria without looking at her. 

Ines trembled beneath the woman’s touch, her head pressed into Mistress’s shoulder, breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. 

Mistress didn't shush her, didn’t whisper platitudes.  

She simply held her. 

Not caring that Ines was dirtying her white blouse with her tears. 

Rosaria returned within seconds, a glass of water in her hands. She offered it without a word. 

Mistress took it, holding it to Ines’s lips without letting go of it completely. “Sip” 

Ines obeyed. Her hands shook too hard to grip the glass, but she drank anyway, water spilling down her chin. 

Mistress wiped the water away with the pad of her thumb. Her fingers lingered against Ines’s cheek. Cool, composed, her presence anchoring Ines in reality. 

“You’re safe.” She said, not as a comfort but as a fact. “And no one, absolutely no one, living or dead, will harm you.” 

Ines closed her eyes and let her forehead rest against Mistress’s  

She wanted to believe her. She wanted to so badly her chest ached with it, but she got the feeling that if nobody shared her bed with her tonight, the nightmares would return, worse than before. 

“Will you—will you stay with me tonight?” She could feel one of their foreheads heat up at the question.  

Mistress didn’t answer right away. 

She pulled her head away and replaced it with a hand threading between Ines’s curls like she was smoothing silk. 

“If that’s what you want.” she said in a low murmur, “Then I'll visit you tonight.”  

Ines breathed in quickly. Then let it out, shaky and uneven. The weight in her chest didn’t vanish, but it shifted...settled, just slightly, like a creaking house. 

“I’m sorry.” Ines mumbled, “This whole trip over here was supposed to be a show of strength, and I fell apart.”  

“You didn’t fall apart. You remembered. And your body did what it had to do. That is not weakness.” Her tone was firm. Final. No room for any argument. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Ines. Not now. Not tonight. Just breathe.” 

And Ines tried. For her, she tried. 

Rosaria had already moved. Retrieving the cane from the floor, cleaning it with her handkerchief, like the office floor wasn’t clean enough to eat from. Like Ines’s hands were too good to touch something that was on the floor. 

Mistress offered her a helping hand up, not impatient, waiting for Ines to take it on her own terms. 

Ines hesitated for only a second before placing her trembling hand in the other woman's. The grip was firm. Grounding. She rose slowly, her legs unsteady beneath her, but she didn’t fall, not this time. 

Mistress didn’t let go once Ines was upright. Just shifted their joined hands closer to her side, her other hand lightly brushing down Ines’s back. Anchoring her there. 

“You did very well today.” Mistress said softly as Rosaria stepped behind them and offered the cane. 

She took the cane with her free hand, and for a moment, they just stood there, Ines leaning into Mistress’s arm. The warmth of it. The calmness of it. 

She didn’t know how long they stood there, only that it felt...safe.  

Ines didn’t look at that door again. 

Mistress gently guided her towards the corridor. 

“I’ll be over to see you tonight, okay?” She reminded, and Ines nodded. 

She left the Mistress’s office. Rosaria in tow, hoping for another dreamless night. 

Later that night, Rosaria dimmed the lights without being asked. 

She saw how much the trip to Mistress’s office took out of her Young Mistress. 

And it wasn’t just the walk there and back that had tired her out. 

Ines had never experienced something like that before... not being in control of her body, the voices in her ear. The memories flooding back of things she didn’t want to remember. She hadn’t spoken much since. 

The sun had barely set, and she was half asleep. 

Rosaria didn’t rouse her to remind her to drink her tea or for one last stretch of the leg. 

Rosaria adjusted the blanket over Ines’s shoulders, checked the pillow under her brace, and turned silently towards the door. 

But she didn’t make it very far. 

The soft click of the doorknob came first. 

Mistress stood in the threshold, casting a long shadow into the room. Still dressed, but with her sleeves rolled and expression unusually soft. Rosaria inclined her head and stepped back. Taking a step to go to her post in a chair by the window. 

When Mistress stopped her. 

“No.” She said flatly, “You can go.” Mistress said, dismissing Rosaria. 

“Would you like my report first, Mistress?” The maid questioned. 

“Written, and on my desk by tomorrow.”  

Rosaria hesitated just a fraction. Before saying “Understood.” with a bow of her head. She moved soundlessly to the door, sparing one final glance at the bed, at the figure underneath the blankets, small and half curled, before letting herself out. 

Mistress didn’t sit immediately. She moved first to the bedside table, brushing her finger across the rim of the untouched teacup. Still faintly warm. Then slowly, she lowered herself into the chair by Ines’s bedside. 

Ines stirred. 

Not fully, not with alarm, but someone pulled from the edge of sleep. Her lashes fluttered, and her voice came out groggily. 

“You came...” 

Mistress reached out without hesitation, using one hand to sweep a curl from Ines’s face and tuck it behind her ear, the other curling gently around Ines’s smaller hand. “I said I would.” 

“Ines, tomorrow we’re going to take a nice walk in the garden together. How does that sound?” 

She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes barely open, her body sunken into the mattress like it might swallow her whole. 

But her fingers twitched in Mistress’s hand just enough to show that she’d heard. 

“A walk...?” she whispered, voice sleep-drenched and uncertain. “I don’t know... my knee.” It throbbed at the very idea of stairs. 

Mistress gave her hand a faint squeeze. “We’ll take it slow. It's beautiful out there this time of year.”  

“Okay.” Ines murmured so quietly.  

Mistress didn’t move to leave. She sat, still and composed. Her hand in Ines’s tracing small protective circles around her knuckles. 

After a while, Ines’s breath evened out again. 

Just before she fully slipped back into sleep, she spoke once more. A question. Distant and tired. 

“Why do we sleep in different bedrooms?” 

Mistress was quiet for a moment. 

“Because I was raised catholic.” 

Ines didn’t reply. 

She was already asleep. 

Chapter Text

The morning sun bled softly through the windows, painting golden stripes across the foot of the bed. Ines blinked awake slowly. Her body heavy with sleep, but her chest lighter than it had felt in days. 

Her hand was empty now, and she blinked to the chair beside her bed. 

Empty. 

Mistress was gone. 

But on the bedside table where her tea had been, instead sat a note. Her name written across the front of it. 

She sat up slowly, easing pressure off her braced knee. She reached for the note with careful fingers, unfolding it. 

‘Ines.
We'll walk the garden together at 10 o’clock.
Rosaria will assist you. I've sent something for you to wear.’ 

Her thumbs hovered over the words, half scolding herself for the way her pulse jumped as she read them. 

At the foot of the bed lay the dress Mistress had chosen for her. 

It was a sundress. 

Simple, elegant—soft ivory with narrow straps and a long flowing skirt that would hide her knee brace. Light enough for the early summer air, modest enough for a walk in a garden, and beside it, folded neatly, white cotton underwear. A matching bra.  

Not ‘sexy’ by any stretch, but better than the nothing she was accustomed to by now. 

Ines didn’t know how to feel. 

Grateful? Privileged? Maintained? 

She ran her fingers over the fabric. It was so soft, it almost melted beneath her touch. 

Rosaria entered without knocking. Ines can’t remember if she has ever knocked before coming into her room. She moved wordlessly to the curtains, opening them wider than before. Letting more morning light in. 

“The bath is ready, Young Mistress.” she said, seeing Ines had already found her note and clothes. “You have an hour before your scheduled engagement.” She added. 

“Yeah, good morning to you too, Rosaria.” 

Ines stared at the sundress a moment more. 

Mistress had chosen it. 

Like she’d chosen her. 

And for the first time in a long while, she wanted to wear something just because someone else wanted to see her in it. 

The bath had been warm, nearly too warm, and scented faintly with chamomile and other oils Rosaria never asked if she should put in. Now, standing in front of a full-length mirror with her newly acquired underwear clinging to damp skin, Ines held the sundress like a holy relic. 

“Arms up.” Rosaria said behind her, slip already in hand. 

Ines obeyed, something she was getting dangerously good at. It felt like she listened to Rosaria more than the maid listened to her. 

The maid slid the fabric over her skin. Smoothing the silk down her, over her hips, over her underwear that was almost embarrassingly plain. 

Then came the dress. 

It settled over her shoulders like a breeze. 

The sundress was ivory colored, soft as silk. The fabric caught the light in a way that made it glow, rather than shine. 

The skirt flared gently, hiding the brace beneath it. 

But it was the back that made her shudder. Rosaria stepped behind her, lifting her hair and adjusting the narrow straps. 

The fabric dipped low—gracefully, deliberately—exposing her back to the base of her spine. Two slim ties crossed and knotted there, holding the dress snug while barring skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks. 

Ines stared at her reflection in stunned silence. 

She didn’t look powerful. She didn’t look dangerous. 

She looked...pretty. 

Like a woman going on a date... 

She shook her head to dismiss the thought. 

This couldn’t be...could it? Mistress is just being nice, getting me out of the villa, trying to take my mind off things.  

The sandals Rosaria fastened onto her feet were flat and white, the kind that laced gently around her ankles like a ribbon. Rosaria adjusted the last strap, then rose without a word, grabbing the now polished cane from its place by the door. 

Ines hesitated. 

She didn’t want it. Not in this dress. Not on what felt suspiciously like a date. 

But falling over in front of Mistress seemed ten times more embarrassing than a cane ruining her outfit. 

She took the cane without comment, trying not to let it ruin the light feeling in her chest. 

“One last thing.” Said Rosaria as she began to dab perfume on Ines’s neck, wrists, and behind her ears. Ines knew better than to complain about the oddly cheap fragrance at this point. 

She took one last look at her reflection. Ivory silk dress, flushed-faced, wide-eyed, before Rosaria opened the door for her. 

Ines swallowed, the lump in her throat sticky as syrup. The cane was light in her hand, but it screamed with every step.  

Rosaria walked a pace behind her, silent as ever, but close enough in case she stumbled. The halls were quiet. Morning sun pouring through the high windows, each click of the cane echoed louder than it should have, but not as loud as her heartbeat was echoing in her ears. 

The stairs were wide, carved stone with a gentle curve. Not steep, but still daunting to someone with an injured knee, the type of stairs that if she fell now, she’d be seeing Dr. McKay again. 

She made it to the bottom of the stairs somehow.  

Well, she knew how. 

Slowly, incredibly slowly.  

“Where is everyone?” Ines inquired; she hadn’t seen a single maid in the halls, nor in her minutes-long trip down the stairs.  

Rosaria, with a simple glance at the inside of her wrist, said: “This is around the time the slaves are fed, Young Mistress, most of the staff are busy preparing meals.” 

Ines blinked. 

The word slave twisting at her insides. 

“Oh,” it came out more like a breath than actual words. 

Ines didn’t ask any more. She didn’t want to know. 

Not now. 

She was a slave too, wasn’t she?  

Only her chains were string.  

Even if she knotted the string with her own hands. 

She was still a marionette in silk. 

Dancing to Mistress’s tune. 

Yes, I'm a slave... just like the others. I don’t have a choice.  

The cane clicked once more against the floor as they reached the oak doors. Rosaria opened them without a word; warm light spilled in like honey. The villa’s rear garden stretched out before her—endless, wide, and walled with ivy and hedges trimmed to knife-edge perfection. Patches of lavender, rosemary, and jasmine perfumed the morning air. 

A gravel path wound between the hedges, tracing a small path toward a small marble pavilion in the center. It looked like something from another century, too beautiful to be real. 

Just like the woman stood at the far end of the garden. 

Mistress stood next to a bed of roses, half-turned from the sound of the door, sunlight catching her dark hair in waves. Sporting an ivory blouse of her own, the sleeves folded upwards neatly, deliberately, tucked into a pair of high-waisted black slacks. Simple but immaculately pressed. 

Ines froze. 

The garden behind her, the sun above her, her skin glowing in the South American sun. All these flowers around... but nothing bloomed quite like her. 

It was unfair.  

How is Ines supposed to believe she’s a slave when Mistress smiles at her like that?  

Mistress didn’t wait. She stepped off the gravel path and made her way over. Each footfall measured, graceful. She stopped just short of Ines.  

Her eyes swept down the dress, and up again, meeting hers. The smell of Mistress’s perfume wrapped around Ines like a hug. Amber and jasmine, something faint underneath, warm and expensive. 

“You look radiant, Ines.” she said softly, more like it was a fact than a compliment. 

Ines’s heart was going a million beats a minute. This is how dates normally start, isn't it?  

She laughed under her breath, nerves bubbling up all at once. She brushed her hands down the front of the dress.  “It’s this dress, it’s beautiful.” she said, avoiding the gaze from above. 

“No.” Mistress’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s you. I picked the dress myself, of course, it’s pretty, but you’re beautiful.” Mistress tilted Ines’s head upwards slightly by the chin with a single finger, planting a small kiss on her cheek.  

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. 

It was intentional. Warm and slow. It left Ines trembling. 

She forgot how to breathe. 

Every nerve in her body lit up at once. Her cheek burned from the kiss, not in pain, but in a way that made her want to put her hand over it and never wash her face again. 

Her lips had been so soft. 

Ines took a shaky breath, barely registering the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. She could smell Mistress’s perfume on her skin, like it had soaked into her. She dared to glance up—Mistress was watching her with quiet amusement. 

“Shall we walk?” Mistress asked. 

Ines gave a jerky nod. 

Mistress stepped to her side and gently placed a hand at the small of her back. Warm and steady. Guiding.  

Her fingers rested lightly over the fabric of the dress. Just a few feet from her bare back. She could’ve held Ines’s free hand or put out her arm for Ines to grab. 

No, she just had to wrap her fingers around Ines’s back, mere inches from her backside, and her bare back. 

Eventually, she had to ask the question burning on her lips.  

“Uh—Um, I-is this a... date?” She sputtered out like a dying car. 

Mistress paused mid-step. The gravel crunched beneath her softly as she turned slightly. “A date?” She echoed, tone unreadable, not mocking or confirming. 

Ines winced... she clearly read too much into it, her face flushed. “Sorry, forget I said anything. That was stupid. I just—” 

But Mistress didn’t let her finish. She stepped away for the briefest moment, just enough to pluck something from the edge of a flower bed. 

A single marigold, orange, gold, and bright. She returned quickly, soft fingers brushing a curl from Ines’s face as she tucked the blooming flower behind Ines’s ear with surprising gentleness. 

Her fingers tightened around her cane; her legs became uncertain again as mistress tilted her chin with her thumb and forefinger.  

And then. 

Mistress kissed her. 

Not the gentle, reverent kiss from earlier. This was different, passion personified. 

Her hand slid to Ines’s waist, tugging her close enough that Ines could feel the warmth between them, the scent of her perfume was dizzying this close, the softness of her lips, with added hunger. 

Added fire.  

Want. 

Ines gasped into the kiss, losing the rhythm of her breath completely as her hands scrambled for something to cling to. 

One hand found the back of Mistress’s blouse, the other clinging to her cane like a lifeline. Her lips parted beneath the press of Mistress's. Her body melting like sugar in coffee. 

By the time Mistress removed her lips, Ines was breathless. Her heart thundering in her ears, blood and heat rushing elsewhere in her body. 

She opened her eyes but was greeted with a view of Mistress’s neck, as she was whispering in her ear... 

“Does that answer your question, pretty thing?” She said, delivering a final kiss to her earlobe. 

“I-I—Wha—” Ines stammered out, touching her lips, still feeling a hint of her Mistress on them. “I’m sorry, what was the question again?” 

Mistress chuckled, taking Ines by the waist this time and continuing their walk. The flowers here were different. Roses instead of marigolds and carnations instead of tulips. Ines tried to concentrate on the flowers, on what Mistress was saying about said flowers. 

She really tried.  

But her legs were jelly, her brain was still rebooting. 

Something felt like it changed for Ines... for them? Something big. The sun felt warmer, the flowers smelled sweeter. Even the birds chirped quieter, seemingly not wanting to intrude. 

But Ines needed to know one more thing. 

One hand brushing her lips, her eyes fixated on the pendant that hung from her neck. She cleared her throat and looked at the floor as she asked, “Why me?”  

Mistress slowed, her footsteps a ghost against the gravel. “Why you...what?” 

“Why did you choose me? Why do I wear this?” She gestured toward the crest, “Why am I wearing your family’s emblem?”  

Mistress didn’t answer right away. She muttered something in Spanish under her breath that Ines didn’t quite catch. Her gaze drifted forward as she plucked a small rose from an archway. Finally, she asked, “Do you believe in fate, Ines?” 

“I—” Ines blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know... I always thought life was random. Shit happens.”  

Mistress nodded. “A fair answer. A lot of people think like that.”  

“But not you?” Ines asked. 

“No. Not me.” Mistress came to a full stop, her voice steady. “I don’t believe in coincidence. When I was a kid, it was called God’s plan. These days, people call it fate, destiny, the cosmos, the universe...” She looked over at Ines's eyes, unreadable. “I still think it was God who brought you to me.” 

Ines flushed. Her heart thudded in her chest. Is she saying I'm her destiny? That we would’ve always ended up together?  

Mistress’s expression sharpened. “Do you think you coming here was a coincidence?”  Her voice was calm, but there was a mocking edge beneath it.  

“You think the only lesbian plantation owner in Colombia just happened to buy the shipment you were in? That you’re that lucky?” she scoffed under her breath. “No. I'd call that a miracle. Because if anyone else had bought that shipment...” She trailed off, but they both felt the weight of the unspoken horror.  

“You’d be a slave. Or worse.” Her voice dropped. “That’s not luck, it isn’t chance. That's divine intervention. That's God bringing you to me.” She stepped forward, cupping Ines’s face in her hands. “You belong to me, and I won’t let you slip through my fingers.”  

Ines’s face bloomed as red as her olive skin would allow as Mistress stole a kiss. It wasn’t lost on Ines that Mistress didn’t answer her question... not really. None of that explained ‘Why her?’ Why she was wearing the crest?  

Mistress dodged the question for a reason. But for some reason, Ines found herself unbothered about it... 

Maybe it had something to do with the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen declaring Ines was basically the center of her universe, maybe it was the soft lips on hers.  

The hand at her waist, the intoxicating smell of Mistress enveloping her. 

She knew she should fear this woman... fear any woman that swears she belongs to her, but with every kiss, her brain factory reset like an iPhone.  

Ines’s lips still tingled as they pulled apart, her knees wobbled a little as she opened her eyes. That's when she saw her. 

Rosaria. 

Ten paces back. Straight-backed, motionless, eyes respectfully adverted. 

She leaned into Mistress’s chess. “H-has she been there this entire time...?” She whispered to the woman still holding her by the waist. 

“Yep.” She hummed, petting Ines’s hair. “She’s tasked with staying with you and protecting you; she won’t be leaving your side often.”  

Protection?  

If she was worried about Ines’s safety, shouldn’t she assign her Alya? Rosaria was maybe an inch taller than Ines, and skinny, not as skinny as Ines, but she didn’t look like the type who could overpower anybody. 

“Breakfast will be ready in the pavilion by now, Mistresses.” Rosaria said, walking past them, only to lead them to the marble structure. 

Mistress found the small of Ines’s back again as she led a flustered, confused, and embarrassed Ines to a meal together. 

The shade beneath the stone canopy was cool, and a small, white-clothed table had been set for two. Sliced fruit glistened on fine China, steam rose from a silver teapot, and a small tray of pastries waited in silence.  

Rosaria poured tea without prompting, bowing her head slightly as she served Mistress first and Ines second. She didn’t ask what they wanted. She already knew. 

Then she stepped back, hands folded, retreating to a polite distance. 

They ate in silence. Or near to it, as the birds began chirping again. Mistress sat across from her, studying. How much she ate, what she liked, what she didn’t, what fork Ines used and how she used it... 

Mistress wasn’t very happy with some of Ines’s etiquette, but how was she to know which was the correct fork for eating fruit? Which spoon was the correct option for stirring sugar into her tea?  

She saw it in Mistress’s eyes. The disappointment, the tilt of her brow. No words, just the silent reprimand of Ines being dissected like a frog. 

“Forgive me,” Ines said under her breath. 

Mistress hummed softly. “You’ll need lessons. Eventually, we’ll be eating out at some fancy places, with people that care about stuff like this.” Her gaze flickered over Ines, her gaze piercing as she set down her tea. “And you won’t embarrass me.”  

It wasn’t a question or a request.  

No room to argue. No room for her own will. 

“BUT—you’ve been very good thus far, Ines.”  

She blinked. “I-I have?”  

Mistress gave the smallest of nods. “You’ve obeyed; you haven’t left your room at night. You haven't asked Rosaria to help you escape... that deserves rewards.” Mistress glanced towards the hedges and, with a small wave of the hand, summoned a maid from the shadows. Not Alya. The woman bowed and disappeared down one of the paths. 

Ines thought the door to her room was locked at night... that’s why she didn’t even try leaving her room, not that she had dreams of escaping, but because she wanted to explore the villa. So, Rosaria didn’t have to whisper directions behind her. 

Escape seemed almost suicidal. Mistress had painted the picture better than Van Gogh, that even in the impossible scenario, Ines could get herself out of the compound, she’d just be turned in by the police.  

And who knows what Mistress would do to her after she was returned? 

“Your first reward. I’m going to allow you to leave your room at night. After your leg heals, of course.” Footsteps began to approach. Lighter than boots, heavier than slippers. “Ah, your second reward is here.”  

And Ines saw her. 

Lindasy. 

She looked... different. 

Healthier  

Still brown haired and emerald-eyed, but three fingers on her left hand were bandaged and splinted. She wore a light linen smock, hair braided back, a single glove attached to her waist, and a small sunhat sat atop her head. 

She was marched to the pavilion but not past Rosaria, who was standing near the entrance. 

“She helps the gardeners tend to the grounds now.”  Mistress said, voice measured. “Because you behaved... because you saved her. She draws breath because you’ve been obedient, Ines.”  

Ines’s throat went dry.  

I saved someone... she’s alive because I was good.  

Ines had thought she was dead for sure. After what Daniella did... had done, she thought Mistress would’ve had all her fingers broken or just killed her. 

Daniella couldn’t save her friends, but Ines could at least save someone. She didn’t know if she felt more pride or guilt, whatever it was that thumped against her ribcage like a bird trying to get out. 

Mistress turned her gaze toward Lindsay; a contempt filled her eyes that Ines hadn’t seen before. “Don’t you think you should thank your Mistresses for saving you?”  

Lindsay’s jaw clenched. Her lips parted like she might spit at them, like she was going to say something cruel and stupid. But then she looked at Ines. 

Not Mistress, not Rosaria. 

Just Ines. 

“Thank you, Mistress.” She said finally, monotone and dry. Whatever sharpness she had on the edge of her tongue dulled. 

Mistress’s brow arched faintly, as if daring her to say something out of line. Lindsay didn’t take the bait. She remained glaring at Ines, something stubborn in her eyes that said this isn’t over.  

Seemingly satisfied with that, Mistress dismissed her and the maid who brought her here with a flick of the wrist. Ines watched as the two disappeared down a small gravel footpath. 

Ines was a little confused about what Lindsay wanted from her. 

She had saved her. Gotten her a nice job, probably better conditions than every other slave here. 

Why couldn’t she just be grateful? 

And then Mistress stood. 

“Come,” she said gently, her expression softening. “There’s something I want you to see. Your third and final reward.”  

The walk resumed, slower this time, no hand on her back. Mistress held her hand instead, fingers entwined as she led them through archways and past trellises, the garden getting quieter with every step. Until they reached a shaded alcove where the hedges bowed inward, framing a small clearing.  

It wasn’t marked with any grandeur. 

Just one simple grave. 

Beneath a young tree. Flowers were planted beside the grave: lilies, orchids, daisies, all planted carefully beside and around the base of the grave. A small plaque stood nearby, unobtrusive, it read: 

‘This sight was commissioned by Young Mistress Ines.’  

The headstone was clean, polished, engraved with care. 

‘Valentina & Celeste.
Together in life, together in death.’ 

Ines froze. Her breath caught in her throat. 

She hadn’t known if they had listened to her, buried them like she’d asked. Some part of her assumed they’d been burned, that nobody cared enough to do as she had told. Not only did they do as she asked...but it was beautiful.  

This was care. 

This was memory. 

Mistress didn’t speak. She let Ines soak it in. Let her walk forward, slow and halting, until she stood at the edge of the stone and dropped to her knees. Her hand brushed the engraving. 

She didn’t cry. Not at first. 

But the silence broke her. The clean air. The garden. The fact that they were together even now. That Mistress agreed with her that they deserved that at least. 

When the sob came, it was quiet. No outburst. No wailing. Just the silent cry of a woman with no words for the grief in her chest and the sorrow coming out of her eyes. 

Mistress stood behind her. Gave her time. 

Only when Ines’s shoulders started to shake did she kneel beside her, rubbing a hand on her back, her voice quiet.  

“You got this for them.” She said, pressing a kiss to Ines’s temple.  

Ines nodded through the tears, though she was unsure it was true. Even if it was, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. 

Ines leaned into her. Not out of obedience. Not because she had to. But because it was the only warmth she had left. 

They knelt together in the quiet, birdsong drifting in and out in soft, aimless melodies around them. Time passed slowly.  

Eventually, Mistress stood. And Ines followed, slower, her eyes lingering on the grave. 

As they turned back toward the garden path, Ines didn’t let go of Mistress’s hand. 

She didn’t look back either. Because she knew there was nothing else Ines could do for them. Daniella had killed them.  

But Ines, she made sure they were together for all of eternity.  

Mistress didn’t rush her on the walk back. 

They took the long way, circling the garden once more. Ines said very little, her brain racked somewhere between grief and gratitude. The sun had climbed higher, casting more light and heat on the gravel paths.  

Mistress walked her back to her room, with no complaints. She didn’t even groan at how slowly Ines went up the stairs. 

At her door, Mistress turned to face her. 

She didn’t speak. Not at first. Just a look. Her gaze trapped on Ines’s lips and lingered there. 

Then she kissed her. 

Harder this time. Deeper. Her mouth claimed Ines’s like she’d been waiting for this all morning. Her hand slipped into Ines’s hair, tugging gently, angling her head just right. The other pressed firm against her lower back, pulling her forward until their hips touched... until there was no room to slip a piece of paper between them. Only the soft gasp that escaped Ines’s lips as Mistress’s tongue flicked across her bottom lip, coaxing it open. 

Ines didn’t resist. She couldn’t. 

The tongue swept in. Commanding, tasting, claiming. While Mistress moved her hand down the curve of her back and settling boldly on her ass, squeezing through the fabric of the sundress. 

Ines whimpered into the kiss. Her fingers clung to Mistress’s shirt. Her hips pressed forward on instinct before she could stop them; her body was moving with primal levels of want. 

She moaned softly and helplessly into Mistress’s mouth. 

By the time they broke apart, Ines’s lips were kiss swollen, her cheeks flushed. Her breath shaky. Her thighs pressed together in necessity.  

And she was going to ask something shameful... 

“I... I think I'm going to get in the bath.” She murmured, dazed. 

Mistress arched an eyebrow. Wondering where this was going. 

Ines swallowed, trying to gather her courage. 

“Would you... Would you like to join me?” She added, quieter, staring at the floor. Awkward, almost shy. 

Mistress smirked. That slow, dark smirk Ines saw often when she first arrived. An added look of satisfaction in her eye as she brushed her thumb against Ines’s lips. 

“Not tonight, darling.” She said softly. “You’ve been rewarded enough times today.”  

And just like that, she turned and walked away. Leaving Ines frozen in front of her bedroom door. 

Ines was not just frozen; she was mortified. Her skin flushed hot, her stomach hollowed as she turned to watch Mistress walk away, and she found Rosaria standing there quietly, expression unreadable, hands folded. Ines had forgotten she was there. 

Again. 

This might be the most embarrassing moment of her life. 

She just got turned down for sex... in front of her own maid. She had to resist the urge to melt into the floor as Rosaria opened the door for her. 

Rosaria closed the door behind them without a word as Ines collapsed face-first onto the bed with a dramatic groan. She muffled a small scream into a pillow. 

“Shall I run you a bath... Young Mistress?” The tone of her voice wasn’t mocking, but it sure did feel mocking. 

“Be honest,” Ines mumbled into the mattress. “On a scale of one to ten, how embarrassing was that?”  

“A strong nine, Young Mistress.” She didn’t hesitate. 

Ines threw her face back into the pillow. Groaning like she’d been shot. 

Chapter Text

The bath didn’t help. Neither did the tea Rosaria left steaming by her bedside. 

Ines lay awake. 

She tried sleeping. Tried turning over, over and over again, as if the right position might banish the heat curling in her stomach. 

It hadn’t. 

Mistress’s kiss lingered like a brand. The weight of her hands, the feel of her tongue. She missed it. 

And worse. 

Worse than any rejection. 

Worse than Rosaria’s brutal honesty... 

Was the truth. 

She wanted more. 

God help her, she wanted Mistress to touch her again. To grip her ass again. To kiss her harder. To push her down and— 

Ines rolled over with a groan, burying her face in the cool pillows, as if they would smother the lewd thoughts.  

She was spiraling. That was the only explanation. From accountant, to caged to pet, to the world’s horniest lesbian. She knew she had a high sex drive... she did. It's why she’d owned more toys than a daycare, but the want was just different here. 

The hunger to be touched. 

She must have dozed off at some point, because when the door opened, she didn’t hear it. 

She only felt the shift of the air. 

Soft footsteps across the hardwood. The creak of her Mattress. 

Mistress was there. Sitting at the edge of the bed, one hand tracing lightly down Ines’s arm. 

The only light in the room was the flickering of candles, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Mistress’s eyes gleamed in the half-light. She gave Ines a smoldering gaze of desire. 

She could feel the warmth of her breath, a gentle caress that sent shivers down her spine. “You’re mine,” Mistress murmured, her voice a seductive purr that seemed to shake Ines’s very core. 

Ines’s heart raced as she looked into Mistress’s eyes and found a hunger that matched her own. Her body responded before she did, arching itself toward her slightly. 

Mistress’s hands were on her in a flash. Tearing away the slip in one smooth motion that made Ines understand why she wanted her in such a garment. Her breath caught in her throat as the fabric fluttered to the ground. Exposing her trembling flesh to the candlelight and cool air. 

“When you asked me to bathe with you, I had to walk away, or I would’ve indulged in you right then and there. Did you ask in front of Rosaria because you wanted her to watch?” She snickered, not waiting for Ines to answer before pushing harder, “Or did you want her to do something more...?”  

Ines’s lips parted, but no sound came out... the idea that she wanted to have a threesome made her core pulsate in a way she couldn’t hide.  

Mistress couldn’t hide her smile either, at watching Ines squirm, as she imagined all the hands pleasuring her. A threesome meant enough hands for someone to pull her hair, choke her, spank her, and play with her nipples. 

The fantasy of it. God, the fantasy of it all. 

Mistress’s teeth gleamed in a combination of moonlight and candlelight as she leaned in to claim Ines’s mouth. The kiss was everything Ines fantasied about, now that they were alone, they were rough, fiery kisses, filled with tongues and teeth clashing, and bitten lips that left her gasping for air. 

Her body melted into the firm embrace, every inch of her skin craving Mistress’s fingers. The sounds of fabric sliding against skin filled the air as Mistress removed her clothes, revealing a sculpted form. Toned, but not overtly muscular. One that left Ines’s eyes wide with longing. 

With a gentle shove, Ines found herself on her back. She could almost feel the heat coming from Mistress’s body, the softness of her skin. The hardness of her nipples brushing against her own. 

The weight of their bodies pressed together was exquisite. Mistress was pressing Ines into the mattress like they could become one.  

“You're so beautiful.” Mistress whispered, her breath hot against Ines’s neck, sending waves of pleasure down to her core. Her eyes fluttered shut as Mistress’s mouth traced a path of fire down her body. 

She could feel the wetness between her legs, the ache for more growing with every touch. Her breath hitched as Mistress’s teeth grazed her nipple, a sensation so intense it was almost painful. 

“Please,” she begged, not even sure what she was asking for. Just knowing she needed it. Needed something. 

Mistress’s chuckle was low and dark, a sound that meant nothing good for Ines. “What do you want?” she taunted, her voice a sweet, tempting whisper. “Use your words... Tell me. ” 

“I want...I need you to...to...” Ines couldn’t find the words. Her mind was going blank under a whirlwind of desire. All she knew was she wanted Mistress’s touch, wanted it more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. 

And then she felt it—mistress’s hand sliding down. 

Down until it reached the dampness between her thighs. Ines gasped as a finger slid inside her, slow and sure. Filling her up in a way that made her toes curl and body shudder. 

“YESSSS!” She hissed, her hips bucking to meet the intrusion. The rhythm grew faster, more urgent, as Mistress’s thumb became to circle the sensitive nub of Ines’s clit. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her, a spring ready to snap at any moment. 

Her body was on fire, the pleasure threatened to swallow her whole. And then a cry that seemed to tear from her very soul. 

Mistress’s mouth found hers again, swallowing the sound, as Ines’s hips bucked wildly against her hand. The pressure grew, her walls clenched around Mistress’s invading digit, and then she was falling, screaming into the kiss as her orgasm crashed over her. 

She shattered; her climax ripped through her with the intensity of a tornado. Her back arched off the bed as the wave of ecstasy washed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping for breath. 

Mistress held up her hand, fingers coated in a sticky-sweet mess. “Look at what you’ve done, my fingers are all dirty, pet.” She whispered, her voice silk against Ines’s sensitive ears. 

Her heart raced as her Mistress brought the fingers closer, the scent of Ines’s desire thick in the air. “Lick,” she ordered, thrilling and terrifying Ines all at once. 

Ines leaned in, her tongue darting out to lick away the evidence of her own passion.  

The taste was intoxicating, making her want more. Mistress watched with a wicked glint in her eye as Ines eagerly obeyed, as Ines made herself gag on the fingers. Drooling at the idea of pleasing her Mistress. 

As she cleaned the final remnants of herself off Mistress’s finger, the world around her began to crumble like ash. The candles went out, the soft patches of moonlight disappeared, and Mistress’s body became nothing but a phantom weight on top of her. 

Ines’s eyes snapped open, the realization of her solitary state crashing down on her like the cold shower she needed.  

Her thighs were drenched, sticky with her own arousal. The scent of her desire filled the room, a stark contrast to its normal fragrance of minty tea and floor cleaner.  

The sheets clung to her like a second skin; her slip that she wore to bed was ruined, a tangible reminder of the passionate encounter that had been nothing more than a vivid illusion.  

An embarrassing wet dream.  

With a shaky hand, Ines reached down to touch herself, her fingertips coming away wet and slick. The sensation sent another jolt of pleasure through her, a ghostly echo of the orgasm she received in the dream. 

She bit her lip, trying to hold back a moan as she felt the emptiness that the dream had so effectively filled. Her breathing gradually slowed, the bedroom coming more into focus. The room was quiet. 

Ines looked around once just to make sure Rosaria wasn’t stalking in some chair. 

She wasn’t. 

Ines lay there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. It was a dream, she knew that. 

But the ache between her legs didn’t care much for the distinction between fantasy and reality. Her body demanded to be satisfied.  

Her hand moved of its own accord, sliding over her stomach and down to the throbbing heat between her legs. She hesitated for a moment, then gave in; her fingers slipped inside herself. 

The sensation was nothing like the dream—no gentle touch, no skilled mouth, but it was something... A poor imitation of the release she found in her sleep. Like asking for a PlayStation for your birthday and your dad coming home with a ‘Gamestation’  

Her movements grew more frantic, her hips rising to meet the fingers curled inside her. The need was still there like a ravenous beast demanding to be fed.  

Ines’s thoughts were a blur, a chaotic cocktail of desire and need. The burning question in the back of her mind, what would it be like if Mistress were truly here, if the kisses and touches were real? 

What if Mistress walked in right now? 

The question, the fantasy, sent her spiraling into her climax.  

A silent scream that sent her entire body convulsing. Her hand fell away from her slick folds, and she lay there, trembling, her chest heaving with each gasping breath. The room was spinning around her. The aftershocks of pleasure making it difficult to think straight, the heat between her legs returning already. 

Begging for more release.  

Ines knew she couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. She craved Mistress like she was in heat. She didn’t just want her touch.  

She needed it. 

The thought terrified her; she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to go back to her normal life.  

Or if she even wanted to.

Days passed, and her nightmares of Celeste and Valentina were no more. That should’ve been a good thing, it really should have... 

But not when the alternative was a nightly wet dream. Every day was the same: wake up drenched in her wetness, touch herself, remove the sheets from the bed discard the slip she wore to bed the night before.  

And hope, hope against hope that Rosaria believed her when she said it was sweat. At worst, maybe she’d have to lie and say she was still having the nightmares, lie and say she was wetting the bed... 

It was less embarrassing to her somehow than the alternative. Telling her maid, she was in heat like a cat. Fucking herself silly every morning. She was having trouble looking at Rosaria as it stood, and not looking at her.  

The dreams had escalated, from her one on one’s with Mistress to Rosaria staying to watch, threesomes, foursomes, orgies, followed. Each and every morning she woke up wetter. 

Needier, she didn’t just touch herself in bed anymore. It expanded to the shower, morning, and night. With the memories of the dreams lingering.  

She couldn’t look Rosaria in the eye anymore, not after a dream where the maid dutifully licked her Young Mistress’s folds like they were an oasis in a desert. 

She couldn’t look at her, not when the night before in her dreams she’d fantasized about her licking her right nipple. While Alya took the left, while maids she didn’t even know the name of and had only seen once pulled her hair, spanked her, put their fingers in her mouth, kissed her neck.  

While Mistress— 

Mistress hadn’t come and seen her again since their garden date. Rosaria said she was busy with work, and Ines was to focus on the last days of her recovery.  

Which was going...fine if she had to say anything about it. She could walk without the cane now, and the brace was coming off today. Her knee only hurt when she went upstairs too fast, or down them too slow. 

But she’d take that over being stuck in bed all day. With nothing to look at but Rosaria, and wonder what she had going on under that uniform, Ines was starting to hate. So obstructive, the only place it was tight was around the waist. 

Ines shook her head. Trying to stop checking out her maid. 

Rosaria, of course, didn’t notice. Or if she did, she gave no sign she did. It was late in the evening, and Rosaria was kneeling at Ines’s feet, her fingers working briskly at removing the brace. 

“Brace off today,” she said without ceremony. “Mistress approved this morning.”  

The familiar latches clicked open one by one, the weight of it lifting from her leg. It felt slightly strange to have it off, like something was going to change because of it. 

Ines flexed her knee tentatively. 

A little stiff, but free. 

Rosaria stood and carried the brace to a wooden box on the other side of the room. Ines licked her lips as she watched the subtle sway of the maid’s hips.  

Then she returned, silent, and offered something unexpected. 

A folded square of parchment.  

Ines blinked. “What’s this?” 

Rosaria didn’t explain. Just handed it over. Ines opened it slowly. 

A map. 

Clean. Sparse, it showed the second floor of the villa, drawn in steady, precise lines. An ‘X’ marked the room she was in now with the words ‘You are here.’ Her bedroom at the end of a long corridor marked as the East wing. 

A second X on the opposite wing was labeled ‘Mistress’ simply.  

Two staircases were marked with arrows. No other rooms were named, no labels for kitchens or libraries. Just walls, doors, and mystery.  

“You’re permitted to explore at night now.” Rosaria said calmly. “Starting this evening.”  

“Really?” Ines looked up from the map, surprised. Mistress had said she’d be able to leave her room at night as a reward once her knee healed, but she didn’t think she meant the same day the brace came off. 

Rosaria nodded. “Mistress trusts you’ll respect the boundaries she’s put in place. Firstly, stay on the second floor. Next, you do not go into her chambers uninvited.”  

It felt like the words she left out were just as important as what she said.  

Ines stared back down at the map, room after room. She didn’t count them, but there appeared to be close to 30 in total, with the only two labeled ones being the Mistresses' bedrooms.  

It was permission to immerse herself in this world. The one Mistress built for her.  

The one she dragged her into. 

One hallway at a time. 

“I will be leaving now, Mistress requested you explore without assistance.” She bowed and stepped to the door, adding one last thing. “If you require something, I'll be in one of the unmarked rooms.” And then with the same quiet steps as always, she vanished down the hall. 

Ines could barely contain herself. She had something to do, even if it was just busy work, a scavenger hunt, or a wild goose chase for no reward.

It was something to do that wasn’t sitting in her bedroom rubbing her thighs together... 

Not even 30 minutes later, Ines was in the halls, brace-less, a pencil hanging from her ear, the map in her hands like she was Marco Polo charting new lands. 

She didn’t know where to start, from closest to her room and work her way out, or from farthest away first and work her way back to her room.  

The hallway was dim, lit only by sconces casting soft amber pools of light on the floor. The villa was different at night. Less mansion-like, more like a crypt. A secret.  

She paused at the first door; she’d been in here before; the sunroom is what Rosaria called it, it was elegant and mostly empty, a few nice leather chairs to sit in, a lamp that was switched off.  

Ines closed the door, taking the pencil from her ear, and labeled the room on her map under ‘SR’ before moving on. 

The doors were mostly identical: ornate handles, rich wood, no markings or labels outside the rooms that said what their purpose was. She paused outside the next door, placing a gentle hand on the knob.  

It denied her. 

Locked. 

That was okay, she didn’t want to intrude, maybe it was someone's bedroom, or it wasn’t clean. She took the pencil from her ear and marked the room with an ‘L’  

The next room was open, barely, a mostly empty room, with white sheets over the furniture. The dust on the sheets told her nobody had been in here in a long time. The room didn’t have any clear-cut purpose. So, Ines marked it as simply ‘Unused’ before moving on. 

Then another room, another hallway. She learned very quickly that a lot of doors around here are locked. She didn’t mind; this kind of meaningless methodical busy work was just the kind of thing to get her mind off sex.  

And how she wasn’t having any. 

Her next inquiry took her to a small hallway, three doors. Three unassuming doors. Her fingertips grazed the rightmost door and pushed it open without a second thought. Expecting another dusty, unused room. 

The door swung inward, revealing a small room with four beds, lit by some candles and a small lamp. In the center of the room were three maids in the midst of changing out of their uniforms. 

Their faces flush with surprise and embarrassment, they hastily tried to cover themselves with their discarded garments. Ines’s eyes widened, and she stumbled backwards. Slamming the door in her own face, before screaming through it, “I’m sorry! Sorry! I-I didn’t know!” Not even knowing if they spoke English to understand her. 

Her cheeks burned at the memory of the lacey black panties one of them had on. The sweet slope of her breast.  

She shook her head, took the pencil out of her hair, and hurriedly marked the room as ‘MR’ for maid’s room. 

Her face grew redder by the second as she tried the middle door, hoping it wasn’t another maid’s bedroom.  

A small part of her hoped it was.  

To both parts' disappointment, it was locked. She marked it as such and moved on, thinking about how her reputation with the maids was probably in freefall. 

The last door, on the far left, she turned the knob, it opened with barely a creak. 

Ines almost stepped inside, but she froze at what kind of room this was. 

The air was warm and perfumed, thick with the scent of eucalyptus and rosewater. Soft light glowed from lanterns tucked into recessed alcoves in the walls, casting golden reflections off the mosaic tile floor. 

The room was large, elegant, in a quiet, understated way. With ivory stone walls and polished marble benches lining the sides. 

It wasn’t another bedroom. 

It was a bathhouse. 

With someone in it...  

With someone she’d fantasized about in the central pool, that steamed gently, its water rippling with faint heat, the surface dotted with scattered petals. Polished brass taps lined the walls, a rack of fresh white towels waited on a far wall, shelves with various salts and oils, and another door on the far side that was maybe a changing room or a bathroom. 

But Ines didn’t care about any of that.  

She only cared about the maid emerging from the bath and coming closer. 

She made no effort to cover herself. 

No towel, no clothes, she didn’t even use her hands to block Ines’s sight of anything. 

And it was a sight. 

Rosaria stepped toward her Mistress completely naked, her body nothing but graceful curves and soft angles, skin the color of rich caramel. Water trickled from her long, dark hair, the twist removed and the pins that kept everything perfect gone. 

Her hair cascaded down her neck and shoulders, and Ines’s eyes dared to drop lower. 

Her breasts were full and firm, larger than her own, but she didn’t think that was particularly impressive. Each one adorned with a single droplet of water that clung to the nipple like a tiny diamond. Her stomach was flat, with a belly button that looked like a very inviting cave. The curve of her hips led to long legs. 

And something completely unexpected.  

A small tattoo on her outer thigh.  

A black and white hummingbird, no bigger than Ines’s thumb. 

“Young Mistress?” Rosaria said calmly, as if she weren't standing completely naked. Her confidence was either sky high, or she genuinely didn’t care that Ines was leering. 

And why hadn’t Ines done what any sane person would? What she’d done not even three minutes prior and slammed the door in her face the second she realized she was intruding? 

Because she was a pervert.  

How could she control herself better in high school than she was now? When she walked into the changing room in high school or tennis club, she always carefully averted her gaze, intentionally saw as little bust and butt as possible. 

Now, she was stood gawking, not even in a charming way. Like a creep. The kind that stood frozen in a doorway with a face as red as wine. 

She didn’t move. Couldn't. Her eyes were locked, and her body refused to cooperate. She theorized, completely scientifically, of course , that the two large reasons for that were less than two feet from her face. 

“Young Mistress?” Rosaria repeated, tilting her head with a mild expression, like she couldn’t comprehend why Ines was gawking like a tourist. 

“I... I—” Ines stammered, her throat dry, her mind flashing back to that dream.  

“Did you require assistance?” The maid asked, voice calm and even as ever. 

YES! —NO! I mean no! I was just... just exploring.” Ines said, voice cracking, as her eyes explored in every meaning of the word. 

“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” 

Rosaria followed the path of Ines’s gaze. Slowly, deliberately. Then looked back at her with a smile that only shimmered in her eyes. 

“Young Mistress, it’s normal to have needs. However, I believe the saying in English is, ‘if you look that hard, you’ll burn a hole through me.’ or something to that effect.” 

Ines made a noise. Something between a gasp and a squeak. 

How far did something have to go for Rosaria, of all people, to start teasing you about it? 

Her face went red, her brain blue-screened, as the humiliation caught up to her.  

“I—okay—bye!” She blurted, already half turning. She slammed the door behind her, not in anger, but in panic. She slammed it so fast she almost caught her fingers in it. 

Then she ran.  

Down the hall, slipper-ed feet, heart hammering, face on fire. She only stopped once when the pencil fell from her ear to pick it up. 

She wasn’t being chased; she didn’t know why she was running other than trying to burn the embarrassment out of her. 

Rosaria was probably still in the bathhouse. Probably not even phased. Probably a small tilt of her head, and a mental note to put this in her report. 

Her report... 

Ines stopped cold in her run.  

What’s Mistress going to do if she hears that Ines was checking her out? Cut out her eyes? Confine her to her room forever? Switch her maid to someone less attractive?  

No. How can Mistress be mad at her? She’s the one who turned her down for sex; she’s the reason her hormones are out of control.  

It's only natural.  

She walked down the hall, telling herself.  

She arrived in the west wing. She didn’t finish exploring the east wing, but she’d draw the common thread that the servants' quarters were there, and if she kept opening doors there, she’d keep finding naked women. 

So, she went somewhere else, the west wing, still slightly flustered, a little wet, but not unpleasant. Not yet. 

The first two doors she tried were both locked tight.  

Across the hall, she tried a door that seemed to open into a library. 

Rows and rows of bookshelves, the smell of paper and binding glue hit her instantly. A warm, comforting smell, like cinnamon and dust. Old, lived in, and quiet. 

The kind of room that was begging for rainy afternoons, a cup of tea, and a good book. 

Ines stepped in, seeing no reason not to. Her hand traced books as she walked deeper and deeper inside.  

Hard covers, soft covers, leather-bound. Some in English, most in Spanish. 

She spotted a velvet chaise tucked into a neat corner with a small reading lamp on a desk nearby. There was still a book on said desk. 

A spine that read: ‘Cartas de Amor phohibidas’  

‘Forgotten love letters.’ In English 

Was Mistress reading this?  

Ines lingered on the book, but not sure if she was allowed to take it, put it back on the desk. 

The heavy door closed behind her with a click as she left, and marked it was the library on her map. 

She wandered onward. The hallways turned and twisted as she tried a couple of locked doors and gave the dark room she was locked in the finger as she passed. Only marking it down as ‘Fuck you’ before moving on. 

She found herself outside a set of dark double doors. She pushed them open without hesitation.  

Inside the room was slightly sunken, with a small slope downward. Like a miniature theater. Rich velvet-lined seats were bolted into the floor in neat rows. There was a faint smell of popcorn. 

A wide projected screen loomed at the far end of the room. 

It was cozy, if a little eerie at how dark it was. 

Ines didn’t linger. She marked it down as ‘HT’ for home theater and moved on. 

The next room was smaller, dimmer, but not cold. She pushed it open and found a modest music room, the walls were a warm oak, the floors polished to a shine so much that she could see her reflection in them, and in the center stood a grand piano. 

It gleamed under the small amount of light being let in from the hallway. A small stand for sheet music beside it, and what looked like a violin case hung from the back wall. 

She ran her fingers over one of the keys, a single soft note played.  

Did Mistress play? Would she play for her? She imagined them sitting here, early morning, matching bathrobes, as Mistress played beautiful melodies for her... 

A pipe dream, but something to aim for.  

Maybe if she played her cards right.  

She shut the door gently behind her and labeled the room ‘Music room.' She had already labeled the maid's quarters as ‘MR’ after all. 

At the far end of the second floor, next to a set of stairs that went up, not down, she found a room that made her stomach growl. 

A kitchen. It made sense for there to be a kitchen on this floor as well. If Rosaria had to walk all the way downstairs to retrieve food, it’d probably be cold by the time it got to its intended destination. 

It had everything: a compact stove, a marble top island, a stocked wine rack, and a fridge that hummed in the corner. A dumbwaiter on the opposite wall. 

Was she allowed to have a glass of wine? God, she wanted one. Just a little to take the edge off, to dull her senses a bit. She didn’t want to get in trouble, so instead, she opened the fridge with a sigh.  

Milk, fresh fruit, jam, and tiny containers with some kind of dessert in them. She shut the fridge.  

Was she allowed to cook in here? She liked to bake; it was calming. She’d like to cook for Mistress... they obviously weren’t in a normal relationship, where Ines could wear nothing but an apron and surprise her with food, but she’d still like to feed her.  

She labeled the room with a ‘K’ before moving on, but she got the feeling she’d come back. 

She passed the office, not going in, marking it off with an ‘O’ she crossed out the bathroom inside it... didn’t label it, in fact, she scribbled it out, until the room was barely visible on the map.  

She rounded the corner and found herself at the second ‘X’ on the map, the door from the corridor that led to Mistress’s bedroom. 

She knew she wasn’t allowed in. 

She wasn’t invited, and didn’t want to betray Mistress’s trust, but for some reason she hovered. The door loomed, painted slightly darker than the others. Was she in there? Is she sleeping? Thinking about Ines, like Ines thinks about her? 

She shuddered and moved on. 

Just to the door directly across the hall. 

The door was plain and unmarked, just like all the other before it, but she could hear something, barely, a faint shuffle. Rhythmic in nature. 

She leaned closer. 

Movement, someone inside. 

She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought to do this up until this point, but she raised her hand and gave a soft knock on the door. 

No response. 

She waited ten seconds, maybe more. She guessed whoever it was didn’t want to be disturbed. She took a step away— 

When it snapped open behind her with force that made Ines jump. 

A wall of heat hit her. And muscle. 

Alya. 

Her ponytail was messy, strands of hair clinging to her neck. She wore tight navy-blue spandex gym shorts that hugged her hips and thighs in a way that felt illegal, and a dark training bra that showed off her chest with a trail of sweat running between her breasts. Her abdomen was sculpted. Gleaming with sweat. 

Her breaths came out slightly quickened; she’d been working out. 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Young Mistress?”  

Ines blinked up at her. Open-mouthed. 

Actual steam may as well of been coming out of her ears. If this was one of her brother’s anime, her nose would be bleeding.  

Ines blinked back down to her abs. 

Oh God, the abs. 

There was a landscape of determination and discipline carved into Alya’s stomach. Each ripple and contour spoke of countless hours in the gym. Every bead of sweat that traveled over her chiseled torso was like a map, instructing Ines exactly where to lick. 

Ines couldn’t help but stare at the curves as they disappeared into the waistband of the sinfully tight shorts Alya was wearing. 

Why did Mistress hire so many disgustingly hot women? 

Mistress said this was supposed to be a reward...it felt like the cruelest punishment so far. 

Ines tuned back in to hear that Alya was saying...something. 

Something about being on vacation, something about Mistress giving her the week off. 

Nothing about bending Ines over. Nothing about picking her up and slamming her against a wall, sadly, nothing about an eight-inch strap-on that was going to make her eyes roll back in her head. 

She tuned out again. 

By the time she returned to her room, she had burned the image of Alya’s abs, her biceps, and her back when she turned around to grab a towel, into her retina.  

It was seared into her like burn in on an old TV. She was going to close her eyes and remember the smells; she was going to dream about those arms pinning her to a bed. Her thighs were still clenched, and not because she had fast walked back to her room. 

She slammed the door behind her, leaned her forehead against it, and groaned into the oak in defeat. 

If tonight's goal was to get her mind off sex... she failed spectacularly. Rosaria’s ample breasts, Alya’s body that was more Greek statuette than it was flesh and blood. 

Hell, even the maids she walked in on changing... 

Ines took a deep breath, trying to dispel the heat that had gathered between her legs. It was utterly pointless. The ache was too intense. 

She stumbled over to her bed and threw herself face-first down into the mattress; her hands found their way to a pillow she could grip so tightly her knuckles turned white. 

Her mind drifted back to seeing Alya. 

Worse, her mind drifted back to the fantasies she had when looking at Alya. 

The strong hand at her throat, the dildo pumping into her so hard the headboard began to creak.  

She bit her lip so hard she tasted iron. 

With a groan of frustration, she gave in. 

She slid the pillow beneath her body until it was nestled between her thighs.  

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as she began to rock against it. The sensation made her eye twitch as she ground herself against the pillow, her hips moving in a rhythm that grew more frantic by the second.  

The fabric felt rough and unforgiving against her sensitive clit, but Ines didn’t care. All she could focus on was the delicious pressure building inside of her. 

Her hand slid under her shirt, cupping her own breast, mimicking what she wanted Alya to do if she were here. Her other hand found its way to her skirt, fumbling with the button until she managed to discard it so she could slide her fingers down. 

They met with the wetness that had been steadily pooling there since she had laid eyes on the woman. 

Her legs parted wider, the sound of her wetness filling the quiet room as she slid her hand down to cup herself, her middle finger tracing the plump folds of her sex. 

She gasped as she felt the heat of her arousal, her labia swollen and begging for attention. With a shaky hand, she applied pressure, her mind racing with images of Alya’s powerful thighs and the way she had moved when she walked. 

Her fingers slid inside of herself with ease, the sound of her wetness echoing through her head like a siren’s call. She was so ready, so needy, it was almost painful.

Ines’s eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretch around the digits, her muscles clenching in anticipation of what was to come. Her thumb circled her clit, matching the tempo of her thrusts into the pillow. 

Ines bit her lip harder to keep from screaming out as she worked her clit, her mind replaying the way Alya’s muscles had rippled and flexed, the bounce of Rosaria’s tits as she walked closer.  

The pillow beneath her became the embodiment of her desires, a stand-in for the bodies she craved. 

The friction grew, her movements became more erratic, her breathing shallower. She could feel the orgasm building, the crescendo of pleasure that seemed to be just out of reach. 

Her nails dug into the pillow, leaving little half-moons in the fabric. The room grew hazy around her as her thoughts focused solely on the sensation. 

With a grunt, Ines slipped a third finger into her cunt, feeling the warmth and tightness of her pussy as it stretched eagerly to accept more. 

Her thumb remained steadfast on her clit, now moving with a fierce, demanding rhythm. Her hips bucked against the pillow, each movement punctuated by the slap of her hand on her skin. The room was filled with the sounds of her masturbation—her breathy moans, the slickness of her fingers moving in and out, and the occasional wet smack of her hand against her body. 

And then she was there, her body arching off the bed as she came with a muffled cry. 

Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, stealing her breath and making her vision swim. She dug her nails into the bedspread, her toes curling as she rode the intense waves of pleasure. 

Her muscles tightened around her fingers, pulsing in time with her racing heart. "FUCK! Fuck, yes!" she screamed, her voice raw with need. 

The pillow was soaked with her juices, her legs trembling as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her. 

But as she lay there, panting and spent, the feeling of emptiness grew. It wasn’t enough. 

The ache between her legs remained. 

Her mind was a whirlwind of frustration and need. She had hoped this would help, that the release would ease the tension that had been coiling in her stomach, but if anything, it had made it worse. 

She couldn’t think straight. 

Not in any sense of the word.  

Chapter Text

The knocks came early, so early they swept her out of the pleasant dream she was having, Rosaria and a maid, Ines didn’t recognize, with a clothing rack.  

It was just dawn by the small glimmer of the sun on the horizon. 

Rosaria pulled back the curtains, weak sunlight poured across the room in morning slats. 

Ines sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, unsure of what was happening. What was with the clothes rack? What’s with the extra random maid?  

Rosaria must’ve seen the confusion on her face, because she looked right at an Ines that couldn’t look at her and said: “Today is the start of your education, Mistress has instructed you not only be taught etiquette but also household oversight.” 

Etiquette lessons were expected, Mistress had said they would be, but ‘Household oversight?’ the mention of it made Ines's eyes snap to Rosaria’s. Ines struggled to look the maid in the eyes after yesterday's fiasco, but she had to search her eyes for some hint as to what that meant. 

She didn’t find any; instead, the other maid began putting the clothes from the rack into her wardrobe. 

Within the hour, Ines was showered and dressed, not in sundresses or nightgowns, but in a tailored white blouse and charcoal slacks. She looked at herself in the mirror and shuddered at how much she was dressed like Mistress. It felt very formal, even without the bolo tie or the tailored boots. 

Her hair was brushed back neatly. Rosaria's doing. And a small gold chain bracelet was clicked around her wrist. 

One side had the family's crest on it, the other, a small rosary. Ines wasn’t catholic, or religious in any sense. Mistress wore a cross sometimes, but why did that mean she had to? 

“Uhm... What is this?” She motioned to the rosary, and Rosaria, in typical fashion, did not give her a clear answer. 

“Mistress wants you to wear it. So, you will.”  

Ines didn’t know why this was a sticking point; it just made her immensely uncomfortable. She’d already changed her name for the woman... now she was changing religions?  

“We do not have time for any disagreements.” She continued. “Your schedule today is tight, and we must be on time.” Rosaria said with a glance at the watch on the inside of her wrist. 

She was ushered to put on her flats, and Rosaria led her to a stairway and then down, turning into downstairs areas Ines had never seen before, the floor gleamed with polish and the walls hung with portraits of people she didn’t recognize.  

At the end was a wide room, high ceilings, a chandelier, two sets of French doors that led into a dining hall, a grand table, as long as a tree, plates and cutlery sat on the table.  

And waiting inside, an older woman, seated with perfect posture and an expression like she’d been waiting her entire life to scowl at someone young. 

“Young Mistress,” Rosaria said. “This is Señora Blanca, she will be overseeing your comportment lessons.”  

“I am not here to make you comfortable,” Senora Blanca said before Ines could even squeak out a hello. “I am here to make sure you can eat soup with diplomats, have tea with their wives, and function in high society without embarrassing your Mistress.”  

Ines opened her mouth to argue, or maybe to question at the very least, but decided against it when the older woman glared at her, like Ines wasn’t worth her time. 

The lesson began with how to sit. 

Not how to eat, not how to drink, not how to smile politely. 

How to sit. 

Ines had barely crossed the threshold into the grand dining room before Senora Blanca gestured coldly to a high-backed chair.  

“Sit,” she said, as if commanding a mutt. 

Ines swallowed her few remaining shreds of pride, did as she was told. Only to be immediately corrected. 

“Back straight. Shoulders relaxed but not slouched. Ankles crossed, not legs, hands placed in your lap. Not clenched like you're about to storm the Bastille, girl.”  

She adjusted, slowly, cheeks already burning. Rosaria stood in the corner, impassive as always. 

“Wrong!” Blanca snapped. “Not on the edge of the chair. Not leaning back either. Sit as if there’s a string pulled from the top of your head to the ceiling. You are not at a bus stop, girl.” 

She had called Ines ‘girl’ just twice, and she was already sick of it. The condescending tone of it, her heavy Spanish accent, the sighs every time Ines moved. 

Ines adjusted again, trying to fix her posture after another heavy sigh came from the gray-haired woman. 

A quick snap. So quick, Ines barely caught what had hit her. 

The sting of a riding crop across her knuckles. 

“Ow—What the fuck lady?!”  

Blanca didn’t even blink. “You’ll learn faster this way. Posture is not a suggestion, it’s a language. The way you sit tells the world whether you belong at the table or not. And it’s my job to make you belong.”  

She lifted the riding crop to under Ines’s chin and added: “Secondly, a lady does not curse, while entertaining guests.”  

Before Ines could argue, the lesson moved on. 

When to sit: only when instructed or after your ‘social superior’ is seated.  
Where to sit: On the outer edge, if unsure of your place. Wait to be guided.  
How to excuse oneself: with dignity, with apology, but never with the word ‘bathroom’ 

Then came the food. 

A maid entered with a tray of dishes. A small salad, a cup of tea, and a soup course. All purely for practice. No one expected her to eat, even though she’d skipped breakfast. 

A dizzying row of utensils sat before her. Forks, knives, and spoons each with their own purpose. 

Blanca circled her like a vulture. 

“Which fork do you use for the salad?” She asked. 

Ines hesitated, looking at the assortment of over five different forks alone. “This one?” She reached for a random one in the middle. 

Another sharp strike on her hand. “Outer-left. Always work your way inward.” 

“Teaspoon?”  

Ines reached. 

Wrong. 

Another sting. 

“That is the dessert spoon.” 

By the fifth correction, the fourth smack, and the billionth sigh, Ines’s patience was unraveling like a spool of thread. She forced herself to breathe through her nose, tried to ignore the look of warning Rosaria had in her eyes. 

“Napkin? Girl...” Blanca asked coldly. 

Ines went for it. 

Too slow. 

Too crumpled. 

Too much wrist. 

TWHACK  

Ines jolted back, knocking her chair back against the marble floor.  

“THAT’S IT!” She snapped, rising to her feet. “That’s fucking it! I’m not doing this fancy pants high society bullshit! Fuck you, lady.” It might’ve been bearable, just, if she wasn’t being struck for every small mistake, for every slouched shoulder, for every wrong spoon.  

Blanca didn’t move, didn’t raise her voice. “Etiquette is about control,” Blanca said simply. “The world punishes those without it. Those who refuse to learn it. I am kinder than the world, and much kinder than the people you’ll be displaying these manners to, or lack thereof.”  

Ines scoffed at the words that she was kind, if this was kindness, Ines was the pope. She stormed out, hands still stinging, posture ruined, cheeks flushed.  

But, at least for once, she was choosing where to walk and drawing a line.  

Ines stormed down the corridor with her jaw clenched and hands still faintly stinging from that damn riding crop. She didn’t even wait for Rosaria to catch up. 

She shoved her bedroom door open with more force than she meant to. 

“I’m not doing it,” she said, pacing the room like a caged animal. “I’d get it, maybe, if she was teaching me what to use first, then hitting me if I got it wrong, but she was just hitting me for what I don’t know!” 

Rosaria closed the door softly behind her, her face unreadable as always. “You should not have done that.”  

Ines whirled around to face her. “She hit me! Multiple times! What was I supposed to do, just sit there and let her hit me?” 

“If need be.” Rosaria replied, “What you did was not wise, Young Mistress.” 

A knock at the door cut through the tension. Rosaria opened it, just a crack, enough for another maid to hand her a note, and enough for Ines to hear the maid whisper to Rosaria. 

[She’s pissed.] The maid said to Rosaria, passing over the note.  

Ines took the note with a sinking feeling; she didn’t expect her to get mad... she wasn’t thinking about Mistress at all when she stormed out. 

Her fingers unfolded the thick cream-colored paper. Three words in Mistress’s unmistakable handwriting. 

‘My office. Now.’  

Rosaria exhaled through her nose, the closest thing she’d ever done to a sigh. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

Ines didn’t answer, her legs were already wobbling to the door. 

Ines had stormed away from her lesson with fire in her chest, now... her fingers trembled as Rosaria knocked on the door and reached for the handle when she got no reply. 

Nothing had changed in the room, the same minimalist structure, a few filing cabinets, a desk, and the woman sat behind it.  

She didn’t look up right away; she was typing something on her laptop, a cup of coffee or tea steaming gently next to her. 

The chair across from her desk was still missing, making Ines awkwardly stand in front of the desk. Mistress finished what she was typing and closed her laptop. 

And lifted her gaze. 

Not a good look. 

“I hear you walked out of your lesson.” She spoke. 

Tone unhappy, irritation flush in her voice. 

Ines opened her mouth, hesitated, then forced herself to speak. “She hit me. With a crop, for not knowing what fork to use.”  

Mistress raised a brow. “And?” 

“And??” Ines’s voice pitched higher. “I’m not a dog! I’m not going to just sit there and get hit because I used the wrong spoon.”  

Mistress said nothing, simply stared at Ines long enough that it made her squirm. 

“I see.” She said, getting up from her desk and crossing the small space between them. “I thought we were well over this ‘phase,’ but I see you’ve forgotten your place.”  

Ines’s stomach did a cartwheel. “Wait! Mistress I—” 

*SLAP*  

The sound echoed louder than the impact. But the sting across Ines’s face as she fell to the floor was very real. Her head jerked sideways, breath caught in her throat. 

Mistress’s hand lingered in the air a moment before she snapped it to twist in Ines’s hair, lifting her face slowly. 

“You’re not a dog, Ines. No. A dog would’ve known better than to embarrass me by storming out like a child.” Her voice low and cold in Ines’s ear.  

“I’ve given you a luxury bedroom, you are waited on by some of the finest staff in all South America, and you can’t deal with the lessons I took when I was nine! To embarrass me in front of a guest.”  

“Please wai—” Ines tried to say through the tears, when her face was met with another vicious slap.  

Mistress let go and wandered back to her desk, while Ines crumpled to the floor completely.  

“I’m s-sorry. Please... I'm sorry.” Mistress fiddled around, checking the drawers for something. 

Eventually, pulling out a small remote. “I didn’t think I'd need this. But alas, I was a fool, trusting you to take your role seriously. I overstepped, gave you too much freedom. However, I always course correct.” 

Ines blinked through the tears. Trying to see what the remote was for. “Mistress, what is tha—” 

*Click*  

*ZZZT-CRACK-BZZZT*  

The sudden sharp pain shot through Ines’s body like lightning, making her convulse and scream. Her eyes rolled back in her head at the intensity, way higher than when she had stepped out of the bathroom. She bit down on her tongue, the metallic taste of blood mixing with her tears.  

Of course, this collar was a shock collar too. 

The shock was so intense it left her muscles spasming and her breath ragged. 

The room blurred at the edges as the shocks continued, and Ines heard the repeated clicks of the remote. 

She gasped for breath between shocks; the hardwood flooring was cold and unforgiving beneath her.  

Click  

Click  

Click  

Ines writhed on the floor, each click making her back arch off it, before she collapsed back down into it like a ragdoll. Each click assaulting and overwhelming her senses.  

She had no idea what the wetness around her mouth was. Tears? Drool? Sweat? Blood?  

All of them? 

“P-please...” She managed to whimper out, throat raw and hoarse from screaming. 

Mistress stopped her pacing and crouched beside Ines, digging her digits into the flesh of Ines’s neck, her thumb pressing so hard into her artery she felt it slow. 

“You will not embarrass me again. Or I'll throw you in the dark room again, and you won’t be let out until I want you...” She trailed off, thinking something up eviler, more punishing. She looked at that room. 

“Or... I can throw you in the bathroom, and you can have your panic attacks in there.” 

“Ngh! ase!” She tried to beg, but the hand around her throat stopped her. 

“You will go back to your lesson. You will  apologize on both our behalf... You will see me again, at the end of the day, and if I hear a single word about your disobedience again...” 

Ines didn’t need her to finish that sentence. 

She shook her head wildly, the panic crawling its way up her throat. She scrambled to her knees, and Mistress released her grip on her throat just enough to let her speak. 

“I’ll be good. I’ll do b-better; I want to learn for you. I want to be good for you. I'm sorry.” Her body hurt in too many places to say anything less, as Mistress searched Ines’s eyes for something, and then let her go completely. 

Mistress didn’t look back at her again. 

“Rosaria,” She called calmly, as if nothing had just happened. “Take her back to her lesson.” 

Ines wiped her face on the shoulder of her blouse, still kneeling. Rosaria didn’t offer a hand up, simply gathered her to her feet. She trembled, and her knees wobbled beneath her, but she stood. 

Mistress finally looked at her, just as Ines was almost out of the room. “I like your shirt.” She said offhandedly, eyes flickering over her. 

Ines blinked. 

It took a moment before she realized what she meant. The white blouse, the charcoal slacks. They were wearing the same thing. 

Matching. 

The door clicked shut behind her, and Rosaria offered no commentary on what she had just seen. Her silence louder than anything else as they walked down the hall. 

The walk back to the dining hall felt longer this time. 

Her cheek still stung. Her throat burned, not only with humiliation, but what felt like actual burns under her collar, but the pain was nothing compared to the knot she got in her stomach when Rosaria opened the door, and Senora Blanca was exactly where she had left her. 

Back straight, chin raised, eyes fixed to the head of the table. She didn’t so much as glance at Ines as she walked in. 

Ines stopped a few paces away from her, bowed her head slightly, and swallowed whatever was left of her pride. “Senora Blanca,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “I came to apologize, my behavior earlier...was childish, and deeply disrespectful. You didn’t deserve that. Mistress sends her apologies as well.” 

After a long moment, Senora Blanca gave a small nod. “You embarrassed yourself,” she said plainly. “And even worse, you embarrassed her.” 

“I’m sorry.” Ines said quietly. 

A pause. “You are a representative of her, your poor training reflects poorly on her, it may be you that incurs temporary pain, but it’s her that loses permanent social standing. You’ll do well to remember that.”  

Ines did a small but feeble nod. She was right. 

They both were. 

She was acting like a spoiled brat. A few days in a nice bed, and she forgot her place. 

Her role here carried weight. Responsibly. More than just ogling maids and walking around at night.  

The beating she just took must’ve been taking a toll on her head, because the burns around her neck started to feel deserved.  

The sting of the slaps on her face felt earned. 

Mistress wasn’t asking for much, and Ines let her down... the idea hurt her more than the slaps. 

“Sit,” Senora Blanca said. 

Ines took her seat, trying her hardest this time. Spine straight, hands folded in her lap. 

Senora Blanca didn’t smile, but her tone shifted softer by maybe half a degree. “Pick up the salad fork.”  

Ines glanced down. 

There were five forks. She hesitated, then reached for the second one from the outside. 

Senora Blanca gave a singular nod of approval. 

The lesson resumed. 

Ines lifted the teacup just as she had been shown. No pinky, no slouching, no clinking the spoon against the porcelain. A single breath. Sip. Set it down exactly where it had been. Not a centimeter off. 

Cutlery came next. Fork in left, knife in right. Don't saw. Glide. Elbows tucked and off the table. 

She practiced posture until her spine ached. Walked the length of the room several times until even her balance was perfect. She practiced with the now-cold food, dozens upon dozens of times, and learned how to make small talk that didn’t make guests feel unwanted. 

She learned how to smile with her mouth and not her eyes, how to dab at her mouth, not wipe. 

By the end, her fingers were sore from holding cutlery. Her jaw ached from smiling politely and not meaning it. 

Senora Blanca set her napkin down, neatly folded, and gave a small nod. “That will suffice for today.” Her eyes did one more once-over of Ines. “We begin earlier tomorrow, punctuality is expected.” 

Ines bowed slightly, the way she’d been taught. “Yes, senora, thank you for your time.” 

Outside the dining hall, Rosaria waited, one hand with a thick black binder. “You are expected elsewhere,” she said calmly. “Your next task today is staff oversight.” She handed over the binder. Ines frowned. It was like a novel, and she was sure it meant she wasn’t getting any downtime between lessons. 

“I'm not sure what that means.”  

Rosaria turned and began walking, motioning for Ines to follow. “It means learning how to manage the people who maintain the estate. Cleaners, cooks, laundresses, and groundskeepers. You will learn the routine of the house, observe for inefficiencies, monitor presentation, and when you are ready... Issue direction.” 

Ines blinked, slightly overwhelmed. “So... I’m like a supervisor?”  

“No. The maids have their own supervisors; you are not to micromanage, but to notice, learn how the house functions. You are being groomed to lead, not to supervise.” 

They turned a corner and entered a long corridor filled with the faint scent of lemon oil and freshly laundered linens. Rosaria paused at the door and opened it gently. 

Inside was a laundry station. Two maids were folding white sheets on a central table. Both bowed at seeing Ines, and Ines tried not to blush at seeing the maid she had walked in on changing from the night before. 

“These linens are for guest quarters.” Rosaria murmured. “Note the fold. Hospital corners, no visible seams.”  

Ines nodded, unsure if this was important or not. 

From there, they moved from room to room. The scullery, where silverware was polished and counted. The servant's quarters that Ines was already overly familiar with. There, Ines was quietly informed how to read a staff ledger: schedules, roles, and complaints. 

It was overwhelming. But it was real work compared to soup spoons and teacup placement. And for the first time today, Ines found herself genuinely curious. She always wanted to know how the estate functioned since she got here, and today was a peek under the hood. 

It was, of course, a double-edged sword, because this was work. Real work, Ines thought the best thing about getting kidnapped was not having to go to work every morning, yet she somehow found herself employed again. 

Somehow with worse pay. 

At least here she didn’t have to lie three times a month and say she had a boyfriend to stop people from asking her out. 

They moved on again, and Ines watched as maids cleaned rooms to exacting standards. She was handed checklists. Given inventory to verify. Even told how many lemons were expected to be juiced each day for kitchen use. 

“Why do I need to know this?” Ines muttered as she scribbled the numbers into her clipboard. 

“Because one day, someone will lie to you about how many lemons are needed. And you’ll want to know if they’re lying.”  

“Who cares... they’re just lemons?” Ines replied. 

“It starts with lemons, Young Mistress,” Rosaria said, shaking her head. “And if they can get away with lying to you about lemons, who knows what else they’ll lie to you about. And once they know they can lie to you and get away with it... You’ll never have their respect again.”  

Ines gulped; she didn’t know why. But it was a hard concept to fathom; Rosaria was speaking like a single lemon was all that was between Ines and a full-on mutiny. But the look in her eyes said she was dead serious. 

They were just about to descend the staircase again when Rosaria said, “Check the railing, Young Mistress.”  

“How do I do that?”  

Rosaria, without a second's hesitation, pulled a white glove from her pouch and snapped it on, running her finger along the underside of the polished banister. She held up two fingers afterward. 

Dust. 

“Page eleven, morning stairwell cleaning, look it up in your binder.” The maid said, snapping off her glove. 

Ines rapidly turned the pages, using her finger to guide her to the right column. “Luciana R is what it says.”  

[Fetch Luciana, her Young Mistress would like to see her.] Rosaria said to a passing maid at the bottom of the steps.  

No more than a minute later, the girl was in front of them. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen years old, raven black hair, hands folded in front of her, but Ines could still see her shaking like a leaf. 

She didn’t speak English; that much was clear from the blank look on her face when Ines asked if this was her responsibility. 

Ines, unsure of what to do, panicked a little and asked Rosaria to translate for her. “Just... try a little harder next time, okay?”  

Ines probably could’ve said that in her broken Spanish, but then she’d be in big trouble. She wanted to come clean, honestly, confess that she understood Spanish at the least, spoke some broken Spanish herself. But she couldn’t, not when Mistress was already so disappointed with her, not when she was still threatening her with the dark room.  

Not when she wanted to be good. 

[Mistress said if you make this mistake again, she will kill you. You will do it over again, until it is clean.] 

WHAT!? That is not what I said.  

The girl went pale. She nodded, quickly, and hurried off without another word. 

“What did you say to her?” Ines tested, wanting to see if her maid would lie through her teeth. 

“I told her you’d kill her if she made that mistake again.” Rosaria said, bluntly, like she wasn’t admitting to not saying what Ines had told her to. 

“That is NOT what I told you to say.” 

Rosaria gave the faintest look. Not apologetic, not smug. Just flat, as if this wasn’t worth the time they were going to spend on it. “It is what she needed to hear.” 

“What she needed to hear? Nobody needs to hear their life being threatened! I just said to tell her to try harder.”  

“She’ll work harder next time, which was the ultimate goal.” Rosaria said simply, turning down the next corridor. “You were too kind; she wouldn’t have taken it seriously.”  

Ines hurried after her. “You don’t know that.”  

“I do.” 

“That’s not fair, you can’t just—” 

“Fair?” Rosaria stopped walking. Turned, her eyes darker than before, not cruel, but filled with something deeper... like disappointment.  

Or resentment.  

“This is not a fair place, Young Mistress. You forget that, because you are cared for, but the people who work here don’t live in that world. They don’t get second chances. You do.” Rosaria turned away again, walking calmly. “If you cannot bear to have someone mistranslate for you, learn to speak Spanish. If you cannot do that... then accept the cost of someone else speaking for you.” 

Ines followed in silence after that. 

She didn’t know if Rosaria was angry. Or just telling the truth in her cold, efficient way. They both continued down the hall, neither speaking, the weight of the reality check on Ines's shoulders like a backpack.

By mid-afternoon, the sun sat heavy and golden above the plantation. Ines stood in the foyer, binder in hand, squinting against the brightness of the matte-green truck that had just pulled through the northern gate, as it rattled to a stop beside the door.  

A driver in a sweat-drenched shirt hopped out and tipped his hat to Ines without a word, handing Ines a Manifest and opening the back latch of the truck with a clang. 

Crates. Dozens of them. Some marked with produce codes, others labeled with maintenance supply tags, and two stamped with ‘FRAGILE-GLASSWARE’  

Ines flipped through the manifest and started checking things off one by one, muttering to herself mostly. The driver didn’t appear to speak English, and Rosaria had explained to her what to do, and then excused herself. ‘Something she had to do.’ She said. 

Ines wasn’t sure if she believed that or if she just wanted some time to get away from the stiff atmosphere from their disagreement earlier. 

“Two crates of mangos, one avocado, three sacks of flour, new linen for the guest wing...” She walked the length of the truck and had crates cracked open by a guard nearby with a crowbar.  

Fruit, ripe. Not moldy, not bruised. Good.  

Her pen hovered over the last item. Wine shipment, red, six bottles, old and French. She frowned at not seeing them anywhere back there and motioned to the driver. 

He understood the gesture, opening a narrow box from the rear compartment and showing her six dusty green bottles inside. Labels crisp. Corks intact.  

She checked the numbers against the sheet and signed ‘YM’ at the bottom. She’d sign her name, but she doesn’t know her name... 

Not her full name anyway. 

Is her last name still Cortez, or did Mistress change that too? Would it even make sense if she signed it as ‘Ines Cortez.’ 

She handed the manifest back to the driver as two guards went to move the goods. 

Rosaria appeared a moment later, her timing as eerily precise as always. 

“Everything matched?” She asked. 

Ines nodded.  

“Good.” Rosaria extended a folded note, crisp and cream-colored. 

Ines opened it. 

‘You will join me for dinner. Thirty minutes.’  

Her stomach clenched at the handwriting. She could feel the sweat on her back from the summer heat, from the nerves, from the everything of it all. And now she had just thirty minutes to scrub off the day and be someone worth sitting beside. 

Rosaria was already turning away. “Come. You’ll need a new shirt.” 

Ines slipped the note into her back pocket and followed. 

The dining hall was hushed, cavernous, and cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Stone floors. A vaulted ceiling so high that the chandelier was suspended from it like a crane. The massive mahogany table stretched nearly the entire length of the room, lined with chairs so evenly spaced it felt like it was done by a mathematician. 

The table was empty. The chair at its head—Mistress’s chair remained unfilled. 

Ines glanced down the long line of polished wood and white linen. Plates gleamed, candles flickered, and a folded napkin sat atop the plate at the seat just to the left of the seat at the head. 

Her seat. 

The seat to the right of the head was reserved for more important people. Spouses, family, a protege. 

Not for the likes of Ines.  

So, she stood still. Behind her seat on the left. 

Her posture straightened on instinct, Señora Blanca’s sharp voice echoing in her skull:“One does not sit before their superior.”  

So, she waited. 

She didn’t fidget. She didn’t speak.  

Not that there was anyone else in the room to speak to.  

Her hands folded neatly in front of her. Shoulders drawn back just enough to be elegant, not arrogant. The rosary on her wrist felt heavier now than before... like it was pinning her in place. 

The silence dragged. 

Then— 

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. 

Unmistakably her. 

Ines stiffened without meaning to. How could she not? The last time she saw her, Mistress was pissed at her. 

Mistress entered from the far corridor, clad in the matching clothes they were supposed to have on, except Ines took a shower and ruined that, putting on a crisp navy blouse and black slacks.  

Her gaze found Ines immediately, and she didn’t stop walking until she reached the head of the table. 

Ines dipped her head as she’d been taught. “Good evening, Mistress.”  

Mistress said nothing at first. She looked over the table, then at Ines. Then, finally, she sat. “You may sit.” She added after sitting down herself. 

“Thank you for inviting me to dine.” Ines said, taking her seat, recalling the phrase from this morning's training. 

Mistress leaned back in her chair, studying her. Not cruelly. Just... curiously. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of her. She stared at her like Ines was a half-finished painting, something with great potential, but one mistake and you could be starting all over again. 

“I did not hear anything about anymore... disobedience.” Mistress said, breaking the silence. “Señora Blanca even gave you a passing mark, and Rosaria described your work as ‘adequate.’ She said you seemed very curious and eager to learn. I wish you didn’t make me hurt you for you to display the requisite level of effort, and obedience.” She sighed. 

“I-I apologize,” Ines said meekly. “I want to be good. I tried to do better—” 

Two maids entered the room in synchronized silence, carrying trays with the first course. A butternut squash bisque, by the smell of it. The bowls were placed with practiced grace, one before Mistress, then Ines, being served hers. 

A third maid appeared beside Mistress with wine. Mistress’s was a deep red Bordeaux, poured into her glass with reverence.  

Ines’s wine...came from a different bottle. Nearly identical in color, but she noticed the asterisk printed faintly on the label that read: ‘Non-Alcoholic.’  

Before either touched their utensils, Mistress bowed her head slightly. “In gratitude for our daily bread,” she murmured, “and for the opportunity to refine the soul with each offering of obedience, amen.”  

Ines followed suit, head bowed, eyes closed, Señora Blanca hadn’t covered saying grace, Ines felt extremely uncomfortable with it all. She wasn’t religious, wasn’t raised saying grace, now she got the feeling, she’d be hearing it a lot. When she looked up again after Mistress said amen, Mistress was already spooning bisque with precision.  

They ate in silence for several minutes. Ines trying not to slurp or hunch, forcing herself to enact perfect posture and pace. Mistress’s gaze lingered occasionally, as though taking mental notes. 

“You’ll be working closely with Señora Blanca and Rosaria all this week.” Mistress said between spoons of soup. “Your instruction will cover household oversight, etiquette, managing staff, accounting for deliveries, and, if time permits, a tour of the plantation itself.”  

Ines’s spoon paused just above her bowl. “Yes, Mistress.”  

 “At the end of the week, I'll evaluate your performance.” She set her spoon down gently in the empty bowl. “I don’t expect perfection, but I do expect progress; you are to improve every day, learn quickly, but most of all, listen and obey. ” 

The next course arrived just as the bowls were cleared away. 

Roast lamb medallions in a dark reduction, with wilted greens and herbed potatoes arranged so precisely it looked like a painting on the plate.  

“I dine with you tonight, as I will every day this week to help you practice.” Mistress continued, finally slicing into her lamb. “So that you may learn how to behave in my presence. I prefer to eat in my office informally, but I’m not a hypocrite, Ines, I won’t ask you to do anything I'm not capable of doing. Isn’t that fair, Ines?” 

Ines nodded, “Very fair, Mistress.” 

Mistress looked at her for a moment, something unreadable behind her eyes. “You’re not here to be punished forever, Ines.” She said, putting down her utensils. “You used to crawl beside me, now you sit beside me, and when you finish your training... You might just be worthy to walk beside me, how you always wanted.” 

Ines swallowed hard and her face flushed slightly as she nodded again. “Yes, Mistress.” 

As the lamb course was cleared away, the maids returned once more. This time with a dessert. A small poached pear with dark chocolate drizzle, a candied orange peel resting against it. 

Mistress dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, then slowly rose from her chair. 

Ines followed instinctively, pushing back her own seat and starting to stand. 

“Stay,” Mistress’s voice cut through the quiet.  

Ines froze halfway, eyes wide. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table. “Yes, Mistress.” She said, sitting back down. 

Mistress circled behind her instead of leaving, like Ines thought she was doing. Ines felt her presence before she saw her. Like a shift in gravity. 

Then, gently, Mistress bent close and pressed a kiss to Ines’s temple. 

Before Ines could even blush, Mistress was on her way out, “Enjoy dessert,” she said over her shoulder. Her footsteps retreating, echoing through the dining hall like echoes in a cave. 

Ines didn’t move; she didn’t dare. 

She ate her dessert with the biggest smile, knowing she’d work harder to stay with her Mistress than ever before. 

Chapter Text

That night, Ines sat at the desk in her room long after Rosaria left for the night. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of her pen against paper and the occasional pop of a highlighter. 

Her eyes burned, dry and aching, but she didn’t stop. 

How long had she been at this? 

The binder lay open in front of her, swollen with additions. Color-coded tabs, handwritten inserts, pages upon pages of cross-referenced notes in the margins. She had memorized every staff member's name, even if she didn’t know their faces yet. 

She would.  

She had to. 

She memorized their duties, their shifts, who reported to whom, who was whose supervisor, who could be trusted to make decisions on their own, and who needed watching. 

She learned what maids should be in the west wing and when, and what it meant if they weren’t. 

Rosaria told her she wasn’t a supervisor, she wasn’t here to micromanage, but she still needed to know who was who and whose fault it was when something went wrong. 

The pages were starting to resemble one of her old college textbooks, marked up with post-it notes, highlighter, and shorthand scribbles of nonsense. Even now... she was still being graded.  

That's what Mistress ‘evaluation’ at the end of the week was, one big grade. And she didn’t want to know what would happen if she failed this test. 

No room for error. 

She doubted she’d get a make-up test. 

She rubbed her eyes, then blinked back into focus. 

Her notes on inventory levels were highlighted in pink. Kitchen prep flowcharts in yellow. Asterisks denoted issues Rosaria had mentioned might recur. Two copies of the weekly schedule sat in front, one to use, the other to annotate. 

She flipped back to the garden staff chart and rubbed her eyes again. 

Then froze. 

And blinked again.  

The names were blurring slightly at the edges. 

She rested her cheek against the edge of the binder, just for a second, just to rest her neck. 

But her eyes slipped closed as well. 

The next thing she knew, Rosaria was opening her door, and the morning sun was slanting through the window. 

“Young Mistress,” her voice gentler than usual. “You fell asleep at your desk.”  

Ines blinked, her neck stiff and mouth dry. The binder crinkled beneath her as she straightened out, a Post-it note stuck to the side of her face. 

“I’m up,” she rasped. “I just wanted to finish going over the—” 

“You can finish it after breakfast.” Rosaria stepped inside and crossed the room to open the curtains fully. “You’ve got lessons with Senora Blanca in an hour. Up.”  

The maid was already moving toward the wardrobe, pulling out today's outfit. An obsidian black skirt and dark maroon dress shirt. Appropriate for etiquette training, while still projecting power and beauty. 

Not that Ines felt particularly beautiful currently, peeling the note from her face and wiping the drool from around her mouth. 

Within the hour, Ines was showered, dressed, fed, and on her way to her lesson. 

Early morning- Etiquette Training  

Ines stood in the dining hall, shoulders pulled back, arms at her side. Senora Blanca stalked around her like a lioness evaluating prey. 

They were practicing her bowing for the hundredth time.  

“Too quick, much too quick. Hold eye contact longer. Again!”  

Ines bowed.  

“Too deferential. You are not a servant. Do not bow so deeply, girl. You are the Young Mistress. Learn to bow your head without moving your spine.”  

Again. 

They rehearsed how to sit, how to gesture while speaking, how to dismiss a servant politely, and how to deliver a reprimand without raising her voice. Ines had to memorize dining sequences, practice phrases that would be said often, and recite the names of notable guests she could come in contact with. 

Senora Blanca barely used the riding crop. Ines didn’t know if that’s because she was doing better or if Mistress told her to knock it off... 

Afternoon- Estate oversight  

Ines walked annotated binder in hand, Rosaria beside her with a clipboard. 

“We have six full-time Gardeners. I've given you their rotation schedule. Look it over and tell me what sticks out to you.”  

Ines flipped through it. Everything seemed standard until she got to the landscaping section. Three landscapers scheduled for Wednesday. “There’s an overlap on Wednesday. Do we need that many people here on the same day?”  

“Good catch,” Rosaria said, a smile in her eyes, but not on her lips. “Here is the proper schedule.” She said, handing Ines another piece of paper with the corrected information. 

They were giving her fake documents now, for her to point out the errors. Luckily, Ines was an accountant. She was used to looking for and pointing out small discrepancies in documents and spreadsheets, but she’d need to be on her toes all the time now.  

The thought of it made her rub her eyes in tiredness. 

Later, Rosaria brought her into the dry pantry and handed her a clipboard with supply tallies. “Count, approve the numbers. If something's off, there are questions to be asked.

Ines reviewed figures, compared them to the weekly purchasing plan. “These are way off from what’s in the binder,” she said, brows furrowing. “Why are we spending so much on imported flour?” 

Rosaria leaned over and looked at what Ines was writing. “Make a note, and flag it for Mistress’s review.”  

Before dinner, she sat in on a short staff meeting. 

[As you all know, this is your Young Mistress, Madam Ines.] Rosaria said to a collection of about 25 maids and gardeners.  

[Mistress has trusted her with discretion, meaning if she tells you to do something... You do it, just as you would for Mistress.]  

Ines stood beside Rosaria, awkwardly, with over 20 pairs of eyes on her, and she had to pretend not to know what was being said. 

A maid's hand shot up. Young, maybe twenty. Dark hair, dark eyes. [Can she punish us?]  

[Yes, she is at liberty to do so.] Rosaria replied. And Ines shuddered a little, uncomfortable with the idea of ‘punishing’ anyone. 

The younger maid dropped her hand and visibly tensed, if just a little.  

[There is one thing, if she asks you for that, that will require you to notify Mistress. If she asks for any set of car keys. You are to notify Mistress. She is not permitted to travel any farther than the gardens.]  

They didn’t need to ask why. Ines recognized several of the maids here, from when she first arrived as a slave...Mistress was giving her a long leash, but it was still a leash.  

One long enough to hang herself with if she did something stupid. 

Dinner With Mistress  

Ines stood behind her chair in the dining hall again, hands folded behind her, head down, eyes closed more in tiredness than etiquette.  

She was spent; the few hours of sleep she got, face down on her desk, proved to be problematic. Her neck ached from the angle she’d slept at. 

The distant echo of Mistress’s boots in the hallway alerted her just in time as she was about to be seen slouching. She straightened up, just in time. 

The double doors opened. 

Mistress entered.  

Dark slacks, white blouse, not matching with her today. A chill moved through the room, not from fear, no, Ines is past that; it had calcified into something sharper. Ines didn’t know what to call it. Devotion? 

Dread? 

It didn’t matter. 

She bowed her head as Mistress crossed the floor. Her Mistress in no rush to get to her seat. 

“You have dark circles under your eyes, my love.” Mistress said in a smooth and mild voice.  

Ines’s stomach did something weird. A strange cross between fluttering because she was called ‘my love’ again. And churning, because the mention of how tired she looked sounded more like a threat than any actual concern. 

“Apologies, Mistress. I was reviewing staff checklists late last night and lost track of time.” 

“Rosaria mentioned,” Of course she did Ines thought to herself. “How diligent of you.” Her tone was unreadable as she took her seat. Only then did Ines follow, pulling herself into the seat to Mistress’s left. 

A maid poured the wine for Mistress. Today, nothing was poured for Ines; a glass of water was instead placed in front of her... not even getting non-alcoholic wine anymore. 

Not that non-alcoholic wine was any kind of treat... 

“I hear your staff meeting went well.” Mistress continued, “And I hear you caught a mistake in a document meant to catch you out.”  

“I did.” Ines nodded as Mistress took a sip of her wine, watching Ines over the rim of her glass.  

“Detail-oriented. Good. You’ll need to be.”  

The first course was brought out, a scallop salad, with some kind of sauce that Ines didn’t understand beneath it. They ate mostly in silence, as Ines focused on trying to maintain her posture and not fall asleep. 

The second course was steamed trout with charred endives and saffron sauce, plated with the elegance she was coming to expect. 

And just like yesterday, Mistress got up before dessert was served, except she didn’t leave right away. She stood behind Ines’s chair, leaning in and speaking low. 

“You are performing admirably,” she said. “But I want you to remember something.” 

Ines looked up. 

“You are not a secretary.”  

Mistress let that settle. “You are mine. You sit at this table because I placed you here. Not because you can memorize checklists and highlight words. Do not lose sight of that.”

Ines swallowed, unsure if this was a reprimand or just genuine advice. “Yes, Mistress.”  

“Good, I will see you tomorrow for dinner.” Mistress said, placing a small kiss on Ines’s cheek and walking away. The heat on Ines’s face being the only proof she had even been in the room at all. 

Day Three 

In the morning, Blanca corrected how she held a tea spoon and taught her the tone and rhythm for introducing herself to guests of a higher social standing. 

In the afternoon, Ines joined Rosaria in the office to approve a weekly stipend list. 

“I don’t feel comfortable handling people's pay.” Ines admitted.  

“You are not handling it. You are signing off on it. You are Mistress’s stand-in when she is not here, which includes things like seeing that people are paid.”  

Then came the delicate matter of a disagreement between the laundry and kitchen staff over shared hallway access during deliveries. Rosaria let Ines hear both sides, then left her alone for ten minutes to draft a resolution.  

She felt like a king, hearing the villagers' problems. 

When Rosaria returned, Ines presented a neatly outlined plan to stagger deliveries.  

“It’s practical.” Rosaria admitted, it was the closest thing she got to praise all day. 

Dinner with Mistress was mostly silent, mostly uneventful... 

Except she kept staring at Ines’s hair, she had it pulled back today, in a low ponytail. When dessert came and Mistress made her exit, she leaned over Ines, took the hair tie from her head, and tossed it on the table. 

“You wear your hair down around me.” Mistress said coldly, like it was a mere fact of life. She did not kiss Ines today. 

And that felt lonelier than she thought it would. 

Day Four 

Etiquette lessons for the day included how to handle being cornered by someone of higher social standing, without insulting them, but also without submitting to them either. 

“Composure is power,” Blanca said. “You only submit to two people, God and your Mistress.”  

In estate training, Ines visited the small infirmary on the first floor, reviewed the medicine inventory, and drafted a recommendation for replacing expired supplies. 

By midday, she was correcting errors in old staff scheduling logs, in a buildup to next week, where she’d been told she’d be writing the staff's schedules, under heavy review, of course. 

She didn’t even notice how late it had gotten until Rosaria told her that Mistress would be expecting in in the dining hall soon.  

At first, she saw dinners with Mistress as a luxury, something Mistress was treating her to after a long day of working and learning, but today she knew they were just another test. 

Hair down, posture correct, eating elegantly.  

Mistress watched every step. 

And when it was time for her to leave again, she kissed Ines. 

On the lips this time, nothing more than a peck.  

But it was better than yesterday's nothing.  

Day Five 

It began as the previous days had. 

Blanca had her practicing her smile. Not the broad, friendly kind, but the small, knowing smile, one meant to make her look unthreatening to anyone with an ego.  

There was apparently also a correct way to incline your head while greeting someone of lesser standing than herself and one for people far above her station. 

Ines was starting to resent how much etiquette was pretending to be smaller or larger than you were, depending on who was in the room. 

Then came estate oversight. She signed off on maintenance repairs, roofing on the east wing, a jammed dumbwaiter in one of the kitchens, and wrote short notes in the margins for Mistress' review later. Rosaria watched her like a hawk but gave little feedback unless asked. 

That night, after dinner with Mistress, a quiet affair marked by a long conversation about how to delegate. Ines went back to her room; she sat at her desk with her binder open... and then paused. 

During the staff meeting, two days ago or so... Rosaria had said Ines was allowed in the gardens... right? 

She stood, slipped on her shoes, and walked down the hall.  

She half expected her collar to go off as she walked down the steps. 

It didn’t. 

She stood in front of the oak door that led to the garden, a maid passed. Ines tensed, thinking maybe she was going to raise some kind of alarm. 

Instead, she bowed. And moved on. 

No one was stopping her. 

As she opened the door and let the cool night air in, she expected her collar to go off now... Surely.  

Nothing. 

She was actually allowed out here. 

She took the winding gravel path. Past the flower beds and into the clearing. The one with a young tree and a single tombstone.  

Ines sat down beside it, carefully folding her legs, and laying the binder across her lap. 

She didn’t cry.  

She spoke seldom, telling Celeste and Valentina what she was working on, what was stressing her out. 

The night was cool, and the sounds of the estate quieted around her, except for the occasional rustle in the bushes, which thoroughly crept her out, until a small bunny hopped its way out. 

She reminded herself, this was a plantation. They grew crops, of course, small animals came looking for food. 

For the first time in days, she felt herself relax. 

The next three nights, she returned. 

Every evening, after her day’s lessons and her dinners with Mistress, she always brought her binder and pen to the garden, to the gravesite. Sometimes she updated schedules. Other times, she reviewed staff notes or copied down reports.  

It became ritual. 

She shouldn’t feel at home next to a grave, but she did.  

They didn’t expect her to be the ‘Young Mistress’, they weren’t heaping responsibility on her by the bucket, they listened. 

And that was enough for her. 

Rosaria never mentioned it. 

Neither did Mistress. 

But they must’ve known. The gravel path was always clean, and the gravesite well kempt.  

The dining hall felt colder that evening. Or maybe it was just nerves creeping in again. 

Dinner had been different than usual. Ines was served actual wine tonight for a start, but the actual meal was quieter. Mistress said very little, no questions about inventory or staff. No comments on her posture or appearance. Just quiet forks and soft glances. 

When the plates were cleared and only the wine remained, Mistress leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on Ines. 

“You’ve done well.” 

Ines tried and failed to contain the sigh of relief that escaped. 

Mistress continued: “The staff trust your authority or fear it. They follow your word. You haven’t abused the power, and they believe in your judgment.” 

Ines nodded slowly, absorbing the praise... because that’s how she was taking it. 

“Tomorrow,” Mistress said, lifting her glass to her lips, “You will be alone.”  

Ines blinked, taken aback. “Mistress?” 

“I have business in the city. I'll be gone from just after breakfast until after dark. That means... you’re in charge of the estate for the day.”  

She stared. 

“The entire day!?”  

Mistress raised a brow. “Is that a problem?”  

“No, Mistress.” Ines lied quickly. It was indeed a huge problem. Her? Ines in charge, a month ago she was a sex slave not being used...now she’s supposed to be the lady of the house in Mistress’s absence?  

She felt her pulse spike. This job was going to give her high blood pressure. 

“Rosaria will still observe, but she won’t step in unless absolutely necessary. I want to see how you cope on your own. This week has been good, but I want to see how you function when I take off the training wheels.”

Mistress leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Make no mistake, I don’t expect perfection; however , let the mistakes pile up, and we’ll be restarting your training, and I might just lose my patience...Understand?”  

“Yes, Mistress.” Ines nodded through the not-even vague threat. 

A long pause. 

Then Mistress stood and rounded the table. She stopped behind Ines, rested a hand on her shoulder, and leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “Make me proud.”  

She kissed the top of her head. 

Then walked away without another word. 

Ines remained seated for a while longer, staring at the empty wine glass at the head of the table. Her mind racing with everything that could go wrong. A pipe bursting. A staff member going missing or getting hurt. A delivery going awry. One misstep and it could all go wrong. 

That's without mentioning anything about something going wrong on the plantation, which she had not only not been trained to deal with...she’d not even gone on the tour Mistress said she could. 

But beneath the fear and anxiety was... was something else. 

Excitement. 

She would rise early. See Mistress off, review the binder again.  

She would be ready. Tomorrow, she would run the estate alone, and she had two people she wanted to tell. 

Ines found herself outside, the moonlight pale on the path as she stood over a single grave. She crouched beside it, brushing a few leaves from the name plate before whispering, “You guys won’t believe this...tomorrow, she’s leaving me in charge. The entire estate.” Her voice faltered into a quiet laugh, half-pride, half-terror.  

“I think I might puke. But I'll do it. I’ll make you guys proud too.”  

Just then, a rustle came from the hedges behind her. Too heavy to be the wind, too slow to be another bunny. She froze, a maid watching her?  

Ines stood slowly, not wanting to be seen as a crazy person for talking to a grave, and backed away from the grave. She didn’t turn back to see who had been in the bushes, mostly in an embarrassment that a maid had probably just eavesdropped on her... she hoped. 

The morning sunlight spilled in through the tall windows of the foyer, warm and golden. Ines stood by the front door, hands folded neatly in front of her, her breath tight in her throat. 

Mistress was already dressed to go; wherever she was going, she wasn't going to be bothered by the heat.  

Dressed in a dark turtleneck, with her suit jacket draped over her shoulders, and dark suit pants that were doing lovely things for her legs and hips. Her revolver made a reappearance on said hip, which made her realize she had been without the armament for the past week or so. 

A small suitcase rested by her heels. Ines did not know what was in it. Nor did she ask.  

Rosaria lingered behind Ines.  

Alya, back from vacation, lingered outside, next to a black SUV, like the villain's car in a Bond film, or any film. Ready to open the door for her Mistress. 

Mistress picked up the briefcase. “You remember everything?” 

“Yes, Mistress,” Ines replied, her voice steady despite her nerves. “Rosaria has my schedule.”  

Mistress gave a faint smirk. She stepped forward and cupped Ines’s cheek, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Firm and sure, a smudge of her wine-red lipstick on Ines’s face. 

But Ines had had enough of being kissed on the cheek. 

Before Mistress could pull back, Ines rose on her tippy toes, catching Mistress’s lips with her own, in a soft, trembling kiss. It was perfect, and it probably made Ines look a bit too eager, but it was hers.  

Her heart was pounding so loud she thought Rosaria might hear it. When she pulled back, tasting the lipstick now faintly on her own lips, Mistress’s eyes widened just a little, her lips parted, and then curved into a faint smile. 

“Careful, Ines, any more of that and I’ll cancel today's business.” She whispered in Ines’s ear. Quietly stepping back, with an amused shake of the head. “Run the estate. Don’t burn it down.”  

“Yes, Mistress.” Ines whispered, still breathless, still glowing.  

Then the front door shut behind her, and she was gone. 

The day passed in a whirlwind. 

Ines walked the halls like a woman on a mission. Her hair tied back, the binder tucked underneath her arm. She held staff check-ins in the main parlor, corrected a kitchen delay that was holding up the slaves being fed, without snapping at anyone. Caught a payroll error before Rosaria could and rejected a delivery that was meant for a different plantation several miles down the road. 

Of course, the day couldn’t go perfectly. 

A maid broke a vase in the west wing. Ines didn’t yell. She logged the incident, ensured someone cleaned the area, and quietly reassigned the girl to polishing silverware. 

Rosaria didn’t speak much, letting Ines make her own decisions, but Ines caught her staring now and then, thought, silent, approving? Ines hoped. 

The plantation seemingly ran itself, as not only did Ines not hear about anything going wrong out there, she didn’t hear about anything at all. 

There were no deliveries scheduled for the day either. By sundown, Ines had been toying with an idea in her head that she shared with Rosaria on a whim. 

“She gave me an easy day, on purpose. She knew there were no deliveries scheduled for today, she knew nothing major would go wrong...She wanted me to pass.” It wasn’t as insulting as it was sweet. 

She turned back to Rosaria, the look on her face could only be described as schoolgirl-ish. A wry smile she couldn’t contain from reaching her lips. “It may have been an easy day, Young Mistress, but even easy days need oversight, and you’ve proven you can do that.”  

By the end of the day, when she finished checking that everything that was signed off as done had actually been done, her charcoal blouse was slightly wrinkled, her feet sore, and her throat dry.  

But the estate hadn’t burned to the ground. 

And that counted for something. 

The garden air was cool and still. Ines leaned against the tree trunk of the young tree at the base of Valentina and Celeste’s grave. This place was becoming (if it already wasn’t) a kind of sanctuary for Ines.  

Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath she finally let out. “I did it,” she said softly. “She took the training wheels off, but she left the guardrails up. I'm just happy I didn’t mess anything up.”  

There was, of course, no reply, only the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the low hum of crickets.  

Mistress was not yet back, but she had told Rosaria she’d be out here if she needed her. 

She closed her eyes and let herself relax for the first time today. 

Then, she heard footsteps. 

Clacking, minor rustling of the hedges.  

She didn’t open her eyes... just Rosaria, probably here to bother her with something else to sign or whatnot. 

“Rosaria, just sign whatever it is and leave me be.”  

The footsteps continued... no, they got faster. 

Her eyes snapped open. 

Just as a figure lunged at her from the shadows. 

A flash of something small and metallic.   

Pain. 

Elsewhere 

The jeweler was old money, dark velvet counters, antique mirrors, and polished display cases that gleamed under warm golden lights. This jeweler served her family for centuries; the two families had ties all the way back to Spain before they even colonized this land. 

The necklace lay nestled on velvet: gold links, delicate but strong, like the woman that would be receiving it, with an emerald that matches Ines’s eyes.  

It had taken them over a week to make it. 

She was speaking softly to the elderly owner, Olmo, about engraving options... nothing dramatic, not yet... that wouldn’t be ready for another two weeks, she’d been told when she arrived. 

When her phone buzzed against her palm. 

Rosaria’s name popped up, and she chuckled to herself, “So she finally set something on fire, huh?” 

She answered with a question before Rosaria could speak, “Wait, let me guess, Ines asked if she could let all the slaves go?” She laughed to herself. 

The silence on the other end lasted for several seconds too long. 

“Rosaria??”  

Then: “Mistress. You must return. Madam Ines... she’s been stabbed.”  

Chapter Text

30 minutes ago  

The first thing she felt was the blow to her temple, blunt and dizzying. Her body collapsed sideways onto the grave and the bed of flowers beside it, cheek scraping against stone and thorn.  

By the time her vision steadied, her attacker was already on top of her. 

Lindsay.

“Dani,” Lindsay spat, voice raw and cracked like broken glass. “You bitch! You didn’t even try to help me. Didn't try to save a damn soul except yourself!”  

“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!”  

A blur of silver swung down. 

A trowel sharpened to a razor's edge.  

Ines screamed, her hand jerking upward just in time. Her palm caught the makeshift weapon mid-decent, and the metal bit deep. Deep enough to chew through skin and split tendons. It sliced against the entire length of her palm. It sliced into her fingers as she desperately held on. 

Blood trickled downward, a warm stream that was picking up speed and beginning to coat her own face. The trowel started to slip through her hand at the sudden slickness, but Lindsay bore down harder, putting her full weight on the handle, snarling like some feral dog. 

Ines screamed again, shrill and frantic. “HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE! HELP ME!”  

Her voice filled the air, but no one answered. 

Lindsay straddled her, knees digging hard into Ines’s ribs, one hand pressing the trowel ever closer to her face, the other splinted and bandaged still.  

“Traitorous whore,” Lindsay rasped, tears mixed with sweat burning down onto her cheeks. “We were supposed to be in this together... Me, you, Clara, Hayes, Lily, we had a plan, and you sold out the moment she gave you a crumb of attention like a pathetic dog!”  

“Coming from the same coward who RAN and got RUBY KILLED?! FUCK YOU!”  

Lindsay roared and slammed her body forward, pressing the trowel lower. It was slipping through her fingers; it was within mere inches of her eye. 

Her arm trembled violently. Blood loss and pain blurred the world around her. Her fingers were losing grip. 

No one was coming.  

She was going to die.  

A flash of panic seized her like lightning. Desperation burned through the agony. With her free hand, she searched for something, anything, a rock, a brick. 

Then she saw it... 

Lindsay’s left hand, still wrapped in bandages and splints, the fingers Mistress had broken. 

Ines’s good hand shot out with a cry and crushed Lindsay’s three fingers in her fist. 

Lindsay screamed like something inhuman, a shriek so raw and ugly it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Ines squeezed harder, feeling the splints crack and shift under the pressure. 

And feeling the bones beneath give. 

Lindsay recoiled instinctively, falling forward, holding her fingers in pain. 

Ines twisted violently and rolled them both over, shoving Lindsay off her with a surge of adrenaline. Her hand, slick with her blood and Lindsay’s now rebroken fingers still spasming, left red streaks as she scrambled away. 

She ran. 

She couldn’t go toward the villa; Lindsay still blocked the path, still had the trowel. 

So, she ran blindly, past the headstone, past Mistress’s favorite rose bed, deeper into the garden, and into the hedge maze. Her vision swam. The air smelled of lavender, sweat, and blood. 

She could hear Lindsay behind her, stumbling, shrieking.  

“Running from a track athlete into a garden I tend to? You stupid, stupid dyke bitch!” Her voice cracked and filled with fury. “I’M GONNA FIND YOU! You're leaving a fucking blood-crumb trail.”  

And she was.  

Ines looked down, saw the red streaks she was leaving behind her on the ground. Her hand pulsed, hot and open like split fruit.  

She turned sharply down a path, then another, heart pounding. Her lungs burned; she could barely see the moonlight, barely illuminating the path.  

Then... 

A shadow moved. 

And Lindsay was there again. 

She tackled Ines hard, slamming her into a hedge of thorns. The foliage stabbed into her back like a lumbar puncture. They crashed to the dirt in a tangle of trashing limbs; Lindsay’s trowel flashed in the moonlight.  

And Ines wasn’t fast enough, not this time.  

The trowel punched into her ribcage, with a wet, sickening crunch, the disgusting sound of metal pushing through flesh and bone.  

Ines choked. A spurt of blood ejected from her mouth, warm and coppery.  

She looked down. 

The trowel was embedded inside her. 

Sticking out of her side like a Christmas ornament, the handle was trembling with every breath she took.  

“...Why?” She gasped, voice like gravel. “Why?”  

Lindsay crouched over her, trembling ever so slightly. “Because she won’t let us go. Won't let me go home. She stole my life from me, now I'm taking what she wants...You. Don't worry, after you die, I'll do myself, I'm not sticking around for that bitch to torture me.”  

She almost sounded apologetic. 

Almost. 

Like she hadn’t just called her a dyke mere moments ago. 

Then she shoved the trowel in deeper.  

Ines shrieked. One hand trying to hold the trowel in place, the other frantically searching, fumbling over dirt, over crushed petals and twigs, searching.  

Her fingers closed around a jagged rock. 

She swung it wildly. 

Once. 
Crack. 
Twice. 
Crack. 

Lindsay slumped forward, bleeding from her temple, but still breathing, unconscious.  

Ines had to shove the smaller woman off her. She shrieked from the pain of her wound. She crawled out of the hedges on her hands and knees. The trowel still embedded in her ribs. 

She wanted to take it out; every ounce of human instinct screamed to remove the foreign object from her body. But she was already bleeding heavily. The right half of her blouse was soaked in sweat and blood, almost black in the moonlight. 

She stumbled, disoriented and gasping, into the open garden.  

She was a mess. Hair matted with dirt, shirt torn, blood pouring from her ribs and hand. 

She staggered like a drunk, one hand pressed to her side, trying to keep the trowel from shifting inside her. 

“Help...” She groaned, “Help me, please...someone.”  

Ahead, she saw flashlights, heard voices. 

[Someone was screaming out here earlier.]  

[Is that blood on the ground?]  

A scream. As the two maids outside with flashlights turned towards her. 

Then footsteps coming closer. 

“Young Mistress!” 

Two maids sprinted towards her.  

Ines dropped to her knees just as they reached her, one of them catching her before she could collapse completely. The other screaming something into her radio, Ines couldn’t catch.  

“Young Mistress! Young Mistress!”  

“Get Rosaria! NOW! Call Dr. McKay, God... she’s been impaled with something, Jesus, what is that?”  

The secondary maid, the one frantically shouting into the radio, vanished into the villa in a blur of movement. Like a game show, lights rapidly flickered to life inside in a domino effect. Ines hadn’t seen since the second grade. 

Ines allowed her head to lull against the maid's shoulder as she pulled a cloth from her pouch, giving Ines fair warning of what would come next. 

“I’m sorry, Young Mistress, this is going to hurt.”  

Ines whimpered like a kicked dog the moment the cloth wrapped around her torn palm, pain shot up her hand like a lit fuse. 

Ines tried to speak, but the iron taste in her mouth was overpowering. Her vision swam as more people rushed in. Someone grabbed her uninjured hand gently and tried to keep her upright, another pressed something against the wound at her ribs that made Ines shriek in agony. 

Flats thudded against the gravel. 

Rosaria arrived in a rush, hair undone, her face stripped of all its usual composure. Flanked by two guards. 

“Move!” She barked, and the maids parted. She fell to her knees beside Ines, cleaning her bloodied face with the sleeves of her undershirt. “What happened? Who did this to you?”  

Ines could barely nod in the direction of the hedge maze. She was trembling now, every inch of her was soaked in sweat, if not something worse. “L-Lindsay...She snapped, wanted revenge.”  

Rosaria’s face darkened with something murderous. “Where is she now?”  

“Maze. I h-hit her. I think she’s still breathing.” 

Rosaria stood immediately. “Bind the wound. Don't remove the object, keep pressure on it, and for God's sake, move her to the infirmary already.”  

Rosaria’s eyes narrowed as she turned to the guard standing beside her. [Go in there and secure the girl, do not harm her unless she resists. If she does... break her legs.] 

The two guards ran off to retrieve Lindsay. Just as Ines heard a countdown begin. 

[The infirmary is prepped. Keep her upright, lift her on three.] 

[One—Two—] 

On three, they lifted her. 

Even as a scream ripped from her throat at feeling the trowel jostling inside her. Her legs kicked instinctively, the trowel twisted with every movement, every jolt. She thought she would pass out; at this point, it was preferable. 

But she didn’t. 

She stayed awake for every step. They carried her down the long hall of the eastern wing, fast but careful, murmuring updates into a radio she could barely focus on. All she could focus on was her blood, the trail she was dripping behind them, the sound of the blood filled her ears, drowning out the voices.  

They laid her down in the infirmary bed, and the pain was instant. As soon as her back hit the mattress, Ines screamed. A raw, broken sound that tore from her throat as the trowel shifted inside her again. 

The white lights above her blurred and wobbled as her head rolled from side to side. Her breathing was sharp and panicked as the cloth was removed from her hand and a towel was wrapped around in its stead.  

Multiple pillows were placed under her head in what someone said was an effort to ‘make her comfortable.’ If she could laugh, she would.  

Comfortable? I have a fucking gardening tool shoved inside me.  

“Dr. McKay is two minutes out.” A maid said, wheeling over a portable vitals monitor, its cables trailing like vines. 

Ines whimpered. Her face went chalk-pale, her blouse a gory blotch. The handle of the trowel still protruded grotesquely from her side, rising and falling ever so slightly as she struggled to breathe. 

Rosaria brushed sweat-drenched hair away from her forehead. “Stay with us, Young Mistress, you’re going to be okay. She's almost here.” 

Ines wanted to answer, to ask for water. To scream again, but her thoughts were foggy, and her mouth was dry. 

Boots echoed in the hallway. Then— 

The doors slammed open. 

“Move.” Dr. McKay, flanked by 2 nurses carrying duffel bags and lugging equipment, burst in like a cyclone. Black scrubs thrown over what looked like her sleep clothes, stethoscope already around her neck. “Get me some vitals.”  

“I need light, give me clear overheads.”  

Fluorescents buzzed to life.  

McKay hovered over Ines, eyes sharp, mouth tight. She peeled the towel back from Ines’s hand. Winced. “Tendons might be damaged, but the hand is secondary.”  

She removed a pair of scissors from her pocket and cut off Ines's shirt in frantic snips of cloth until Ines remained in her bra and slacks only. Ines didn’t have the energy to object or cover herself; modesty had leaked out of her along with the blood. 

“Puncture wound between the ninth and tenth rib on the right side of her abdomen. Where are those damned vitals?”  

“Blood pressure dropping, eighty-six over forty-eight. Pulse 137.” The nurse answered back.  

“Is she stable enough for surgery?” A lingering maid asked. 

McKay bit her lip and shook her head once, briskly. “Not with her blood pressure. I can’t put her under anesthesia; she’ll go into shock. Can't risk it.”  

Ines stirred weakly. “Please...no.” 

“I know,” McKay said, leaning down. Her voice lowered. “Ines, I need you to be strong for a little while longer. I'm going to numb the site as much as possible. But we have to do this while you're awake; if I put you under, you could go into cardiac arrest.”  

Ines didn’t respond; she couldn’t. 

Cardiac arrest.  
It was sinking in... she could die, maybe she was even close to death.  

She blinked up at the doctor. Her chest rose in shallow, fluttering breaths. 

And nodded once. Something she was certain she’d regret. 

McKay turned back to the others. “Prep the lidocaine. I want clamps ready, gauze, thread, the whole kit.”  

A stinging pressure jabbed into her thigh, and then several around the trowel in her ribs. 

Ines gasped. “What...What was that?”  

“Painkillers and a numbing agent,” McKay answered. 

She didn’t remember Rosaria leaving. One second, she was there, wiping sweat from her forehead, murmuring supportive things. 

The next? 
Gone. 

And everything else was light. Blinding overhead fluorescents wheeled over her.  

The drugs were taking effect; she used to be able to feel the trowel inside of her, not just the pressure, but the shape of it. She used to be able to feel it scraping bone with every breath.  

Now?  

A faint ache.  

Like a bee buzzing beneath her skin.  

Dr. McKay hovered over her again. 

“Okay, Ines,” she said, voice low but brisk. “We’re going to start.”  

No one had told her what that meant. 

But then she felt it. 

Hands. 

Cool, gloved fingers...holding her down. 

“I’m sorry, kid.” Ines felt Dr. McKay’s hands grip firmly on the trowel, and then a gentle but firm tug. The pain was unimaginable, like she was being torn apart by a thousand knives. Even with the numbing agent, she screamed, her back arching off the bed. Nurses and maids holding her down alike, their faces straining with the effort of keeping her still. 

The sound of metal scraping against bone filled the room, and Ines could feel the warmth of her blood spreading. It was a wet, sticky mess; she gagged at the idea of what was happening inside of her. 

McKay worked quickly, her movements as precise as they could be despite the urgency and the screaming. With a final, wrenching pull, the trowel came free, and Ines’s body went slack, the world around her slipping. 

The room was silent except for her ragged breaths and the doctor’s voice giving instructions she couldn’t hear.  

Hands moved swiftly to the wound. Ines could feel it. 

The pressure. The wet, gloved fingers pushed into her open wound. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but deep.  
Wrong.  

A prodding sensation that made her entire body curl, even when she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. 

She wanted to scream, but her throat was raw, barely able to drag in breaths, let alone voice anything. 

“Tenth rib fracture, gallbladder ruptured, needs removal. I need suction now, set up a blood transfusion for immediately after.”  

Hands dug deep. 

It felt like her insides were being peeled back like a banana skin. It felt unnatural; the human body wasn’t meant to be awake while someone dug around inside it. 

The air tasted like iodine and blood. Her sweat pooled into her collarbone. The stitches in her fingers were already finished. She didn’t remember the nurse starting them. She couldn’t feel the stitches going into her palm. 

She could only feel the slow, brutal invasion into her side. 

Pressure. 

A wet snap of pain made her eyes fly open, pupils blown wide in terror. Her body spasmed, every nerve shrieking at once. A ragged gasp burst from her lips, broken, jagged, barely human. 

“SHE’S SEIZING!” A nurse yelled. 

“Blood pressure’s plummeting, 72 over 35!”  

“Fuck! I need you to stay awake, Ines, stay with m—”  

But she had already slipped away. 

The last thing she felt was a maid gripping her uninjured hand. 

Then darkness swallowed everything. 

The words sank like a stone in the ocean. 

“I can’t put her under anesthesia.”  

Rosaria had heard it all, being here for the last decade. Threats, screams, death rattles. But this? This was different. This was the Young Mistress , trembling and pale, covered in blood and struggling to stay lucid. 

She couldn’t stay in the room.  

Not while they were explaining things to her, she clearly didn’t understand, that she was in no state to understand.  

“I need a moment,” Rosaria muttered. Ines didn’t react; she was staring into an overhead light, unblinking.  

She stepped into the hallway; it wasn’t any less hectic out here. Five maids stood by the door; two had blood on their aprons. One had tears on her cheek still, some praying, others waiting for updates; they all swarmed her as she stepped out.  

But they weren’t praying for their Young Mistress. 

They were praying for themselves.  

They were praying for their jobs. 

Or their lives. 

“Miss Rosaria—please, is she alive?”  

“She was screaming so loudly, please tell us, what did they say?” 

“Her blood was everywhere. I didn’t know someone could bleed that much... she’s not going to die, is she?”  

Rosaria raised a hand to try and stop the three maids who all seemed to be speaking at once. And for a moment, it almost worked; the words caught in their throats. But only for a moment. 

Then came the questions that didn’t have a good answer. 

“Why was she out there alone?”  

“Isn’t it your job to keep her safe?”  

Of course it was. 

That had been her job, even more so than being her maid. And she failed... 

Rosaria’s stomach clenched. The moment hitting harder than any of their words. It hadn’t fully sunk in, not until now. 

Ines might die. 

And it would be her fault. 

She had let her go into the garden alone...she thought it’d be okay, Mistress Ines had been using the garden every night that week with no incident.  

And now she was impaled, all while Rosaria wrote reports. 

Fucking reports. 

She clinched her fists briefly at her side before completely ignoring the blame game the maids had tried to play with her. She knew it was her fault; there was no excuse. 

“Has anyone notified Mistress?” Rosaria asked. 

A noticeable shudder went through all the women before her, as they all looked around at one another. 

It was the crux of the real reason they were praying and looked scared. Nobody wanted to tell Mistress.  

“W-we were waiting,” one of the younger maids said. “Until we had good news... or until we knew the full extent of the damage.” She said, pulling at the top button of her shirt. 

“No. You waited because you are afraid.” Rosaria said, quietly, almost absently.  

No one argued back.  

The air turned thick with shame. 

Until one spoke up. 

“So what? So what if we are scared? We can’t all be ‘like a daughter to her’ like you. You're the one that fucked up, but we're the ones whose lives are in danger now! At worst, you’ll go back to cleaning the library or checking off checklists, if she dies... We have families.”  

The words hung in the air, a stark reality that was a slap to the face. 

“You’re right. I did fuck up. And I’m going to tell her.” Rosaria said, her voice a whip crack. 

The maids parted as she walked away, not looking back. 

She dug for the phone in her pouch. She stepped just far away enough that the screaming wouldn’t be audible on the other end, but she could see if McKay or anyone else came out with an update.  

The phone felt heavy. She could see her reflection in its black screen before it was powered on. A streak of Ines’s blood stuck to the cuff of her sleeve. 

She dialed. 

The line rang once. 

Mistress didn’t give her any time to speak. 

“Wait, let me guess, Ines asked if she could let all the slaves go?” She heard Mistress chuckle on the other end. 

Rosaria froze, briefly. How do you tell someone in a good mood that their lover was violently assaulted?  

“Rosaria??” The tinge of concern in her voice was something Rosaria had only heard one time before, when Young Mistress had her panic attack in the office.  

Rosaria swallowed and let Mistress know.  

“Mistress. You must return. Madam Ines...she’s been stabbed.”  

There wasn’t a gasp, or an ‘oh no’, the other end of the line just went completely silent, for what felt like an eternity.  

Rosaria could practically feel the chill coming through the phone.  

“Is she alive?” Asked with all the coldness of a woman who truly only expected one answer. 

“Yes, McKay is operating now.” Rosaria heard a car door slam as she answered.  

“Who?”  

And Rosaria knew exactly what she was asking for. “Lindsay, she got the jump on Mistress Ines as she lounged in the garden. Lindsay is secure and being held in the cellar.”  

Rosaria closed her eyes. Waiting. 

Then Mistress spoke, her voice like ice. 

“I want every camera’s footage pulled and sent to me. Nobody touches Lindsay until I return. And I want a full report on how a slave under surveillance was able to attempt to murder my woman!” 

“Yes, Mistress.”  

“I will return within the hour. Pray that when I return that she is conscious. Or her blood will not be the only spilt tonight.”  

“Underst—”  

Click.  

Mistress hung up on her. 

When Rosaria rejoined the others by the infirmary door, they hounded her again, asking how angry Mistress was.  

She didn’t answer.  

Instead, she prayed. 

Because it’s what Mistress had told her to do. 

The car door shut behind her with a dull, final thud. 

She hadn’t even waited for Alya to open the door for her. 

Mistress didn’t speak. Her heels didn’t strike the marble floor; they pounded it. Each step echoed down the grand hallway, like the ticking of a grandfather clock. 

The house was quiet. Too quiet, the maids were hiding, not that hiding under their beds was going to save them, it wasn’t going to save anyone. 

The further she walked, the more blood she saw. Half wiped, like someone tried to clean it in a hurry, a trail leading toward the east wing. 

The infirmary. 

Her jaw tightened, she was too incensed to ask Rosaria for updates, she truly didn’t know what state she’d find Ines in.  

Unconscious?  

Dead?  

The last turn. Then the doors. She paused, just once.  

The scent of antiseptic, bleach, and iron hit her all at once. 

Rosaria was waiting outside the door, the only person there, the only maid with enough backbone not to be hiding in their room. Not that she wasn’t afraid. 

Rosaria was standing completely still, not reacting to the sound of her Mistress coming down the hall, like she was a T-Rex and not moving meant she would not be seen. 

Just outside the door, she turned to the trailing Alya. 

“Gather all the present maids in the foyer. Everyone, no one gets away with this.” To which Alya bowed and walked away, Rosaria in tow. 

She stepped inside the infirmary. 

There were no curtains drawn. No attempt to hide it. Ines lay still on a medical bed, more tubing and bandages than woman. Her face was pale, an oxygen mask over her dry, cracked lips, her eyes closed, not at peace, but in agony. Her hand was wrapped like a relic, mummified in gauze and foam dressings.  

The beep of the monitor was the only way to tell she was even alive. 

Four IVs were snaking around her wrists, hand, and elbow.  

A bag of blood sat draining into her from one of the IVs.  

A long set of bandages on her lower ribs rose and fell with every painful stutter of a breath.  

Dr. McKay straightened at her approach, but didn’t flinch; she wasn’t scared of her.  

Kayla had never been easily intimidated. 

Mistress’s eyes remained on Ines, however. “Talk.” 

McKay’s voice was brisk, if not a little tired. “Fractured rib. Puncture wound between the ninth and tenth rib, missed the liver luckily, but plunged straight into the gallbladder, so I had to remove it. She's on oxygen because of the heavy sedation. Major laceration through the palm, tendon damage. Clean through to the bone.” 

Mistress’s mouth was a thin, unreadable line.  

“She began to seize during the removal of her gallbladder. Probably a pain response, could’ve been blood loss. It was touch and go for a while... It’s still touch and go, but she’s recovering.”  

“Is she stable?”  

McKay gave a dry, humorless laugh. “About as stable as a table with one leg.”  

She stepped forward, her jacket came off, as she placed it over Ines, they hadn’t changed her out of her bloody slacks, and tears of the remnants of her shirt remained. 

She lowered herself into the chair beside the bed like it was a throne.  

“Will she wake up?” She didn’t know if that was to McKay or not; it just came out. 

“In a few days, maybe, you don’t want her to wake up now. It'd be nothing but screaming, and she’d need to be sedated... Again.”  

Mistress nodded, once. And the silence stretched as she watched the shaky rise and fall of Ines’s chest.  

Then— 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “My staff failed to keep you safe... I failed to keep you safe. I'll make it right.”  

Ines didn’t stir. Didn't flinch, didn’t react. 

Mistress reached out, brushing a single strand of dark hair from the girl’s forehead, the back of her hand caressing a scrape on her cheek.  

She leaned closer, resting her forehead on Ines’s, voice softer now. “Stupid girl, you know you aren’t allowed to die. 

Her lips pressed gently to Ines’s clammy forehead. 

She didn’t linger. 

She rose cool and composed, turning toward the door. 

She glanced back once, just once, at the broken girl in the bed, being held together like a science project. 

“I’ll be back,” she murmured. She turned to McKay. “I expect her clothes to be changed before I return.”  

She didn’t wait for her to nod or say yes; she already slipped out of the room, hand on her holster, heels clicking on the marble once more. 

The foyer was silent when Mistress entered. 

The collection of seven maids that lived here stood in a crooked line beneath the vaulted ceiling. Still in their night uniforms, hair disheveled, aprons stained with blood, fear painted all their faces. 

Alya stood apart, near the back, eyes downcast. The only woman in the room not in trouble. 

Mistress walked in slowly, heels echoing on the stone floor. She didn’t speak at first. 

She let them feel it. 

The weight of her disappointment. The blood they had tracked through her halls, the uncertainty of Ines’s life.  

She stopped in front of them. 

She took a slow breath. 

“You failed me.” She said, “That, I might have forgiven.”  

She took a step forward, and no one moved; even if they trembled, they knew better than to move. 

“But you failed her. To have MY WOMAN BLEEDING OUT IN THE DIRT LIKE A DOG! I should kill all of you. But I'm willing to let one person volunteer to take responsibility.” 

No one moved. 

As she suspected. They did, however, all shift to looking toward Rosaria. 

Who stood at the end alone, abandoned by her fellow maids, ready to throw her under the bus if need be. 

She took another step forward. “No volunteer? So be it.”  

She drew her revolver with no ceremony. A gleaming thing, elegant, polished, old. A gift from her father. She spun the cylinder slowly.  

“There’s a single bullet loaded. You refused to volunteer. Now God chooses.”  

No one breathed. 

The trembling increased. 

She approached the first maid. Young. Couldn't have been older than twenty. Eyes brimming with fear and tears. 

She placed the barrel against her forehead and cocked the hammer. 

Click.  

The girl collapsed. 

She moved to the next. Older, stone-faced. Not trembling, but fingers twitching gave her away. 

She pressed the cold steel to her forehead. 

Click.  

Mistress moved on. 

The third let out a whimper before the trigger was even pulled. 

Click.  

The fourth tried to meet her gaze. 

She failed. 

Click.  

The fifth was shaking so badly she looked like she might be sick. 

Mistress pressed the gun to her temple and held it longer this time... until something began trickling down the maid's legs. 

Then— 

Click.  

She fell to the ground, crying. 

Mistress skipped the next maid and stopped in front of Rosaria.  

Six. 

Rosaria had not moved from her place at the end of the line. 

She didn’t tremble. Her hands were folded behind her back. Lips pressed together so firmly they may as well of been a scar.  

Rosaria closed her eyes with a look of a woman that resigned herself to death. 

Mistress lifted the gun. 

Pressed it to Rosaria’s forehead 

Time stretched. 

No one dared to blink. 

She pulled the trigger... 

Click.  

In truth, it hadn’t been loaded at all. The bullets sat in her back pocket, taken out during the drive home.  

She lowered it.  

Just until Rosaria opened her eyes, with a look of confusion.  

And with a motion too fast to follow, she struck Rosaria across the face with the butt of the revolver. 

The crack of metal on bone echoed like a gunshot. 

Rosaria stumbled sideways. Blood bloomed immediately from her temple as she fell to the ground. She began kicking her.  

The ribs. 
The stomach. 
The head. 

Rosaria didn’t cry out for mercy. She knew she wouldn’t receive any.  

“You disappointed me the most.” She whispered down to her. “I saved you. Helped you escape from your old master, and this is how you repay me!? If I see you again before Ines is conscious, you’ll be joining her.”  

Mistress said nothing else to her. She holstered the empty weapon and stepped back. “I am going to watch every second of the security cameras from tonight's incident. And if I see that one of you could’ve stopped this, or helped her earlier, well...”  

She looked over to the husk on the floor that was Rosaria, a bit of blood leaving her mouth, wheezing just barely audible. It made her point better than she could. 

She turned her back on them.  

“Alya, let’s go. There's someone else we need to see.”  

They walked toward the cellar steps in tandem, Mistress slowly cuffing her sleeves... 

Down in the cellar, the air was thick with the smell of mildew and salt. Nothing was down here, but the alarm to call the police and an old panic room, her mother had built into all the basements of her plantations. 

She descended the final step without a sound. Alya followed silently, closing the door behind her. 

There was little light being produced by the two bulbs overhead, casting long shadows on the stone floor and rusted iron. 

Lindsay was here. 

Tied to a steel chair bolted to the floor, wrists bound tight with a coarse rope, ankles the same. A gag between her teeth. Her head lolled forward, light brown hair stuck to some dried blood on her face. 

Mistress motioned the guard behind Lindsay away. 

Her head lifted when the footsteps stopped. 

Eyes slightly swollen, but open. 

Mistress said nothing. 

Just struck. 

Crack.  

Her fist met Lindsay’s jaw with a sickening thud. A muffled groan broke past the gag. 

Another.  

This time to the temple. Her head snapped to the side, hair falling over her face. Screaming into the gag. 

She never much liked hitting people... getting her hands dirty, it wasn’t for her, why punch people herself when she could pay for someone bigger and stronger to punch for her. 

Only this was personal. 

The first punches were hers. 

She grabbed Lindsay by the hair, forced her upright. 

“I give you a job and you spit in my face. Attack my Ines?! She saved your life! And that’s how you reward her?”  

*Crack* 
*Thud*
*Crack* 

She beat on her until a cut opened under the girl's eye, and the gasps and gags turned into whimpers.  

But she wouldn’t continue.  

Instead, she turned to Alya, who stood near the bottom of the steps. 

“You know what I want. But don’t kill her, there’s an opportunity here to teach Ines about the behavior of these animals.”  

She stepped aside, and Alya nodded once. Her stance shifted, no hesitation. The posture of someone who’d been in the ring. 

Alya stepped forward, rolled her shoulders back, and without ceremony— 

Punched Lindsay as hard as she physically could, in the ribs. 

The crack of bone on bone filled the room. 

Then another to the side of the jaw. A muffled cry wheezed out.  

She stood and watched, arms crossed, eyes cold as Alya worked. 

Three more punches. Two to the stomach, the last making the tied-up woman vomit. One last sharp punch to the eye. 

Then Mistress turned for the steps. 

“Keep her alive,” she reminded without looking back. “But don’t be gentle either.”  

She disappeared into the darkness above, the cellar door creaking shut behind her. 

Below, the thudding of fists continued, measured and brutal. 

After all, it’s why she employs a brute. 

Mistress slipped quietly back into the infirmary, the scent of antiseptic and cleaned blood thick in the air. The machines hummed their quiet, clinical symphony. Ines lay pale beneath white sheets, changed into a hospital gown that McKay got from God knows where. 

She pulled back the sheets and pulled up the gown; her ribs were starting to bloom purple and green bruises, the wound was bandaged tightly, her hand was in a sling, and elevated.  

She sank into the same chair as before. After Alya was finished beating Lindsay, she’d have her bring the chair from her office. 

Dr. Kayla McKay walked and stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed. She looked exhausted, her ginger hair tied back in that messy bun Kayla knew she hated, scrubs stained.  

“I didn’t peg her as your type.”  

Mistress stifled a sigh; she’d say, ‘Don’t start,’ but that had always been Kayla’s sign to start. “And I didn’t bring you down here to analyze my taste in women.”  

“Yeah, yeah, you brought me down here because I was ‘on my ass,’ don’t remind me.” 

“‘Star doctor sentenced to thirteen years in prison after organ trafficking scheme unraveled.’” Mistress reminded, hand doing a motion like she was the reporter breaking the story. “You still hold the title of only woman I've ever dated that’s been to prison.” 

McKay smirked and stepped a little closer. “You say that like I'm supposed to be embarrassed.” 

The silence hung between them. Friendly, companionable.  

Kayla’s eyes dropped to Ines. “She’s a tough cookie; that seizure could have killed her. But she hung on.” 

Mistress said nothing. 

Kayla let out a low breath. “You know, I didn’t think I'd get this invested. I told her the last time I saw her, ‘I hope to never see her again.’ I thought she was some cute little thing you were playing house with. But watching her fight to stay awake while I was digging around inside her?” She shook her head. “She wanted to live. Badly.”  

Mistress felt her jaw flex. “She better have.” 

Kayla studied her, then leaned against the corner of the bed, arms crossed again. “You planning on telling her?” 

“Telling her what?” 

“About your family.”  

She didn’t answer right away.  

“Not yet. Soon. But not now.”  

Kayla let out a grunt. “Your call.”  

Mistress reached for Ines’s hand, the good one, and held it for a moment, thumb brushing the back of her hand. “I’m going to go take a shower. Let me know if anything changes.”  

“You’ll be the first.”  

Mistress turned and left the room, the door clicking closed behind her. 

McKay remained. Watching the girl in the bed's chest rise and fall. Then finally, she sat down in the chair Mistress had left empty, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. 

“I hope you're worth the mess, kid.” She murmured.  

And Ines didn’t stir. 

Six Days Later

The infirmary was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. It was raining outside; its wetness pelted the windows as distant thunder vibrated in the distance. 

Ines stirred. 

Her eyelids fluttered. Heavy, dry, everything ached; her midsection felt like she was being ripped in half. Her throat burned, her hand throbbed like it was wrapped in a bee's nest.  

She tried to move but couldn’t. Tried to sit up, but her back didn’t move an inch off the bed.  

Machines beeped around her. She blinked hard. Vision clearing bit by bit. 

The first thing she saw was her slumped in the chair beside the bed, chin resting on the edge of the bed. Breathing slow and even. 

Mistress. 

She looked tired. Slightly pale, hair pulled back.  

But she was there.  

Ines didn’t know how long she’d been here, but the sight made her believe Mistress had been there with her the entire time. 

Ines tried to speak, but only a dry rasping noise came out. 

Mistress stirred. 

Her head snapped up instantly, eyes sharp as a blade, then softening as they landed on Ines. 

“Ines,” she breathed. “Hey...You’re awake.”

She reached for a cup of water and slid the straw between Ines’s lips. 

Ines drank. Gulped, more like it.  

It helped. 

“I thought...” Ines whispered, voice weak. “It got so dark. I was so scared. I—”  

“Shh,” Mistress said, brushing her fingers down Ines’s cheek. “You’re safe, you’re alive. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”  

“Mistress I—” 

“Isabel. When it’s just us... Call me Isabel.”  

Chapter Text

Days passed. 

Maybe weeks. 

Ines didn’t know; all she could do was smell antiseptic and stare up at the cream-colored infirmary ceiling in between states of lucidity. The drugs were strong, but the pain was always stronger.  

A thick ache in her side when she breathed, when she moved, when she dared to exist. Her right hand stitched, bandaged, wrapped, and placed in a sling.  

The world came in fragments of lucidity. White linen, soft pillows, and Dr. McKay’s voice. Low, competent, and always somewhere nearby.

And her.  

Mistress.  

She struggled to call her Isabel. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name, overly familiar, or disrespectful, even.  

At first, Ines wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. But every time her eyes fluttered open or the drugs wore off enough for her to feel like a person again, she was there. Sometimes sitting quietly by her bed, sometimes reading, sometimes she had her laptop in her lap, clacking away furiously. 

The occasional kiss to her forehead, holding her hand when she thought Ines was asleep, kissing the back of her hand, and whispering prayers in Spanish.  

Mostly, she just watched her. 

Days passed. 

The passage of time blurred, marked only by the clatter of Alya bringing her food. Ines hasn’t seen Rosaria since she walked out on her surgery... 

The few times she asked Mistress where her maid was, she only gave vague answers. 

“Away.” 

“Busy.” 

“Taking some ‘personal time.’” 

Ines hoped she was okay. That seeing her bleeding out hadn’t traumatized her too much.  

Ines herself could barely handle the tremor that rose in her chest at the memory of what happened, so she buried it under the weight of medication and sleep.  

But slowly, the rhythm changed.  

Dr. McKay began adjusting her medication. The fog in her head began to clear, and her body began to feel the full weight of what it had been through. Aching ribs, a constant throb of heat where her gallbladder had been.  

And still Mistress came. 

Every day. 

Sometimes in a crisp white blouse with the sleeves rolled up, other times... in a way Ines had never seen her before. 

A hoodie and a pair of jeans, unremarkably casual. A look, Ines didn’t think Mistress knew. A look she didn’t think Isabel knew.  

But that was just it, wasn’t it?  

She didn’t know anything about Mistress, did she?  

She started to sum up the things she knew about her in her head. 

1: Her name is Isabel. 

2: She runs or owns this plantation. 

3: She has a rich family... 

That was the extent of what she knew about the woman that she was pretty sure she was lovers with. 

She was coherent enough for them to have conversations now if Ines didn’t chicken out, so maybe she should start with something small or obvious. 

“Your English is very good.” Ines said, looking over. Still slightly groggy. 

Mistress tilted her head, a slight smile on her face as she closed her book. “I was taught English from childhood. English is the language of business... they were purely practical lessons, and then I went to college in the States.”  

Ines blinked in surprise. “You...went to college?”  

Mistress smiled like she was remembering something fondly. “UCLA in Los Angeles, four years of overpriced lectures, and gay bars for miles, completely different from anything I had experienced here in Colombia.”  

Ines sat with her mouth agape; she never imagined in her wildest dreams that Mistress had spent her early twenties doing bar crawls and soaking up rays on the beach. Or that she had even gone to college in the first place.  

Mistress raised an eyebrow at her shock. “What did you think? I got my business and management expertise from a genie?”  

Ines gave a small, breathy laugh. It hurt, of course, everything still hurt, but she smiled through it anyway. 

“I just... didn’t think you’d ever lived anywhere else,” she admitted. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”  

Mistress—Isabel rested her elbows on the side of the bed, folding her hands under her chin. “There are a great many things I haven’t told you. Some of them, I hope to tell you soon.”  

There was a beat of silence.  

One where Ines wondered if she really wanted to ask this. 

She gulped, but said it anyway, 

“W-when you heard that I got hurt...How did that make you feel?” 

Mistress didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, she slowly stood and moved around the bed, the legs of the chair scraping lightly against the floor as she left it behind. She sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping slightly under her weight. One hand reached out, brushing back loose strands of hair stuck to Ines’s temple. 

Her thumb ran gently across her cheek. 

“I was angry,” she said quietly. “At first. Furious, actually.” 

Her voice was calm, but it carried an edge to it. “Furious that someone would dare to touch what’s mine. That anyone would even think about harming my woman.”  

She let that settle, then inhaled, steady and deep. Her eyes didn’t leave Ines’s. 

“But anger doesn’t last long. Not when you feel helpless.”  

Her hand moved lower, brushing the side of Ines’s neck, tracing a vein with her thumb like she was reassuring herself that Ines was still alive. 

“I’m not used to feeling powerless. Frankly, I don’t have to feel that way; I'm rich. Normally, I have few problems that don’t disappear if I throw enough money or people, I own at it...” 

A pause. 

“But none of my money or resources mattered when I walked in the house and saw trails of your blood on the floor. When I walked into the infirmary and you were being held together with tubes and bandages like some Frankenstein monster.” 

The words cracked, just slightly. A vulnerability she had never shown Ines before. 

Mistress leaned forward just enough to rest her forehead on Ines’s.  

“I thought I might lose you,” she whispered. “And I'm not too proud to admit, I was afraid.”  

There was no kiss this time, no smile. Just raw honesty hanging between them like dead air on radio. Fragile and closer to her than Ines had ever felt before. 

And Ines, still broken, still hurting, closed her eyes and let herself feel it. 

Not the pain. 

The weight of their bond. 

More time passed. 

A few days, maybe more. Ines had given up trying to count. Dr. McKay had taken away her sedatives almost entirely, leaving her mind clearer. But far more aware of the slow aching agony of her recovery. The tightness in her ribs, the pull of every breath. Her right hand was still bandaged and immobilized in a sling. 

But the biggest change wasn’t in her body. 

It was the way Mistress looked at her now. 

No longer did Mistress look at her like Ines was a bug in her collection. It was something else. 

Protective. 

Attentive. 

Fierce in a way that hovered between devotion and obsession. 

And Mistress was never far. 

If she left the room at all, it was briefly. And whenever she was gone, Ines started to notice new things. 

It was when Mistress left for the night that she noticed them. 

Two armed guards who stood outside the infirmary door now. The camera that was installed at the threshold.  

The way Alya never entered the room without knocking and announcing herself first.  

Even Dr. McKay, who had been staying in one of the guest rooms in the house, had started saying, “Your girlfriend is hovering again.”  

Hovering was an understatement. 

One morning, Ines awoke to find Isabel sitting cross-legged in the chair beside her, dressed not in a blouse or hoodie, but an off-white silk robe. Her hair damp from a shower. A tray of food sat beside her on a rolling table.  

Sliced mango, scrambled egg, white rice, and two cups of tea. 

She leaned in, spoon in hand, clearly intending to feed her. 

“I can eat on my own,” Ines murmured, waving her uninjured left hand. 

She simply smiled, that annoying smile that meant she was about to get what she wanted. “Let me spoil you. I almost lost you, humor me.”  

Ines gave a reluctant sigh, but when the spoon touched her lips, warm and sweet with diced mango, she didn’t fight it. She chewed quietly, watching Isabel watch her. Oddly reminiscent of when Mistress fed her mango in her office, in what feels like a lifetime ago for Ines.  

And that became the rhythm. 

The chair beside her bed had Mistress in it more often than not. Sometimes she’d bring her work down. Contracts to review, reports to read, and mutter under her breath in Spanish while she typed. 

Other times, she’d just sit and read aloud to Ines, a novel translated from Spanish to English. 

There were small things, too.  

Like the way she adjusted Ines’s pillow without asking. 

The way she kissed her good morning and goodnight, as if they were a normal couple. 

As if they were ever normal. 

It was... strange. But not unwelcome.  

Compared to her treatment when she first arrived... this was like being fanned with a giant leaf and being fed grapes. 

A few days later, Dr. McKay cleared her to begin physical therapy. 

The first time they tried to sit her upright, Ines almost vomited. Her stomach clenched, her side throbbed, and her vision blurred slightly. 

But Mistress was there, kneeling in front of her, hands gently gripping her thighs, murmuring praise, like she was curing a terminal illness... and not just sitting up. 

“Good. Very good baby, that’s it, just sit. Don't push yourself too hard.”  

Her cheeks flushed at the soft endearments, a welcome distraction from the medieval torture that was sitting up. 

At first, the therapy sessions were simple. Breathing exercises. Gentle stretching. It's not like she had to learn how to walk again or anything like that, but her legs had grown a little weaker from disuse than she thought. 

Her balance was a little off. But with every session, she got a little stronger. 

She did get a little bored with walking circles in the infirmary every day. 

The room was beginning to feel like a bird cage. Clean, quiet, safe, but small. Only 3-4 beds in the room, because that’s what it was repurposed for... this was meant as a small room for the maids to isolate from each other if a few got the flu, the room wasn’t meant to be lived in for extended periods.  

The same chairs, the same smell of disinfectant and tea.  

Even the guards outside the room felt like furniture at this point. She didn’t know their names. She doubted they were allowed to speak to her.  

Ines had started to eye the door like it was the edge of the world.  

Mistress noticed this. 

Of course. 

“You want to walk somewhere else.” She said one morning, setting aside a file she had been reading. 

Ines nodded. “Just... down the hall. Maybe to the stairway and back.”  

Mistress looked her over carefully for a long beat. Then, to her surprise, she stood and held out her hand. 

She helped her out of bed, slow and steady. Ines wore a compression wrap beneath her linen pajama top, and her sling made her feel a little awkward, but with Isabel’s hand in hers, she didn’t care. 

The hallway was cool, the marble smooth beneath her sock. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the sensation of air on her face and the sounds of something other than her own breathing and Isabel’s typing. 

They walked together, slowly.  

When they passed the guards, both straightened slightly. Mistress didn’t even look at them. Her focus stayed entirely on Ines. 

“Your hair’s getting long.” Mistress remarked softly as they reached the end of the hall. Her free hand was tracing the curls that were beginning to trace Ines’s back once more. 

Ines nodded, hoping another haircut wasn’t coming. 

Their eyes lingered. The space between them shrank, unconsciously or not. Ines didn’t even realize how close they were becoming. 

The walk back to the infirmary was slower. Her ribs ached slightly, but she didn’t complain. 

Isabel helped her back into bed like she was made of glass. Ines chuckled through the soreness. “You’re babying me again.”  

“Of course I am.” She tucked the blanket around her. “You almost died... You can understand me feeling a little protective.”  

Ines leaned back against the pillows. “I’m not used to people taking care of me like this.”  

“Get used to it,” Mistress murmured, pouring a cup of tea from a nearby pot. “Because it’s what the rest of your life looks like.”  

That night, after dinner and another lap around the infirmary, Ines had trouble sleeping.  

A little from soreness. 

Mostly, from awareness. 

Mistress sat beside her, doing something on her laptop. Her robe hung loosely around her shoulders, one leg crossed over the other, her skin catching the warm lamplight.  

“What are you doing?” Ines asked quietly. 

Isabel looked over and smiled. “Scootch,” She motioned for Ines to move over in bed. 

Ines scooted over. Ines slid into the bed beside her with ease and turned the laptop slightly so she could see. 

She was playing solitaire... 

Ines didn’t know the rules; she didn’t think anyone younger than fifty knew the rules. But she watched anyway, content to be close. Isabel’s perfume was subtle and comforting, the smell of jasmine and clean linen. 

Minutes passed, maybe longer. Their hands touched briefly as Isabel clicked the trackpad, and when Ines didn’t pull away, Isabel leaned in.  

The kiss was slow. 

It was like the moment a storm hit. The air changed with anticipation. Ines hadn’t realized how much she missed the feeling of Mistress’s mouth on hers. Soft, gentle, and then... not. 

Mistress’s hand found its way into her hair, cradling her hair as she deepened the kiss. Ines's heart hammered in her chest, her breath hitched. This was more than she expected. 

Mistress’s kiss grew more urgent, a hunger that had been starved for weeks coming out. Her tongue slid against hers in a silent demand for more. 

Ines found herself leaning into it. Her left hand found its way to Mistress’s waist, holding her closer. 

Their bodies tangled together, the softness of the bed giving way to the pleasure of their kissing.  

Their breaths melded together, their hearts beating wildly. 

It was like nothing existed outside their little bubble here. 

She sighed into Isabel’s mouth as she broke off the kiss, instead, resting her head in the crook of Mistress’s neck.  

“Stay,” Ines said softly. 

Ines felt her nod and close the laptop, setting it aside. She tucked the blanket around both of them, their bodies spooned together gently, careful not to jostle her healing ribs. 

In the quiet that followed, Ines could feel herself slipping into sleep... just as Isabel whispered something against her ear. 

“I love you, Ines.”  

Her breath caught. 

She didn’t know what to say back. Not yet. But she didn’t have to. Isabel took her hand in hers and squeezed gently.  

And somehow, she let sleep take her. 

Two weeks later 

The room was dim; the edges already stripped of anything that made it feel like she had been staying here. The medical bed would be empty soon. The machines were silenced. Dr. McKay had come and gone, telling her she’d be back in a few weeks to look at her hand, though she could see the relief in her eyes to finally be leaving, after staying in one of the guest rooms for over a month. 

Ines didn’t need a doctor right now. She wasn’t dying anymore, wasn’t bleeding out. She was going to be moved back into her own room. 

Ines sat upright, her posture straighter than it had been in weeks. Her ribs still ached when she sat up too quickly, and the scar on her rib cage wouldn’t fade for years, Dr McKay told her, but she could sit up on her own now. 

She could almost fool herself into thinking she was whole again. 

A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts. 

The door opened, and Alya stepped inside, holding a black velvet bundle to her chest, and walked over to the foot of the bed. 

“You’re being discharged tonight,” Alya said. “Mistress asked me to help you get ready.”  

Ines blinked. “Ready for what?”  

Alya carefully unfolded the bindle. Inside was a dress. 

Not a dramatic, tailored gown, but something softer. More delicate. It was a pale ivory, nearly white, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that flowed into gauzy layers of sheer fabric. Simple, but elegant. 

Romantic. 

“You’re expected on the balcony within the hour,” Alya added, her voice a little quieter now. “Mistress said to bring you straight there once you’re dressed.” 

Ines touched the dress, stunned by the fabric's softness. “Do you know what she has planned?”  

Alya didn’t answer, only shook her head. 

Mistress hadn’t visited her all day. ‘Business in the city.’ She said. 

Now she was in the dark about what she was planning. 

The sun was already kissing the horizon by the time Ines stepped onto the balcony. She walked slowly, her hand brushing the railing for a bit of balance. 

The breeze carried the smell of Jasmine and lilac from the garden below. 

Mistress stood at the far end of the balcony dressed to the nines in a black and white pinstriped waistcoat, a crisp dress shirt beneath with the top two buttons undone, dress pants that hugged her curves, and hair swept back in a long ponytail. 

She was waiting beside a small square table set for two. A pair of ornate lanterns glowed gently above them, casting golden halos against the walls.  

The table was modest, just wine and a meal of fish, herbs, and delicate pastries, but it felt extravagant under the shifting sky. 

Mistress turned at the sound of hearing Ines’s shoes and smiled at her warmly as if Ines were a glass of water in the desert. 

“You look beautiful.” She said, her voice lower than normal as she pulled out Ines’s chair for her. 

Ines slowly eased herself down. “You did all this?”  

Isabel didn’t answer right away. She poured Ines a glass of something chilled and fragrant, then handed it to her. 

“I haven’t set foot in a kitchen in over twenty years... But, tonight, for you? I wanted to do something nice.”  

They ate slowly. Talked quietly. The sun slipped between the trees, and the warmth of the lanterns deepened against the creeping blue of twilight.  

Every so often, Mistress would brush her fingers against Ines’s hand or tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. There was no need for dramatics tonight. Everything already felt suspended, delicate, like a moment in time. 

And then— 

The first firework cracked the sky. 

Ines looked up, startled at first, then blinking against the bursts of color that filled the sky. Gold, then violet, then a trail of shimmering, exploding blue that lit up the night sky. 

She stood slowly, her hand bracing against the table, and took a few careful steps toward the railing. Her breath caught as the sky exploded again. Red and silver this time. The light made her skin glow. 

Behind her, she felt Mistress rise. A warm hand rested gently against the small of her back. 

Ines smiled faintly. “You planned fireworks, too? What’s the occasion?” 

The hand slipped away as Ines continued watching the display.  

Until Ines heard a... 

Clack— 

Ines turned. 

Mistress... 

Isabel... was kneeling. 

Not in pain but lowered gracefully on one knee. Her eyes reflecting the light of the fireworks exploding behind Ines, but they were only fixed on her. 

She held a black box with velvet insides.  

And held out a ring. Platinum, diamond shining even in the dark of night. 

“Ines,” She whispered. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a real question. 

Not in the sense that she took the ring back and laughed it off, claiming she was ‘just joking.’ 

In the sense that Ines didn’t have any choice at all. 

Mistress wasn’t asking.  

She was sliding the ring onto her finger without a response... 

The platinum was cold against her skin. She could feel the weight of the ring on her finger, small but impossible to ignore. She froze as she felt her pulse beat against the ring, slowly at first, then quickly as the realization set in.  

She didn’t have any agency at all. No choice in the matter, no autonomy of herself... granted, she was kidnapped and brought here as a slave, but she’d thought...  

She had thought they’d been through something together. With her getting stabbed and almost dying, sleeping in the same bed at the end, Ines curled into her, soft kisses, promises of safety.  

She wasn’t deluded; she knew they’d never be equals. It was impossible. 

Ines was thousands of miles from home, without a penny to her name, wearing a shock collar around her neck, and she was pretty sure it went up to a voltage that could fry her from the inside out.  

But she’d thought she’d earned the right to say yes on her own terms. 

Ines was still frozen, pulse hammering in her ears, drowning out the last remnants of the fireworks exploding behind her still. When Mistress rose gracefully from her knee. Her hands finding Ines’s hips, warm and steady, she leaned in with a smile so genuinely radiant and full of joy it almost hurt to look at. 

“Oh, Ines, you’ve made me the happiest woman in the world.” She said, voice low and full of joy. She pulled Ines into a brief embrace before she could even think about stepping back.  

Holding her close like she was afraid the night wind might carry her fiancée away from her. 

It took Ines a moment to remember how to breathe. Even longer to remember how to speak. 

Her mind should have been on the ring, the fireworks, what the hell Mistress’s game was...but instead, a thought, strange, almost absurd, was the first thing to leave her lips since the proposal.  

“I’m not even a citizen of this country,” she blurted out, pulling back just enough to meet Mistress’s eyes. “How can we get married?”  

Mistress’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it deepened into something sly, as though she’d been waiting for this. Without a word, she went back to her chair at the table and dug into the pocket of her jacket hung over her chair, withdrawing a slim folder and tossing it onto the small table. 

It blew open under the night's wind, revealing a Colombian national ID card with Ines’s photograph staring back at her despite never taking any photo. Beneath it, neatly stacked, lay several sets of official-looking documents. Birth records, residency permits, even a voter registration slip. 

All marked and stamped with official seals... 

Mistress leaned on the table with both palms, tilting her head in that cocky, maddeningly self-assured way.  

“You’re a citizen, Ines,” she said smoothly. “You’ve been a citizen... for about three weeks, actually.”  

Ines bit down on the inside of her cheek. “So, you just decided I didn’t need to know?” The edge in her voice sharper than she intended, but surprise still burned hot in her chest. “How on earth are you going to make me your wife, but you never tell me anything!?” 

Mistress didn’t flinch; she simply leaned forward, her eyes steady, then reached out and caught Ines’s wrist in her hand. “Come here,” she murmured, voice low, tugging her gently but with the kind of authority that, much like her proposal, left no room for refusal.  

Ines resisted for half a heartbeat, stubbornness flaring uselessly, then found herself being drawn onto Mistress’s lap. Her body being caged by those steady, patient arms. 

Mistress’s hand slid to the small of her back, holding her there with a gentleness so as not to aggravate her injuries.  

“I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner,” Mistress said, her breath brushing Ines’s cheek. “I was eager, my love. At my age, you don’t have years to date and ‘figure it out.’” 

Ines huffed and rolled her eyes, the bite in her words dulled but not gone. “At your age? What... thirty-five?”  

Mistress chuckled softly. “Bless you for thinking so.” She pulled back just enough to meet Ines’s gaze, a teasing light in her eyes. “I’m forty-one.”  

Ines blinked, startled. If asked, she would’ve said Mistress was no older than thirty-seven... Forty-one didn’t match the face in front of her at all. The softness around her eyes, how hard she hits... 

“Forty-one! As in four, followed by a one?” Mistress chuckled again, fondly this time, but did not respond, only began stroking Ines’s hair for a short time before continuing. 

Mistress’s thumb traced a slow line over Ines’s jaw. “Ines, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I think about you an unhealthy amount of time every day. I love you so much, and there’s nothing in my life that would make me happier than you being my bride.”  

Ines’s anger didn’t dissolve so much as it drowned under the sudden, heady rush of Mistress’s words. The air between them felt too close, too charged.  

She leaned in, and Mistress met her halfway, lips pressed together with a deliberate softness that quickly deepened, all patience slipping away. 

Ines felt the hunger in the kiss, a hunger that had been simmering since the moment Mistress had invited her up here. 

Mistress’s kiss was warm and insistent, her tongue probing Ines’s mouth with a gentle urgency that sent shivers down her spine. It was a kiss that claimed her... 

Marked her, and Ines couldn’t help but respond, her own tongue dancing and exploring the warm cavern of Mistress’s mouth. 

Their breaths mingled, growing ragged as their kiss grew more passionate. Ines’s heart thundered in her chest, the ring on her finger a constant reminder of the gravity of this moment. 

Their kiss was a dance of power and surrender, of love and possession. Mistress’s hands slid up her back, the warmth of her palms seeping through Ines’s dress, setting her skin alight with a need she hadn’t felt before. 

Ines’s hands found their way to Mistress’s neck, her fingers tangling in her hair. She pulled her closer, desperate to get closer, to feel more of her, to devour her in this moment of absolute vulnerability. 

The world around them faded into a blur of lights and sounds as they lost themselves in the intensity of their kiss. The fireworks in the background were a distant memory, the cool night air forgotten in the face of the heat that built between them. 

It was only when they broke apart, both panting, that Mistress leaned her forehead against Ines’s, her eyes closed for a brief moment before she opened them and looked at her with a fierce tenderness that stole Ines’s breath away. 

“I love you, Ines,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from their shared passion. “I want to marry you, I want to cherish you, I want to wake up next to you every morning and go to sleep with you in my arms every night. Marry me?” 

Ines’s eyes searched Mistress’s, looking for any hint of doubt or deceit, but all she saw was raw, unbridled emotion. The fear and anger she’d felt moments ago had been replaced by something else, something she couldn’t quite name. 

She nodded in acceptance. “I... I love you too,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Mistress’s smile was so beautiful, it brought tears to Ines’s eyes. She nodded, and Ines felt a weight lift from her shoulders that she didn’t know was there. 

They stood up together, Ines’s legs wobbly with the sudden rush of adrenaline and love.  

And despite everything, she felt a strange thrill, a sense of belonging, and she realized that maybe, just maybe, she wanted this. She wanted to be Mistress’s bride. 

With trembling hands, Ines stepped away from the embrace and went to the balcony door, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation for what she was about to do. 

The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the heat in the room, the balcony connected to Mistress’s bedroom. Mistress gave her a look of confusion as to why she broke away from her, as to why she was going back inside. 

She took a deep breath, her hand shaking slightly as she reached behind her to unzip her dress. The fabric whispered down her body, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her underwear and the ring on her finger. 

Mistress’s eyes followed her every movement, the fireworks of desire lighting up her gaze as Ines turned to face her. The silence between them was electric.

Mistress took a step forward, her gaze never leaving Ines. They stumbled into each other, kissing again as they made their way through the room, bumping into furniture in their haste to reach the bed. Ines felt a thrill of excitement as Mistress’s hand slid over her hip, cupping her ass firmly. 

The world around them was a blur of soft light and shadows as Mistress’s touch grew more urgent, her kisses more demanding. They tripped over the edge of the rug, Mistress’s laugh a low, dark sound that sent shivers down Ines’s spine. 

And then they were there, the bed looming before them, a symbol of their newfound intimacy. Mistress’s hands were everywhere, exploring and claiming, and Ines could do nothing but melt into the touch, her body responding instinctively. 

With a sudden jolt of strength, Mistress lifted Ines, her legs wrapping around Mistress’s waist as they crashed onto the bed together. The springs protested, but they didn’t care, lost in a whirlwind of passion and need. 

Ines looked at the bed posts, a peek, to see if the restraints were still there.
They weren't.

A shame.

Ines felt Mistress’s hands slide under her, their kisses growing deeper and more urgent. The ring on her finger glinted in the soft light, a constant reminder of the promise that had been made. 

Mistress’s tongue traced a fiery path down Ines’s neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Ines’s breath hitched as Mistress’s mouth reached the swell of her breasts, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin before taking a nipple into her mouth. She sucked and licked with a greedy enthusiasm that had Ines’s toes curling. 

Ines’s hips rocked against Mistress’s, seeking friction, and her moans grew louder. Mistress’s hands slid down her body, one reaching around to squeeze her ass as the other slipped between her legs, teasing her through the damp fabric of her underwear. 

“Fuck, Mistress...” Ines gasped, her voice needy. 

Mistress pulled away from her nipple with a wet pop, looking up at her with a wicked grin. “Such a filthy mouth on my sweet bride to be,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. 

Mistress’s hand slid into her underwear, her fingers finding Ines’s clit, which was already swollen and begging for attention. Ines bucked her hips, pushing herself against Mistress’s hand. 

Mistress’s eyes never left hers as she slid a finger into her, the intrusion causing Ines to cry out. Her thumb circled her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure as she began to pump her finger in and out. 

“Look at you, so wet and ready for me.” Mistress whispered, her voice dark and seductive. “Tell me you want it, Ines.” 

Ines’s cheeks flushed red with arousal and embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny the truth. “Fuck, I NEED it!”  

Mistress’s smile grew wider, and she leaned back, her eyes never leaving Ines’s. She slid down her body, her mouth hovering just above her center, her breath hot against her skin. 

“Please, Mistress,” Ines begged, her hips bucking again. 

Mistress’s response was to push her down onto the bed and spread her legs wide, exposing her to the cool air. She took a moment to appreciate the view, her eyes glinting with hunger. 

And then she was on her, her mouth covering Ines’s sex with a groan of pleasure. Ines’s eyes rolled back in her head as Mistress’s tongue slid over her, tasting her, savoring her. 

The sensation was almost too much, and Ines’s body arched off the bed. Mistress’s hands held her in place, her tongue delving deeper, lapping at her like she was the sweetest treat she’d ever tasted. 

Ines’s world narrowed down to the feeling of Mistress’s mouth on her, the pressure building with each stroke of her tongue. She could feel her climax approaching, threatening to break her at any moment. 

Mistress’s dirty talk grew more intense, her voice a low purr that sent vibrations through Ines’s entire body. “You’re mine now, Ines. This pussy belongs to me. I’ll eat you out every night, my love, my little slut, my fiancée...” 

Ines could feel the orgasm cresting, her body tightening around Mistress’s finger. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, her eyes squeezed shut as waves of pleasure washed over her. 

And then it hit, her body convulsing as she came, Mistress’s name a prayer on her lips.  

“ISABEL!” 

“ISABEL!”  

“SOFUCKGOOUGH” 

She felt Mistress’s finger slide out of her and was vaguely aware of the sound of her Mistress’s satisfied chuckle. Ines lay there, boneless, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. 

But Mistress wasn’t done with her yet. 

With surprising strength, she flipped Ines over onto her stomach, her hands pressing her into the soft mattress. Ines’s legs were spread wide, her ass in the air, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the feeling of vulnerability. 

The thrill of being claimed so thoroughly. 

Mistress’s hand trailed down her back, the slap against her ass a shock of pain that sent a jolt of pleasure through her. Ines gasped, pushing her hips back into the touch. Mistress chuckled darkly, her hand coming down again, harder this time. Ines moaned, the sting making her wetter. 

“You like that, don’t you ?” Mistress asked, her voice a seductive purr. 

Ines could only whimper in response as another slap landed on her ass, the sting radiating through her body and making her core throb. She felt Mistress’s hand slide down to her pussy, her fingers finding her wetness, and she nodded frantically. 

“ANSWER ME, INES!” 

But Ines refused, the depraved part of her mind taking over, knowing every second of disobedience would bring the hand down on her ass once more.  

Harder than before. 

She jutted her hips back, leaning into the flurry of slaps, pushing her round ass back to meet each smack with a hunger that had Mistress groaning with approval. 

The pain was delicious, each slap a crescendo building towards a finale of pleasure she hadn’t known could exist. Her skin burned, and she could feel the wetness pooling between her thighs. Mistress’s hand was relentless, leaving no part of her ass untouched by the fiery kiss of punishment. 

Mistress’s hand withdrew, leaving a coolness that was quickly replaced by the warmth of her body as she climbed onto the bed. Ines felt her Mistress’s weight behind her, and the sound of fabric rustling and Mistress digging in a drawer filled the room. 

“Look what I have for you, my love,” Mistress said, her voice a dark whisper that sent a shiver down Ines’s spine. 

Ines felt a moment of anticipation and fear as Mistress’s hand slid away from her, only to be replaced by the coolness of the silicone strap-on pressing against her ass. She felt the buckle being fastened, heard the click that signaled the weapon of pleasure was in place. 

“I was going to wait until we wed, but now I’ll have to bring you to mass, to show God what I simply couldn’t resist.” Mistress growled in her ear, her voice low with lust. 

Ines could feel the strap pressing against her entrance, the coldness of it a stark contrast to the heat of her own body. She tensed, her eyes flying open as Mistress positioned herself behind her, the head of the strap-on nudging at her entrance. 

“Relax, my love,” Mistress murmured, her hand smoothing over Ines’s back. “Take a deep breath for me.” 

Ines did as she was told, feeling the invader press harder against her as she inhaled. The anticipation was unbearable, and she felt the thick head slip into her, stretching her open. She whimpered, her body tightening around it. 

Mistress didn’t give her time to adjust. With a powerful thrust, she buried the entire length inside her, making Ines cry out. The pain was sharp, but it melded with the pleasure, making her head spin. 

“OHFUCKPLEASEFUCK” 

Mistress’s hands grabbed Ines’s hips, pulling her back to meet every thrust. The slap of skin on skin echoed through the room, punctuating the rhythm of their passionate encounter. The cold silicone of the strap was a stark contrast to the heat of Ines’s body, which had grown slick with need.  

Ines’s ass was a vision of perfection, round and firm, the skin a warm golden hue that glowed in the dim light. Each slap of Mistress’s hand left a rosy imprint that slowly faded, only to be replaced by another. It was a canvas of passion and desire, and Mistress reveled in the art she was creating. 

The cock slid in and out of Ines with a smooth, rhythmic motion, the silicone warming up to her body heat. Ines’s moans grew louder with every thrust, her body moving in time with Mistress’s. The pain from the spanking mixed with the pleasure from the strap-on, creating a symphony of sensation that had her on the edge of another orgasm. 

Mistress’s hand tangled in Ines’s hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh there. Ines gasped, the pain sending a jolt straight to her clit, making her pussy clench around the invading length. 

With every thrust, Mistress’s hand came down on her ass again, the sound echoing through the room. Ines felt the burn, the heat spreading, but it only heightened her arousal. She could feel the imprints of Mistress’s fingers, the harness biting into her skin as Mistress held on tight. Her ass was a canvas of love, red handprints standing out starkly against her skin.

Mistress’s hips slammed into her, the silicone driving into her with a force that made her toes curl and her fingers dig into the bedspread. Ines could feel every inch of it, filling her up, stretching her to her limits. 

The pain was exquisite, a delicious agony that danced with the pleasure building deep within her. 

Their breaths grew louder, their bodies moving in a frenzied rhythm that spoke of need and desire. The air was thick with the scent of arousal and the sound of their skin slapping together, punctuated by Ines’s loud, wanton moans. 

“HARDER! FUCK ME! FUCK ME HARDER!” Ines screamed, her voice hoarse with passion. She didn’t know where the words were coming from, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she needed more, needed Mistress to claim her, to make her scream. 

Mistress obliged, her strokes becoming more erratic, more demanding. Her voice was a symphony of dirty talk, whispering sweet, filthy nothings in Ines’s ear, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Ines’s body responded, her hips moving back to meet each thrust, her Insides tightening around the intruder. 

Ines felt Mistress’s fingers tighten in her hair, the pain in her scalp adding to the sensation. She was a puppet, controlled by Mistress’s every move, and she loved it. The silicone slapped against her ass, the sound echoing in the quiet room, mixing with her desperate pleas for more. 

Mistress’s breath was hot and heavy against her neck, her teeth grazing Ines’s earlobe. “You’re mine, Ines. All of you. Your body, your heart, your soul. Say it. SAY YOU’RE MINE!” 

Ines could only moan incoherently, her body lost to the overwhelming sensations. She was close, so close, the tension coiling in her belly like a tight spring. And then, with one final, brutal thrust, she shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like a storm. She screamed Mistress’s name as she came, her body bucking and trembling beneath her lover’s grasp. 

Mistress didn’t stop, her hips moving faster, the strap plunging in and out of Ines’s slick, swollen pussy. Ines’s moans grew louder, more desperate, as she felt the beginnings of another climax building. She was lost, drowning in a sea of pleasure, her body no longer her own. 

And then it hit her again, even more powerful than before. Ines’s back arched off the bed, her eyes squeezed shut as she screamed her release into the night. Her voice was a guttural growl as she felt her pussy spasm. 

Ines’s mind shattered, the barriers of doubt and fear crumbling under the onslaught of pleasure. Her thoughts grew simple, primal. She was Mistress’s toy, her slut, and she reveled in the degradation. She drooled, the saliva wetting the pillow beneath her, as the world around her grew hazy and distorted. 

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she babbled incoherently as Mistress’s strokes grew more erratic, the strap-on pounding into her with a ferocity that seemed to match the previous fireworks outside. Her body was no longer her own, a mere vessel for Mistress’s pleasure, and she loved it. 

Her thoughts fragmented, her vocabulary reduced to a string of moans and pleas. She was lost, utterly and completely, in the cocktail of sensation that consumed her. Her IQ plummeted, and she could only think of Mistress, of the way she felt, the way she fucked, the power she wielded so effortlessly. 

And then, with one final, brutal thrust, Mistress reached her own peak, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. She pulled out of Ines with a wet pop, the cock glistening with Ines’s cum. 

She felt so empty now in comparison. 

Ines lay there, panting, her body limp and sated, her mind a blank slate. 

She leaned over Ines’s body, her breath hot against her neck. 

“You took me so well,” she murmured, her voice filled with satisfaction. 

Ines’s eyes snapped open, a dribble of drool trailing down her chin. The room swam before her as she took in the scene: the phallus gleaming in the dim light, Mistress’s hand still wrapped around it, Ines’s ass a canvas of red handprints. 

Mistress’s eyes narrowed, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she took in Ines’s dazed expression.

She leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I want you to clean me up, baby. Lick me clean with that pretty little mouth of yours.” 

Ines nodded, her cheek still pressed to the pillow, her mind a haze of pleasure. She turned her head slightly, her eyes glazed over with lust, and her tongue snaked out to catch the drool before it fell on the bed. 

Mistress chuckled and held the fake cock to her mouth, the head covered with her orgasm. Ines’s eyes went wide for a moment before she took it in, her mouth wrapping around it obediently. 

The taste was musky, a mix of silicone and sex, and she found herself moaning around it as she sucked and licked. She felt Mistress’s hand in her hair, guiding her, as she cleaned every inch with dedication. 

The silicone grew clean under her ministrations, the taste of their combined release becoming stronger as she went deeper. Mistress’s grip tightened, urging her on, her breath hot against her cheek. 

Ines felt a strange sense of pride, her body buzzing with the aftermath of her orgasm. She was Mistress’s, utterly and completely, and she’d never felt more alive. 

No more masturbating in her room. No more lonely nights filled with shallow orgasms and fantasies. Her fiancée was finally using her how she wanted to be used. 

Mistress’s hand moved from her hair to her chin, tilting her face up to look into her eyes. Ines’s mouth was a mess, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glassy. 

“Look at me,” Mistress ordered, her voice still low and seductive. 

Ines complied, her eyes meeting Mistress’s, her own filled with a mix of adoration and submission. 

“Say it, Ines. Tell me you’re mine, that you’re my slut, that you’ll do anything I say.” 

Ines’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, the words leaving her mouth in a breathless whisper. “I’m yours, Mistress. Your slut. I’ll do anything for you.” 

Mistress’s smile grew wider, and she leaned down to claim her mouth in another deep kiss. Ines’s mind swam, her thoughts a jumble of pleasure and submission. 

When they broke apart, Mistress’s eyes were gleaming with victory. She leaned back, watching as Ines’s tongue darted out to catch another drop of cum from the corner of her mouth. 

“Good girl,” she said again, the endearment sending another thrill through Ines’s body. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, my love.” 

Mistress climbed off the bed and made her way to the bathroom, her hips swaying with each step. 

Ines watched her go, her body still quivering from the intense pleasure. As she lay there, she felt cherished, desired, and utterly content. 

Mistress returned with a warm, damp cloth and a gentle hand, wiping away the evidence of their passion from Ines’s body. She took special care with her butt, her touch almost tender as she cleaned away the sweat and cum. 

Ines couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped her, her skin still sensitive from the spanking and the vigorous fucking. Mistress’s touch was soothing, though, and she found herself relaxing into it, her body craving more. 

Mistress tossed the cloth aside and slid back onto the bed, her hand sliding over Ines’s body, tracing the handprints she’d left behind. Ines’s eyes followed her every movement, her mind still reeling from the intense orgasm. The room felt too quiet, the only sound their ragged breathing. 

“I love you,” Ines whispered, nuzzling into Isabel’s neck. Her voice was barely audible, but the words hung heavy in the air.  

Mistress stilled, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t been expecting this dedication so soon, but the warmth it brought her was undeniable. 

Her hand stroked Ines’s back gently, feeling the soft skin beneath her fingertips. She leaned in, her breath warm against Ines’s ear. “I love you too, my little slut.” she murmured, her voice a soft caress. Ines shivered with pleasure at the endearment, her body melting into Mistress’s embrace. 

“I should’ve done this sooner.” Mistress admitted. “Much easier than all the torture, more pleasant too.”  

Ines could only manage a tired, low hum against her neck in response. Still dazed. 

Still reeling. 

The world grew hazy as Ines’s eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion of their encounter taking hold. She nuzzled closer to Mistress’s neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, a mix of sweat and Jasmine. It was a comforting scent, a scent that now felt like home. 

A scent that could smell like forever. 

The early morning light streamed in through the open curtains, painting the room in shades of gold. The quiet was a stark contrast to the passionate symphony of the night before. Ines’s eyes fluttered open to find the bed empty, Mistress’s side vacant. 

A sense of panic gripped her, but she took a deep breath and peered down at the ring on her finger, cheap in zero ways, multiple diamonds gleaming back at her... the kind of thing she probably shouldn’t have slept with still on. 

Her hand reached out, the softness of the pillow where Mistress’s head had rested just hours ago a reminder of her absence. With the gentle scent of their combined arousal lingering in the air, Ines sat up, her ribs aching as she did, the coldness, her naked state, and the morning air making her shiver.  

Her eyes searched the room, finding Mistress’s discarded shirt on the floor where it had been thrown in the heat of their passion. She slid it on, the fabric enveloping her in the warmth of their shared intimacy. The shirt was too big for her, the scent of Mistress’s skin clinging to the fabric, and she felt a sense of comfort, a connection that made her feel less alone in the vastness of the empty room. 

The house was still, peaceful. She slid out of bed, her legs wobbly from the intensity of the night’s activities, and padded softly towards the crack of light spilling from under the office door. 

The sound of Mistress’s voice, low and urgent, filtered through the wood. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sent a shiver down her spine. Ines pressed her ear against the door, trying to catch the conversation, but it was no use. 

With a deep breath, she pushed the door open, the light from the room spilling out and wrapping around her. Mistress sat at the desk, the phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear.  

At the sight of Ines, she paused, her eyes darkening with hunger. Ines took a step forward, her body moving of its own accord, drawn to Mistress like a moth to flame. 

She slid onto her lap, her bare legs wrapping around Mistress’s waist, and began to kiss gentle circles around her neck. 

Mistress’s hand came up to cradle her face, the call momentarily forgotten as she took in the sight of her lover. Ines felt the hardness of Mistress’s thigh beneath. She rutted herself against it, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through her body. 

Mistress’s eyes never left hers as she returned to her call, her voice switching to a tone that Ines hadn’t heard before. The contrast was stark, a reminder of how little she knew about the woman she was grinding herself on. 

Ines felt a thrill at the sight of her Mistress, rich, powerful, and yet here she was, allowing herself to be used for Ines’s pleasure.  

Her hips moved faster, her need growing with each passing second. Mistress’s hand slid down to her waist, her grip firm as she guided Ines’s movements, her breath hitching in her throat. 

The conversation on the phone grew more heated, the words a blur in Ines’s mind. All she knew was the feel of Mistress’s thigh against her pooling wetness. 

With a final, desperate kiss, Ines felt the beginnings of another orgasm, her body tightening around the muscled thigh beneath her. Mistress’s hand tightened around her throat, her voice a low growl of approval as Ines came, her body shaking with the intensity of it all. 

“What was that? Oh, nothing... just a dog I've been training, she only knows one trick right now...” Mistress removed the phone from her ear and stared Ines down, showing her the phone, and said one word to her. 

“Speak!” 

Ines's face flushed, but post orgasm, her mind was Play-Doh; she didn’t hesitate. 

“Woof! Woof!” She barked as she started grinding her sex down onto Mistress’s thigh once more. 

“Good girl,” she cooed. Her thumb tracing Ines’s lips, before Ines took it in her mouth, sucking and slurping on the digit. 

Mistress returned to her call, but not once did she ever take her eyes off the love-drunk puppy still mindlessly grinding against her. “I only called to tell you one thing, big brother...” 

“Let mother know I'm coming home... and I'm bringing my fiancée.”  

Click.  

She sighed and discarded her phone next to a set-up chessboard on her desk. Placing the king on the play field.  

The game was ready to begin. 

She looked back at Ines, her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Panting like a dog in heat. 

[Now what am I to do with you...my king] 

End of season one. 

Chapter Text

Steam curled thick and heavy around them, beading on the glass walls of the shower. Mistress’s hands pinning Ines to the marble as water sluiced down their skin, Isabel’s mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was all hunger. Ines gasped against her, clutching at the nape of Mistress's neck, her fingers threading through damp, dark hair as their bodies pressed flush together. 

The air between them felt feverish, electric, punctuated by the slide of wet skin and the low, desperate moans Ines didn’t know she could make. Mistress’s lips trailed down her throat, sharp nips softened by tongue, before pulling Ines’s head back up for another kiss.  

Ines’s back was slammed into the marble as Isabel’s thigh slid between her legs, the pressure making her whimper against the older woman's mouth. 

Every brush of contact set sparks along her nerves, every drag of skin to skin winding her tighter until the sound in her throat wasn’t words but needs. 

They moved against one another, water rushing down on them like rain, every shift bringing more friction, more desperation. Ines clung to her, dizzy with heat and steam, the growing rhythm of their all-day lovemaking leaving her breathless.  

Mistress’s teeth caught her lip, drawing a gasp that melted into a moan as her body answered instinctively. 

When release finally tore through her, it was muffled with a bite into Isabel’s shoulder, her cry muffled by water and skin. Mistress held her through it, firm, unyielding, pressing kisses to her hair as Ines trembled in her arms, undone for the countless time today. 

When they finally stepped back into the bedroom, Ines, wrapped in a robe far too fine for her, her eyes caught on something lying neatly across the newly changed sheets.  

A dress. 

Elegant, midnight blue silk, cut in clean, sharp lines meant for evenings where its wearer would be the center of attention. Her fingers brushed the fabric. 

Her brows furrowed. “What’s this?”  

Mistress slipped behind her, pressing a kiss to her damp neck. “We’re going out. To my family's villa. Now that you’re my fiancée, it's time you met my mother and brother.” 

The words hit harder than Ines expected. Her fiancée...it hadn’t even settled in her brain yet that she was going to marry this woman. A ceremony would be held. 

Walking down the aisle? In a church? Destination wedding? Or would it be some rich people spectacle? Huge ice sculptures, chandeliers covered in pearls? God, they had a wedding to plan, didn’t they?  

She brushed her fingers over the dress again, feeling its weight. “What if they don’t like me?”  

“They won’t,” Mistress said simply. “You’re a woman. They will not like you.”  

The bluntness sank in her chest like a stone. Ines opened her mouth, then shut it, fingers clenching the silk of her robe. 

But Isabel hugged her from behind, lips pressing down on the top of Ines’s head. “That doesn’t matter. You're mine. And I’ve never been one to care about my mother’s approval... she’s been trying to marry me off for years. Lists of suitors. Arranged marriages. You name it. And yet, it's your hand I’ll be taking in marriage, my love.”  

Isabel's eyes softened, for just a second, enough to make Ines believe her. 

Ines held the blue silk dress against her body a moment longer, as though it might vanish if she set it down. The fabric slipped between her fingers like water, catching the faint golden light. 

When she finally stepped into it, the material kissed her skin, cool at first, then molding to the warmth of her body as she pulled the zipper up her back. It was simple but devastating in its cut. 

High neckline, but with a deep open back that left the smooth line of her spine bare. It clung greedily to her waist and hips, pooling down in a narrow line that left her legs free. 

The midnight blue deepened her olive-toned skin into something radiant (Or it was post sex afterglow), her dark curls brushing damp at her shoulders, framing her face with softness that contrasted the sharp, tailored lines of the gown. 

She turned once, before she caught herself in the mirror and caught a glance of how it accentuated her backside, not very subtle, but something that screamed Ines was beautiful, and in the prime of her life. 

Mistress emerged from her closet as Ines smoothed the fabric at her thighs.  

Mistress’s suit was charcoal-gray, immaculately cut, the silk tie, a shade darker than Ines’s dress, pulling the two of them together without it looking like they were going to prom. 

For a moment, Mistress simply leaned against the doorframe, her eyes tracing the line of Ines’s back, lingering over the dip of her waist. 

“Beautiful,” Isabel said, voice low, appreciating the view. 

Ines blushed, applying the lipstick Mistress had told her to before parting to get dressed herself.  

It was a flattering shade of red, something Ines probably wouldn’t be able to afford on a month of her salary. 

The corridors stretched long and gleaming as they emerged from the bedroom, heels clicking against the floor. Ines stumbled once, gripping Isabel’s arm for balance. God, she hadn’t worn heels since her college graduation; she could hear the faint chuckle of amusement Mistress was having at her stumbling around like Bambi until she found her footing eventually. 

The four of them met at the door.  

Alya already there neatly in her uniform, and Rosaria was standing just behind her. 

Ines froze. She hadn’t seen Rosaria in almost a month. 

The woman looked no different, composed, pressed, her features unreadable, but when Ines stepped forward... Rosaria suddenly dropped to her knees on the marble foyer floor.  

Ines blinked down at her. “What are you—” 

“I failed you.” The maid's voice was low, steady, but practiced like it had been rehearsed in the mirror beforehand. “I will never allow harm to come to you again, Young Mistress. This I swear.”  

She took Ines’s hand and pressed her lips to the back of it, lingering in a gesture that sent a chill through her chest and made her look back at mistress for answers about what the hell was happening. 

Mistress’s voice was quiet at her shoulder. “A kiss of loyalty.”  

The words lodged in her throat. Something inside her twisted, and she tugged faintly at Rosaria’s hand, helping her up off the floor. She wanted to tell her it wasn’t anyone's fault, that Lindsay made her own decisions, and she would’ve been able to catch her alone eventually. 

But Rosaria stood, brushing imaginary dirt from her apron, as she stepped firmly back into line behind Alya. 

The four of them moved out, down polished steps and into the mid-afternoon light, where a sleek black SUV waited. A maid, Maria, Ines thinks placing not a small amount of luggage in the trunk. 

Mistress opened her door for her as Alya opened the door on the other side for her, the two maids slipping into the front with the driver. The door shut with a solid thud, the world outside fading behind tinted windows as the engine purred to life.  

The seats were a supple leather. And a tinted glass divider separated the front from the back. They were alone.  

Mistress’s hand found Ines’s, fingers threading through hers, her thumb brushing slow circles against her skin.  

The thought of visiting Mistress’s family made her think of her own. She missed them dearly. 

Ines stared down at their joined hands. 

It couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?  

“Can I... can I call my family?” Her voice came out smaller than she would’ve liked. “Just to tell them I'm okay?” 

“No.” Mistress’s reply was immediate. 

Ines swallowed. “An email then. Anything, please. They deserve to know I'm alive. I won’t say anything else.” 

For a moment, Isabel said nothing. Then she slipped her phone from her jacket, doing something on it that Ines could not see, before offering it to Ines. Relief bloomed in her chest until the phone was actually in her hands. 

It wasn’t the dial pad. 

It was Ines’s bank account. 

Her breath caught. The balance glared back at her.  

Empty. 

The 400,000 dollars from her grandmother’s life insurance, gone. Every penny she’d saved up as some corporate donkey. 

Gone. 

She had planned a life with that money, her safety net, her escape... she was going to ask Rose to leave Texas and move to San Diego with her, it seemed foolish to even care about that money now, being engaged to a multi-millionaire.  

But it was her dream for so long. Her lone dream, since she started dating Rose. 

Her voice cracked. “No. W-what did you—”  

“I didn’t do a thing. They think you’re dead, Ines.” Isabel said calmly. “They’ve grieved you. They've buried you in their hearts. They cleaned out your bank account. Allow them to move on.”  

“No, that...” Her chest rose and fell too fast. The words ‘move on’ felt like a dagger to the throat.  

Her breath came fast and shallow, panic clawing at her ribs. “They couldn’t. They didn’t...” 

“Stop.” 

The command cut clean through her spiral. Isabel’s hand shot out, gripping her jaw, not painfully, but firmly.  

“Don’t,” Isabel’s dark eyes pinned her in place. “You will not cry right now. You’ll smudge your makeup.” She stroked the pad of her thumb under Ines’s eyelid.  

Ines’s body shook anyway. How could she care about her makeup right now when her family thinks she’s dead? 

“You are mine,” Mistress said, softer now, her mouth grazing Ines’s temple. “You belong here, with me. Your family they aren’t in your life anymore. I am. I'll be the only family you need.” 

Ines’s gaze flickered, caught between doubt and desperation, and finally locked on Mistress’s. 

“That’s it,” Isabel breathed, pressing her forehead to Ines’s, holding her still. “Breath with me. Slow. You don’t need to think about the past. You don’t need anyone else. You know the money will never be an issue for me, Ines, as long as you live, you’ll never see a bill again.”  

The words wound around her chest like her silk dress. Restraining, soothing, suffocating all at once. And though her heart ached, though the thought of her family’s grief felt like it was ripping her in half, Ines found herself matching Mistress’s breath, her tears being held back by soothing words and sheer force of command. 

The SUV glided along the private road, engine humming, the weight of silence heavy between them. Ines’s hand was still locked in Mistress’s, her pulse a nervous flutter against Isabel’s calm, steady grip. 

For a long time, nothing but the scenery moved. Small towns came and went, replaced by wide fields and neat rows of trees. 

At last. Isabel spoke. 

“Ines...” She began, shifting in her seat to face her entirely, taking both of her hands in hers. “We’re getting close to my family’s villa, and you deserve to know what you're walking into.” 

Ines nodded. Isabel had already said that her family would not accept her because she’s a woman; she wasn’t sure how much worse it could get. 

“My full name is Isabel Anna Maria Ospina-Pombo. Of the Pombo crime family. My mother’s side has been here since the first Spanish ships. They enslaved, they found gold in the mines, they’ve survived three centuries building an empire that still stands today.”  

Ines’s chest tightened. She was marrying into a crime family...of course, she knew slavery wasn’t legal, but she thought maybe they were just small-time human traffickers, not a crime family steeped in hundreds of years of history. 

But she also noticed one more thing...Mistress has never mentioned her father, not once. And she made very clear just now to clarify that it's her mother's side that is the crime family. 

“And your father?” Her voice little more than a brittle whisper, with the fear creeping in that she was about to make some mob boss of a mother very unhappy. “Was he part of all this?”  

Isabel scoffed, a sharp, humorless sound. “No. My father... was a great man. And that’s a rare thing to say about a politician.”  

Her gaze drifted, softening for only a moment. “He was the son of pig farmers, a boy who clawed his way up with nothing but his wit and fire to improve people's lives. Enough charisma that he was always in the rumors to be the next president, and enough integrity for people to wonder how he became a politician in the first place. They say anyone who wants to be a politician is either stupid or corrupt. My father was a fool, yes, but the best kind.”  

Ines swallowed, uncertain. “I can’t imagine such a great man marrying a slave owner...” 

A shadow crossed Isabel’s face, one that said Ines should be very careful about what she says about her father. “They didn’t marry for love. It was convenient. My father needed a wife, needed children, because the old men in Congress wouldn’t take an unmarried dreamer seriously. And my mother...” 

Isabel’s tone dropped, edged, and unhappy. “She became more powerful and influential than ever by binding her family’s name to a man who might’ve become president.”  

The SUV turned onto a narrow dirt path that snaked through dense woods. The tires crunched beneath them, sending dust swirling in their wake. Ines’s heart hammered in her chest, a mix of awe and fear. 

Finally, the villa came into view. It was a sprawling estate, more a castle than a house, with ivy climbing its stone walls, and windows that gleamed like jewels in the setting sun. It looked like a place from a fairy tale. 

The SUV pulled to a stop on the cobblestone driveway, and Ines took in the grandeur. The lawn was a vibrant green, trimmed and perfect, like it was painted on by an artist. Fountains, statues of mythical creatures standing at every turn. Above them, the villa's roof equipped with a helipad, a helicopter casually parked there, as if 

The architecture was a blend of old-world charm with modern sophistication. The stones looked as if they had been plucked from ancient ruins and meticulously reassembled by a master craftsman. The ivy that clung to the walls was so thick, it looked like nature had been sculpted to fit the mansion’s grandeur. The windows reflected the setting sun, turning the entire façade into a fiery portrait of opulence.  

The car door opened, and Alya stepped out, her eyes meeting Ines’s for a brief second. There was something there, a flicker of... concern? But it was gone as quickly as it came. 

Mistress leaned in, kissing her softly. “Remember what I said. They won’t like you. But I love you, and my mother may talk big, but she wouldn’t harm a guest in her home.”  

Ines swallowed, mind spinning.

Harm?  

Ines had assumed tense politeness, whispered homophobia, or a catty atmosphere. She hadn’t thought she’d be in real danger. 

“Am I... in danger here?” Her voice trembled slightly, a knot of unease coiling inside her. 

Mistress tilted her head slightly. “No one here will touch what’s mine, that I can promise.”  

Alya opened Mistress’s door with a soft thud. Mistress buttoned her jacket as she emerged from the sleek car, as Rosaria opened her door for her, but gave her a gesture to wait. 

Mistress came around, her posture effortless. Extending a hand to help her out of the car, Ines hesitated but took the offered hand anyway. Heels clicking softly against the cobblestone. 

The afternoon light caught the edge of her dress, highlighting the sharp cut of its lines and the smooth curve of the fabric down her body. She felt slightly exposed, fragile, and impossibly aware of every gaze on her. 

Mistress's hand slid around her waist, guiding her, keeping Ines close to her.  

A few of the staff had gathered near the entrance. Their expressions portrayed mild surprise, looking at Ines and back to the car, as if they expected someone else to appear. 

A man, maybe. 

But still, they remained perfectly still, the maid's hands folded, heads bowed slightly, a few men in dark suits with the unmistakable look of security.  

Their surprise was fleeting, however, contained behind professionalism and discipline that they knew it wasn’t their place to openly judge. 

Ines’s heels clicked against the stone as they walked towards the villa. She caught the briefest glances from the servants, curiosity restrained by decorum, no judgment, no whispers.  

They simply observed. 

At the grand entrance, Mistress paused, letting Ines take a moment to adjust to the scale of the hall they were entering. Her eyes widening as the villa revealed itself. 

The space soared upwards, every inch carefully curated to remind anyone who entered of the power, wealth, and legacy of the Pombo family. Polished marble floors reflected the glimmer of the chandeliers overhead, their crystal teardrops catching the light like fireworks. Heavy rugs woven in deep crimson and gold thread softened the echo of her steps. While carved wooden archways framed the space in breathtaking grandeur. 

But none of it seized Ines’s attention the way the portrait did. 

It dominated the far wall of the entrance hall, larger than life. Mistress’s family stared down from the canvas at her with an intensity that filled the room. 

Their painted gazes seemed to judge in a way that threw her off completely. 

At the center stood what had to be Mistress’s parents. Her father, a tall, imposing man, but there was a kindness to his features; he wore a suit cut from a different era, his shoulders broad, his expression the happiest in the painting.  

Not smiling, but not trying to look frightening either. 

Which couldn’t be said for her mother. 

She was beautiful in a way that she looked a lot like Isabel; tall, her figure regal, her hair so black it gleamed like obsidian, pulled back to bare the sharp lines of her jaw. There was something in the way her dark eyes were painted, cool, unyielding, that made her stomach tighten.  

This was not a woman to fuck with. Even captured in oil and pigment, her presence seemed to radiate death. 

Below them, two children had been painted. The boy was already quite tall, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, standing with one hand tucked into the pocket of a neatly pressed jacket, his other resting lightly on the back of a chair. The artist had captured a hint of smugness in his mouth, an arrogance that suggested he already knew the role life had carved out for him. 

And then there was her. 

Isabel. 

Not as she was now, but a girl no more than seven or eight years old. She stood near her mother, dressed in a small, fine white frilly dress, her hair in dark braids, her hands clasped in her lap as if she’d been told to sit still. 

Her eyes, so unmistakably the same woman who now held Ines by the waist. 

Ines couldn’t look away. The portrait seemed less of a family keepsake and more of a monument to a dynasty. 

Her chest tightened, and the air in the room seemed to stiffen. The paint itself seemed to be rejecting her.  

And it was right... 

This wasn’t the kind of place an accountant from El Paso should be, multi-millionaires? Crime families?  

It was becoming very apparent that she’s out of her league here. She should be at home, thinking about her 401k, not about to piss off some homophobic mob boss whose brutality makes Isabel look like a ‘kitten’ according to Dr. McKay. 

She looked down at the huge diamond on her finger... she didn’t have a choice in the matter... did she? 

The hall seemed to stretch forever, each step of her heel pounding against the marble floor. Ines kept her gaze low, avoiding seeing more portraits that made her feel like she didn’t belong. 

Though her heart pounded in her ear, beside her, Isabel walked with regal ease, hand at the small of Ines’s back. Alya and Rosaria followed at a measured distance. 

At last, they reached a set of towering double doors, carved with vines and angles. Isabel slowed, turning her head slightly toward Ines. 

“Remember your etiquette training, my love,” she murmured. “Speak only when someone speaks to you. Just be glad you don’t speak Spanish; I fear the things she might say might be too precious for your delicate ears.”  

Ines nodded, throat too tight to try to come clean. 

The doors opened. 

The dining hall yawned wide before them, vaulted ceilings painted with fading angles, a long mahogany table stretched toward the far end of the room.  

There, already seated, were two figures. 

The first was a woman, elegant even in her elder years. Still recognizable from her portrait... Isabel’s mother, her future mother-in-law.  

Fingers crossed Ines lives long enough to be at the wedding. 

Her hair, once black, now gleamed silver, save for a single dark streak. She had clearly shrunken with age, her frame delicate, yet her eyes were still as sharp and dissecting as in the portrait.  

Beside her sat a mountain of a man. Bald, broad, late forties at least, his shoulders seemed too wide for the carved chair he sat in. His heavy hands rested on the table, fingers drumming once before falling still as he saw them enter. 

Both of them froze. 

Shock twisted their features, not the ordinary surprise of a stranger's arrival, but something deeper...stranger. As if Ines wasn’t flesh and blood, but a ghost come to life, back to walk amongst them. Their faces drained, their eyes widened, and for one suspended moment... 

They looked as if they’d seen a ghost. 

The silence cracked when the silver-haired matriarch found her voice. 

In Spanish... 

Oh, goody, another conversation I have to pretend not to understand.  

[“What the hell is this!?”] She demanded, the words cutting through the vaulted space. 

Isabel didn’t flinch. She led Ines to her seat, sitting directly across from Mr. Scary, her hand lingering on Ines's back, mocking her mother before she finally answered. 

[“Well, my fiancé, of course.”] Isabel smiled faintly, though her eyes did not. [“I did tell Hector to inform you I was bringing them. You couldn’t possibly believe I was bringing one of those grotesque men from the list of suitors you insist on shoving at me.”] 

The matriarch’s fingers curled against the table, knuckles whitening. Her sharp gaze snapping between Isabel and Ines, as though measuring which of them might crack first. 

[“You dare mock me like this?”] The old woman hissed. [“Dragging this—”] her voice caught in rage, eyes narrowing on Ines once more, like she’d kill her now if she could. [“Dragging her  into my home!?”] 

Ines felt her stomach churn but kept her eyes down, pretending to be a great admirer of the woodwork on this table, and her face as composed as she could, given the circumstances... that was not much.  

The brother leaned forward then, massive arms folding, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. His voice rumbled low, unhappy. 

[“Isabel.”] 

[“Yes, Hermano?”] Isabel answered sweetly, treating their anger as a joke, which only made Ines feel less safe by the minute. 

[“Who is this girl?”] His gaze cut into Ines like a blade, his disbelief shading into something darker.  

Suspicion. 

[“My bride-to-be,”] Isabel said simply, slipping into the chair opposite the table's head. Her tone was calm and controlled, yet it had a hint of provocation to it, as if daring them to make a move. 

The silence that followed was suffocating. 

Finally, the matriarch leaned back in her chair, her bony hands trembling slightly as she clasped them together. [“You think this will stand? That I will bless such a sinful union?” Her voice sharpened to a brittle crack. “No. I stopped you from making this mistake once. You will not make it again.”] 

Ines’s breath caught, though she dared not speak.  

Isabel only laughed, a low sound that made Ines’s skin prickle. [“You confuse me with someone who needs your blessing, mother. This union is not yours to decide. I am simply here to invite you to our wedding...In three weeks.”] 

THREE WEEKS?  

Ines blinked, sure she had misheard, three weeks? As in twenty-one days? Mistress’s family might’ve been talking down about her like she wasn’t even there, but Mistress seemingly has planned their entire wedding already, without any input from her. 

The brother’s hands slammed down onto the table with a sound like a car exhaust backfiring. Plates rattled, goblets quivered. 

[“You dare,”] he growled, half standing up. [“You dare bring the likes of her into the family home, parading her around in front of us as though this is some damned game.”] 

[“Enough!”] Isabel’s command cut across the fury, calm, yet done playing around. “You both know, you cannot stop me.”  

The silence after Isabel’s last words stretched long, broken only by the hiss of the fireplace behind them and the candlelight illuminating the stone walls. 

Then the matriarch exhaled through her nose, a slow, deliberate sound as if forcing the composure back into her bones. Her hands lowered gracefully into her lap. [“Very well. If you insist on embarrassing yourself, at least let it be done over a meal.”] 

She gestured sharply to servants standing rigid by the doors. At once, a pair moved forward, silver trays balanced in their hands. 

The scent of roasted fennel and saffron broth filled the hall. Bowls were placed before each, the steam rising in delicate curls that seemed absurd compared to the arguing that had just taken place. 

Ines kept her gaze lowered near her soup, her pulse pounding in her ears. Every movement of the servants seemed amplified, the scrape of silver, the clink of crystal. 

The brother leaned back in his chair with a grunt, jaw flexing as he reached for his spoon. He didn’t eat. He only stared at Ines... unnerving her thoroughly.  

The matriarch folded her hands, bowing her head with practiced authority. [“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord.”] 

The others followed. Isabel spoke the words smoothly, her brother stiff and reluctant, Ines's head down, eyes closed, pretending to be praying in her head, while the only thoughts in her skull were about how two of the three people at this table look like they want her dead. 

Nobody had spoken a word to her since she sat down, nor had anyone said a thing in English. It was like being treated like an invisible punching bag. 

[“Amen.”] The family echoed together. 

Isabel was the first to move. She lifted her spoon with casual elegance, sipping broth as though nothing was amiss.  

Finally, she spoke to Ines. 

“Eat, baby.” She said, looking over to Ines with a wry smile, then back to her mother. “You’ll forgive me if I tell my fiancée to eat before we have the same argument over and over again. It was a long drive.”  

Ines took her first spoonful, face warm from embarrassment of being given permission to eat like a little kid. She didn’t look up from her broth, only ate obediently.  

The matriarch’s eyes flickered between them, sharp and assessing. She took her own spoon, dipping it into the broth. Her hand was steady, her movements precise. She tasted it and set the spoon down with care, and stared at Ines with a look that could cut steel. 

The broth was delicate, fragrant with chicken and saffron, but Ines could barely taste it. Each spoonful moved mechanically to her lips as her pulse beat hot in her throat.  

Halfway through the first course, Isabel dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and said, almost casually, ["Tomorrow, Ines will accompany us.”] 

The spoon in her mother's hand clinked softly against porcelain. Her eyes narrowed. [“That is...not customary.”]  

Her brother gave a low laugh, heavy as stone. [“Not customary at all. Nor is it wise.”] He tore a piece of bread and dragged it through his broth, chewing deliberately. [“Some things are not meant for ‘outsiders.’”] 

[“Well, thankfully, she isn’t any ‘outsider,' she’ll be my wife in less than a month. She goes where I go. By all means, I can go home, and you two can go alone tomorrow.”] 

Her mother’s gaze shifted to Isabel now. [“You speak as if the matter is decided.”] 

[“It is.”] Isabel said simply, lifting her spoon with a face of one dictating fact, not debating. 

The old woman’s lips curved in a faint, humorless smile. [“You’ve always been headstrong, my daughter. Something you like to pretend you got from your father...when really, we both know who you take after more. Don't we?”]  

The words hung heavy there, her mother finally landing a shot that seemed to genuinely hurt Isabel. She bit her bottom lip, taking a huge sip of her wine. 

Then Isabel leaned back, her tone light, almost mocking. [“All the more reason you know I won’t back down.”] 

The rest of dinner passed beneath a brittle veneer of civility. The second course, a delicate trout dish, roasted peppers, and plantains, was set before them, then cleared away with quiet efficiency. 

Conversation not ever spoken in English, never left safe topics. Remarks about the estate, inquiries about cousins, a cousin ‘Danica’ came up often, passing mention of the weather. But after every few sentences, Ines could always feel a glance at her. 

Nobody had said a word to her.  

It was kind of...lonely. 

When the final course was finished, a chocolate mousse that Ines really enjoyed (Not that she communicated that to anyone), Isabel pushed her chair back with slow grace.  

“Come, Ines.” She said, rising to her feet. Her tone was soft, but the hand she extended toward Ines was commanding. “I’ll show you to my room.”  

Ines’s heart fluttered. The prospect of being alone with Isabel again was a favorable one; anywhere that wasn’t her mother’s terrifying gaze, and her brother’s looming silence, was a relief she was clinging to. She placed her napkin down and placed her hand in Isabel's. Ready to leave. 

“Stop.”  

The words cut sharp as glass. Isabel’s mother's first word in English tonight. Her Spanish accent was heavy, even in the one word. She set down her wine glass with a quiet click and looked first to Isabel, then to Ines. 

“She may be your so-called ‘fiancée,’” the old woman said. “But you are not yet married. It would be quite un-catholic of you to share a bed. No?” 

The air froze. Isabel’s fingers curled tighter around Ines’s, as if resisting the urge to lash out.  

Ines swallowed hard, not wanting to be separated from her soon-to-be wife, here of all places. Isabel’s eyes burned with a restrained fury. It seemed as if she might defy her mother outright. 

But her hand uncoiled from Ines’s.  

“Of course,” Isabel smiled, “we’ve been sleeping separately at my villa as well.” It wasn’t exactly a lie... they hadn’t done much ‘sleeping’ last night.  

But Mistress’s mother made a face that said she found that difficult to believe. “I will take her to a guest room... it’ll be a good chance to speak with my future daughter-in-law .” 

Ines had never been so scared of the words ‘daughter-in-law’ in her life.  

Isabel looked torn, her jaw flexed in a way it hadn’t all night. 

She signaled, clipped, and quiet: “Alya, go with her.” 

Alya stepped forward, expression neutral, posture perfect. Rosaria shifted as if to move, too, but Isabel raised one finger and stopped her cold. 

Isabel placed a smooth kiss on Ines’s temple. “Go with her, my love.”  

Isabel’s mother rolled her eyes as she stood from her chair, collecting a cane from a maid who presented it to her. She gestured for Ines to follow, already turning toward the hall. 

The corridors of the estate stretched long and dim, lit only by sconces and the gleam of polished floors. Ines’s heels clicked softly, out of rhythm with the slow, deliberate tap of the mother’s cane and Alya’s flats.  

They did not speak, and the silence pressed in. 

It wasn’t until they turned down a gallery lined with portraits that the woman’s voice cut through. 

“Do you know how I rose to this position? She asked without looking back at Ines. 

Ines shook her head. “N-No.” 

The woman paused before the first canvas, a severe-looking young man painted in a stiff collar, his eyes bright with confidence... or arrogance. She lifted her cane toward it. 

“My father was head of the family. But he died when I was nineteen. Our eldest brother, there—”  

She gestured towards the portrait. “—Was a drug addict. High on the cocaine we were meant to be selling. Me and my nine other brothers and sisters decided he would lead this family to ruin... so we had him killed.” 

Ines’s breath caught. 

They walked on. Another portrait, another face. The mother’s voice remained steady, almost detached. 

“And of course, none of us were happy with the idea of the other leading the family. We schemed. We fought. We painted the streets red with the blood of our followers. A gang war broke out.” 

Her cane tapped the marble with each step, not an ounce of remorse in her words. 

“I got to the head of this family by slaughtering my own brothers and sisters,” she said, her tone devoid of remorse. “Even the ones that had no interest in the war. It had to be done.” 

She stopped before another painting, a sister with kind eyes, softer than the others. The mother studied it for a long time, her face unreadable, before moving on. 

“It was the right decision. For me to lead. I expanded our operations tenfold. Moved into legal avenues, respectable ventures. The family thrives because I did what was necessary.” 

They reached the end of the hall. The mother pushed open a heavy door and gestured inside: a guest room, immaculate, waiting. 

 "'Ines,’” she said, like she knew it wasn’t her real name. It sent a chill down her spine. “My daughter gambles with your life, not her own. Whatever this game she’s playing will only result in your death.” 

The woman turned and walked away, cane tapping against the floor until the sound faded into silence. 

Ines stood frozen at the threshold of the guestroom. Alya hovering right behind her. 

Ines being the only person with something to lose in this game. 

Chapter Text

Ines didn’t move. The guest room door stood open before her, the air inside cool and faintly perfumed with lavender. Behind her, Alya shifted uneasily, clutching the edge of her apron, as if even she didn’t expect that conversation to go so poorly.  

The matriarch’s words still echoed in her head: My daughter gambles with your life, not her own. Whatever this game she’s playing will only result in your death .  

Alya finally whispered, “Young Mistress, we should get you inside.”   

Ines snapped her head toward her, voice cracking into a scream. “She’s going to kill me. You heard her... I’m dead! I’M FUCKING DEAD!”  

Alya’s eyes widened, then she quickly grabbed Ines by the arm and pulled her into the guest room, slamming the heavy door shut behind them before anyone could hear her screaming.  

“Please,” Alya whispered urgently, pressing her back to the door as though it were somehow muffling the sound from escaping. “Young Mistress, you must calm dow—”  

“CALM DOWN?!” Ines exploded, pacing in frantic circles, her hands clawing through her hair. “CALM DOWN? My life was just threatened by a fucking mob boss! Excuse me if we can’t all be some badass MMA fighter like you, Alya!”   

She choked on a sob, the words tumbling out faster than she could think. “I’M AN ACCOUNTANT! A FUCKING ACCOUNTANT! My life should be spreadsheets and Excel documents... Not—” Her hand shot out, gesturing wildly towards the hall, toward everything.  

“—Not marrying a mob Princess because they want to piss off their mommy!”  

Her breath broke into ragged gasps, tears welling in her eyes. She pressed the heel of her hand against her chest as if she could physically keep her heart from beating out of her chest. “This isn’t my life; I was supposed to work my dead-end 9-5 and be home in time to watch Simpson’s reruns! THIS ISN’T MY LIF—”  

Then— crack  

Ines’s head snapped to the side, cheek stinging hot. For a moment, she just stared at Alya, wide-eyed, disbelief smothering her panic.  

“What the fuck was that?” She demanded, voice trembling between rage and shock.  

Alya, perfectly straight-faced, shrugged a little. “I saw it in American movies. When someone’s being hysterical, you slap them, and they calm down.”  

Ines blinked at her. The words were so absurd, so completely stupid, that they cut through her terror like a pin popping a balloon. A sharp, startled laugh slipped out of her, half-sob, half-giggle.   

“Pfffft—oh my god.” She clutched at her stinging cheek; did she really have to hit her that hard? “That is... literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”   

Ines’s laugh broke into hiccups, shaky and thin, but real. Alya’s lips twitched, like she wanted to smile.  

Ines was still half laughing, half shaking when Alya guided her toward the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat, hands knotting in her lap.  

“Relax,” Alya said quietly, kneeling so their eyes met. “Just breathe. I'll get you some water.”  

The thought of being left alone in this house sent a new jolt of fear through Ines. Her fingers shot out, catching Alya’s sleeve. “Don’t go.” Her voice was small, desperate. “Please don’t leave me. I'm not safe. I don’t feel safe.”   

Alya stilled, smiling just a little, then nodded once, firm. “Then I’ll stay.”  

Something loosened in Ines’s chest at those words. She let go of Alya’s sleeve, exhaling shakily, and bent down to tug at her shoes. Her heels hit the floor with a dull thunk, leaving her in her stockings.  

She groaned. “God, my feet are killing me.”  

She hesitated, then glanced at Alya, cheeks warming, (Still stinging slightly.) “This is going to sound strange...and feel free to say no. But... could you rub my feet? Just a little?”  

Alya’s smile grew, genuine and gentle. “Of course, Young Mistress.” She sat down beside Ines, reaching out to take one of her trembling feet into her lap. Her hands were surprisingly warm, her touch firm but not painful.  

Ines leaned back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, and took a deep, shuddering breath. The room felt a little less suffocating now, the walls a bit farther away. She listened to the sound of Alya’s breathing, the steady rhythm of her rubbing her feet. The press of the warm fingers into the arch of her foot.  

Yet, she couldn’t help but think of her mortality.  

Ines’s voice cracked on the words, raw and childlike in its honesty.  
“Alya...I don’t want to die.” 

Alya’s hands stilled on her foot. She lifted her gaze, steady and unflinching. “You won’t. Not while I'm here. Even if Rosaria fails you. Even if Mistress fails you. I won’t .”  

Something in Alya’s tone carried a weight she couldn’t ignore; it was almost a promise. It put her mind at ease... as much as one's mind could be at ease, after a day like today. Enough for her under the soothing weight of the foot massage to let her close her eyes and drift into a merciful sleep.  

Ines woke with a start, tangled in cool linen sheets. For a disorienting moment, she thought she was still in the estate's infirmary... but no, the air was different, the bed too wide, the curtains blocking out too much sunlight.  

It wasn’t until she shifted that she realized she was in nothing but her underwear. Her breath caught.  

The door creaked, and Alya stepped inside, carrying a tray, her expression fixed in its usual ice queen default, but her eyes immediately flickered over Ines’s posture, noting her tension.  

Ines swallowed hard, clutching the sheets to her bare chest. “Did you... Did you undress me?”  

“Yes,” Alya said simply, without shame. She set the tray on a table by the window, opening the curtains to allow in more light. “You couldn’t sleep in a cocktail dress all night. I removed your makeup, too. You were exhausted.”  

Ines felt heat rise in her cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and a tinge of relief that she hadn’t spent all night in that makeup. Alya had seen her naked before, so she knew she shouldn’t be so embarrassed, but the way Alya said it, so matter-of-fact like, as if she was stating the obvious, made her pulse race.  

Her gaze drifted toward the table, where a tray had been laid out: eggs, bread, fruit, coffee. The smell reached her, rich and tempting.  

She pushed the sheet tighter against her chest, distrusting of it. Last night still fresh in her mind. “Is it poisoned?”  

Alya blinked, then gave a short laugh through her nose. “No. I watched the cook prepare it myself.” She crossed to the table, pulled out the chair, and looked back at Ines. “Definitely not poisoned.”  

Ines hesitated, then slid out of bed, clutching the sheet around her like armor as she padded over. She sat stiffly, her hands hovering uncertainly above the utensils.  

“Eat,” Alya urged, gentler now. “You’ll need your strength.”  

Ines picked at her food at first, nibbling on bread, then letting hunger take over until she was eating in earnest. Between mouthfuls, she glanced over at Alya, who stood near the door as though she were a guard dog.  

She had to admit, she felt safer with her around.  

“What’s Isbe —Mistress up to?” She corrected herself, trying to sound casual.  

Alya hesitated just long enough for Ines to notice. “She’s having breakfast with her family.”  

“Oh,” Ines set her fork down. “Was I too late waking up to go to breakfast or something?”  

Another pause, longer this time, heavy with reluctance. Alya’s gaze softening but not wavering. “No, Young Mistress... you were not invited to dine with them this morning.”  

The words landed harder than Alya’s slap from the night before... not invited. Why?  

Ines’s stomach knotted, but she forced a bite of egg down her throat. She didn't miss the tension of the previous evening. Maybe it was better this way, but it stung.  

Ines nodded to herself, pushing her plate away. She didn’t need to be reminded of coldness or the tangled web of family politics. The thought of facing the woman again, after that conversation with the matriarch, was enough to make her feel sick.  

“I should get dressed, then,” she murmured. “What’s the plan for today?”  

“The plan is for you to stay here, Young Mistress. Rest, until it is time to depart. It’s not safe for you to be wandering around the estate.”  

The words hit Ines like a brick. She was a prisoner in this fancy room. The thought made her feel claustrophobic. And ‘depart,' where are they going? Ines found herself getting increasingly frustrated at never being told anything.  

Ines let go of a heavy sigh. Going off at Alya wouldn’t solve anything; it wasn’t her fault. It was her so-called fiancée that brought her here mostly blind, trotting her out more like a prize pig than her bride-to-be.  

The shower hissed around her, steam rising in waves, but Ines couldn’t drown out the echo of Alya’s words. Not invited. They rang in her head over and over; sharper than the hot water she flicked onto her face.  

So that’s what I am. An outsider, a guest. Someone they’ll never accept.  

Ines wondered what the point was. She had been kidnapped, brought all the way from Texas to Colombia, and a damn thing hadn’t changed; nobody accepted her. She didn’t belong.  

By the time she shut off the water, her chest was tight, her hands trembling as she wrung them through her wet curls. She toweled herself dry and slipped into the robe Alya had left hanging, its softness being of little comfort to her.  

She opened the bathroom door and froze.  

Alya was waiting in the room, arms folded neatly in front of her, a splash of color draped over them. Red. Seductive.  

A cocktail dress, deeper and sharper than the one she had worn the night before.  

Ines took a half step back. “What’s that?”  

Alya’s expression didn’t falter. “Instructions from Mistress. You're to wear this.”  

She unfolded the garment, placing it softly on the bed. “She wants you in it.”  

Ines stared at the fabric, at the way it gleamed in the light, and felt her stomach knot. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?”  

“No.”  

Ines slid the robe from her shoulders, leaving her suddenly bare in front of Alya. It wasn’t intimate; it was a woman who had resigned herself to her fate as being dressed up like a doll.  

The dress was laid out across the bed now, the red of it so vibrant it seemed to pulse with its own heat. Satin, heavy but smooth, catching the light in glints of wine-dark sheen. Its cut was bold, a plunging neckline that promised to bare almost all of her chest, the fabric tapering close to her waist before sweeping out in a skirt meant for movement, for spectacle.  

Alya helped her step into it, her fingers brisk but never rough, tugging the fabric along Ines’s thighs, settling it over Ines’s hips, drawing the straps carefully into place over her shoulders. The neckline gaped scandalously low, so low that Ines’s face heated up just looking down at herself.  

Alya cleared her throat, a subtle shift in her posture, and Ines realized Alya had been staring. The dress felt like putting on a second skin, clinging to her curves in a way that made her feel both powerful and exposed.  

When she turned back, Alya’s expression had returned to its usual stoicism.  

“I’ll do your hair and makeup as well,” Alya said, gesturing to the chair in front of the vanity.  

Ines nodded, moving to sit down, her heart racing. The dress was beautiful, but it was the kind of thing you wore when you were on display. And she had the sinking suspicion that she was about to become the star of a show she hadn’t signed up for. The dress was zipped up with a firm, final click, and Alya turned her to face the mirror. Ines didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. She looked like a doll dressed up for a play, a part in a world she didn’t understand.  

“You look...beautiful,” Alya said, her voice almost a whisper in her ear.  

Ines stared at her reflection, feeling anything but. The dress was a lie, a façade she had to wear for her fiancée’s family. A declaration of her role in this twisted game.   

Her eyes met Alya’s in the mirror, and for a moment she thought she saw something genuine, a flicker of... pity? Sympathy?  

But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and all she was left with was the cold reality of her situation.  

“Thank you, Alya,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Alya reached for the gloves, long, opera-length satin to match the dress. Ines knew what they were for the instant Alya slid the first over her hand, smoothing it tight up to the elbow. It wasn’t about elegance. It was to cover up what lay beneath. The puckered scars across her right hand.  

They hadn't magically healed overnight. In fact, she was still supposed to be wearing her sling, the damaged tendons in her right hand still not fully healed yet.  

By the time both gloves were on, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. A stranger stared back: red-lipped, generous amount of cleavage, hands hidden in luxury.  

“Young Mistress,” Alya’s voice was soft. She stepped aside, revealing the engagement ring on the bedside table. It glinted under the light; a monstrous diamond sprinkled among a dozen others.  

Ines swallowed, her heart racing. She had forgotten.  

“May I?” Alya’s voice was a gentle question, holding the ring in her hand. Ines nodded, unable to look away from the woman’s eyes in the mirror.  

The ring was cool as it slid onto her finger, nestling in the fabric of the glove. It was a stark contrast to the warmth of Alya’s hand, a gentle pressure that seemed to anchor her to the world.  

Their eyes met again in the reflection, and this time, Ines felt a shiver of something else. Not fear or anger, but a strange, confusing thrill. The ring was a prison, a declaration of her fate, but in Alya’s touch there was something... gentle. Something that whispered that she wasn’t entirely alone in this.  

She swallowed hard. “ Alya ...” The tension so heavy between them, her voice cracked. Ines forced herself to change the topic, to make space between them, before something happened neither of them could take back.  

“Do you know where we’re going?” Ines asked, losing Alya’s blue orbs in the mirror.  

For the first time, Alya’s composure shifted, just a hair. She took a long blink, and said something under her breath in Russian, cursing the lost moment... maybe. But then she nodded.  

“Yes, Young Mistress. You will be going to Brazil.”  

Ines found Alya’s eyes in the mirror again. “BRAZIL?”  

“Yes, the helicopter will be leaving when the family members are prepared.” Alya said, like it were the most natural thing in the world.  

Ines felt her stomach churn. Brazil. A helicopter with a family that didn’t even want her at their breakfast table. And Mistress playing some game that only she knew the rules of.  

Hours later, Mistress opened the door without knocking, the door swinging open as if the room belonged to her. Her gaze swept over Ines, lingering on the deep plunge of the neckline. A small, slow smile curved her lips.  

“Beautiful,” she said simply, crossing the space with the unhurried certainty of a woman used to claiming things. Her hand rose to touch Ines’s cheek, then slid down to take her arm, steering her gently but firmly toward the door. “Come. We're expected.”  

Ines resisted. Just a little at first, planting her heels into the thick carpet. “Wait.”  

Mistress tilted her head, a sliver of irritation cutting across her perfectly suited composure. “What is it?”  

“I want to know what’s going on,” Ines said, the words came out more accusatory than she meant them to. “Why am I dressed like this? Why are we going to Brazil? Why are you just leading me around like some pig, telling me the bare minimum?”  

Mistress’s sigh was soft, almost indulgent, as though Ines was a child pouting past their bedtime. Her fingers tightened just enough around Ines’s arm to remind her who was in control.  

“Alya, take the rest of the day off.” Isabel said, with menace in her voice, Alya hesitated, half a second, barely noticeable, before Mistress shot her a glare. That made the maid bow and leave without a word.  

Mistress turned back to Ines, her voice low, almost gentle. “Do you know what pisses me off most about you?” Her lips curved in something between irritation and malice. “You actually believe you have the right to know things. You don’t. You don’t have any rights. Not here.”  

Ines stumbled back until her spine hit the vanity. “But... you said you loved me. Why can’t I know? Look at it from my perspec—”  

“I. Do. Not. Care. About. Your. Perspective.”  

Her hand slammed into the mirror beside Ines’s head, the sound cracking through the air. Ines flinched as Mistress leaned in, towering over her.  

“I could kill you right now,” she whispered, pressing her palm against Ines’s throat, not choking, just demonstrating that she could. “I could choke the life out of you and leave your body here, and nothing would happen to me.” Her grip shifted, thumb pressing slowly into Ines’s pulse.  

“The ring on your finger doesn’t make you my equal. I do love you, Ines. But I love you in your place .”  

Ines’s eyes went wide, her chest tightening as her heart raced a million miles a minute. She could feel the sting of tears brimming, threatening to spill. Her breath hitched, trembling against Mistress’s palm.  

“Don’t start crying,” Mistress said coldly, her thumb brushing across Ines’s cheek as though the touch was tender when it was anything but. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”  

The words, so casual, cut deeper than any of the threats. Ines pressed her lips together, forcing the tears not to come out, nodding quickly as obedience might save her.  

Mistress withdrew her hand, not in mercy but in dismissal, and slipped her arm back around Ines, steering her out the door with practiced certainty.  

Through the villa they walked, Ines’s head bowed, her silence heavy. Every marble floor tile, every gilded frame, every pair of watching eyes from passing staff felt like a spotlight on her humiliation. Mistress never slowed, never faltered, her grip a leash as much as a guide.  

At last, they emerged into the open air, the sudden brightness almost blinding. The roof stretched, the hum of rotors already cutting through the silence. The helicopter waited on the helipad, blades stirring the warm afternoon air into sharp gusts that lifted the edges of Ines’s dress and whipped strands of hair into her face.  

Mistress did not look at her. She only tightened her grip and led her forward.  

The rotors thundered louder as they approached, the wind tugging at Ines’s hair, at the thin fabric clinging to her skin. She dug her heels in for half a second, the instinct to resist flashing through her, but Mistress’s grip only tightened, unyielding, unbreakable.  

“Behave,” Mistress murmured in her ear, the warning soft as velvet, sharp as steel.  

With no choice, Ines climbed in, the cabin’s leather seat cold beneath her as the door was pulled shut.  

Across from her sat the matriarch, cane balanced neatly against her leg, her eyes locked on Ines with that same cutting, merciless glare. Beside her lounged the brother, smiling faintly as though this were some private joke only he understood.  

Mistress settled in at Ines’s side, possessive hand resting on her knee. The engines roared, the villa shrinking below, but all Ines could feel was the weight of their eyes, judging, measuring, waiting.  

She lowered her head, heart pounding like a trapped bird.  

And Ines truly didn’t know who she felt less safe sitting next to, Isabel... or her mother.  

Chapter Text

The cabin shook with the roar of the rotors, the sound so loud it pressed against Ines’s bones. Isabel had clamped a headset over her ears the moment she stepped inside, the padded cups muffling the deafening roar of the blades. She could hear every breath, every word, and every tiny sound directly through the mic, all of which were attached to the headset. 

Isabel sat back, perfectly at ease, one hand resting possessively on Ines’s thigh as if she needed a reminder of who owned her. Across from them, Isabel’s mother watched in silence, her expression unreadable behind her aviator glasses. 

It didn’t stop Ines from being afraid that she was staring daggers at her, as you’d expect, sitting across from someone who threatened your life the day before is nerve-racking.

Beside her sat Isabel’s brother, scrolling lazily through something on a tablet, the green glow reflecting from his jaw to the baldness of his head. 

Ines sat stiffly, hands knotted in her lap, staring out the small oval window on her side of the cabin. Below, the Amazon rain forest spread endlessly, a living carpet of green stretching every horizon. It was breathtaking, impossibly beautiful. 

She just wished she had such a view under different circumstances. Her stomach was in knots, her chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with her dress. 

She shifted, throat working, her voice crackling into the headset with a tremor she couldn’t hide. “W-Where...Where are we going?” 

For a long moment, the only reply was static and the distant drone of the blades. Then Isabel’s grip on her thigh tightened, and Mistress’s low voice slid into her ears via the headset. 

“Behave, Ines.”  

No raised voice, no theatrics, nobody else even acknowledged that she had said anything. Just the headset delivering the words straight into her skull.  

Inescapable. 

Ines lowered her gaze to her lap, fingers gripping her own wrists until her knuckles ached. 

Nobody spoke for what felt like hours. The helicopter droned on, steady as a heartbeat. Ines’s gaze drifted between the endless trees below, what Ines imagined was the matriarch’s death stare, and then to the brother, who finally tore his eyes away from the glowing tablet. 

His voice cracked harshly through the headset, impatient, disgusted. [“This whole farce makes me sick. A woman parading around another woman like some bride, it’s a sin. It's obscene.”] 

Ines froze, trying to pretend she couldn’t understand him, but found herself shrinking at the word sin; it stabbed into her chest, echoing louder in her ears than the rotors. Mistress, however, only tilted her head, unfazed, hand never leaving Ines’s thigh. 

[“Sin?”] Isabel’s voice poured through the headset, low and mocking. [“It’s funny to hear you speak of sin, brother.”] 

He bristled, leaning forward, [“It is sin. What you’re doing, flaunting this disgusting act like some badge—”] 

[“How many children do you have again?”] Isabel cut in, voice sharpening with each word. [“I can hardly keep count, Thirteen? Fourteen? From the women you keep as slaves in your compounds?”]  

Ines wanted to take her headset off; surely letting the roar of the blades permanently damage her hearing was better than hearing this conversation. 

[“Even Mama can’t keep track anymore.”] Isabel went on smoothly, almost smiling as she twisted the knife. [“She forgets which ones are legitimate born of your wife, and which ones were born of your rapes. Tell me, is that not sin?”]  

The matriarch finally stirred, her voice resounding. [“Enough!”]  

She lowered her sunglasses, her gaze flickering from one child to another, the smallest narrowing of her gaze silencing them both. The tension lingered, however, like a bad smell. 

Ines stared out the window again, pulse hammering in her throat, happy for the relative silence, even if the air in the helicopter was as thick as oatmeal. 

Thirty minutes later, the helicopter dipped, banking over a narrow strip carved into cleared jungle. A private airfield shimmered into view, the sun reflecting hot off the tarmac. 

The landing was jarring, the skids scraping down with a metallic groan. As soon as the motors slowed, the doors were pulled open. Heat and humidity slapped Ines in the face, carrying the scent of fuel and wet earth. 

Two black cars idled nearby, engines purring, their glossy bodies reflecting the harsh equatorial sun. Men in dark suits moved with quiet precision, opening doors, scanning the tree line. 

Isabel’s mother and brother stepped out first. Together they were guided into the front car, her brother’s still seething face disappearing behind dark doors and tinted windows. 

Ines lingered, her heart in her throat, until Mistress pressed a firm hand on her back. “Come,” Isabel murmured. 

They were led to the second car, its door held wide. Isabel slipped in with the grace of someone who’d done this all her life, then turned to watch Ines climb in after her. The door shut with a thud, and the convoy rolled forward, SUVs gliding smoothly down a narrow strip of road into jungle roads. 

Isabel threw her hand around Ines’s waist but said nothing. Whatever lay ahead, Ines had no say in it.  

The car ride was smooth and silent, except for the occasional jolt when the tires hit a crack in the uneven jungle road. Ines sat stiffly, hands clasped in her lap, too afraid to ask a third time where they were going. The air conditioning hummed coldly against her skin, yet sweat still gathered at the back of her neck. 

Fifteen minutes blurred by in a haze of green. Then, suddenly, the trees thinned, and the jungle broke into something impossible.  

A sprawling mansion sat in a clearing, its white walls glowing faintly gold under the setting sun. The drive leading up to it was crammed with cars, sleek sports cars, armored SUVs, limos, so many that the poor valet looked overwhelmed.  

As their cars rolled forward, Ines’s breath caught in her throat. People came into view, milling around the wide front steps and verandas: men in pressed suits, younger-looking women on their arms in evening gowns that shimmered with jewels, several were already holding glittering glasses of champagne. The clatter of voices carried faintly over the hum of the engine, a strange mix of laughter and sharper clipped tones. 

The first car halted, and Mistress’s mother and brother stepped out, greeted by a small group of attendants who bowed and ushered them forward. Their presence demanded respect, and the crowd's eyes followed them. 

Then it was their turn. Isabel slid gracefully from the car, pausing only to extend a hand back into the vehicle. Her gaze flickered toward Ines; her lips curved into a smile that wasn’t at all convincing.  

“Come,” she said. Again, like Ines was a dog being brought to heel. 

Knowing she didn’t have a choice in the matter, Ines stepped out, blinking against the setting sun and river of luxury before her. Her heels clicked against the cobblestone, and she leaned slightly into Isabel, voice pitched low and panicky. 

This many rich people don’t meet up in a mansion in the middle of a jungle for a good reason, do they? Her brain racked with all the fucked-up scenarios.  

Cults?  

Sex clubs?  

Human trafficking? 

She was terrified of asking anything, but she was more scared of going into whatever this was blind. 

“What is this? Why are there so many people here? What the hell are we doing in the middle of the jungle?”  

Isabel’s hand slipped around her waist, drawing her closer like they were a couple arriving fashionably late. Ines could feel the eyes on her, the gazes burning into her. Isabel’s lips brushed against her ear, voice smooth. 

“Relax, darling,” Mistress whispered. “It’s just an auction, whatever baby-eating cult you have in mind, put that to bed.”  

The words made Ines’s stomach drop. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. 

An auction?  

Here? 

It might not be a baby-eating cult, but it couldn’t have been anything good either; good things weren’t hidden away in the heart of the jungle.  

The crowd swallowed them as they ascended the stairs, Isabel’s grip never wavering, her smile never faltering. Ines could only be dragged along, her pulse pounding in her ears, as the heavy mansion doors loomed before them. 

The mansion doors swung open into a vast foyer that could have swallowed an entire movie theater back in El Paso. Marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers, and the air was thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and the low hum of conversation. 

Guests clustered in small groups, their attire not dissimilar from those outside the venue, gowns that made Ines’s cleavage look modest, tailored suits on older men. Laughter cut sharply through the noise now and then. 

Servers wove expertly between the groups, silver trays balanced high, offering champagne flutes like liquid gold. 

Mistress’s mother and brother were already in the thick of it, embracing others of their kind, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, laughing with a little too many teeth to be actually laughing.  

It was obvious these people knew them, respected them, maybe even feared them. 

Ines stood just inside the door, trying not to gape at the opulence. She stuck close to Isabel’s side, the red of her dress making her feel like a spotlight was pinned to her. 

Isabel bent close, her hand brushing Ines’s lower back in a gesture that from the outside probably looked affectionate.  

But she pressed firmly, controlling. “I need to speak with someone. Stay here, baby. Everyone here will speak English, don’t wander.” Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “And smile.”  

“Smile?” 

“Yes.” Isabel’s lips curved into a demonstration for her, though her eyes remained cold. “This is your public debut as my future wife. You're on display. Look pleasant.”  

And with that, she was gone, moving gracefully into a crowd, exchanging empty hellos before she slipped through a door in the back, disappearing. 

Ines was left standing alone in the center of the massive hall. It felt like a friend dragging you to a party and then leaving you on your own when you don’t know anybody else there.  

Except here, instead of underage drinking and, at worst, people having sex in the bathroom, it was diamonds, black ties, and eyes that slid over her like she was merchandise. 

Her throat went dry. 

One of the servers passed by, a woman, balancing a tray of champagne. Ines snatched a glass, then hesitated, then grabbed a second one for good measure. 

She downed the first in two gulps, the bubbles burning against her throat. Then she tipped back the second, fast this time, turning away slightly from the server and the crowds, until both glasses were empty in her grip. 

She turned back to the server, ever the professional, maintaining a straight face as if she hadn’t just witnessed Ines stress drink two glasses of something that Ines probably couldn’t afford. 

She set the glasses back on the tray with trembling fingers and managed, just barely, to force a paper-thin smile onto her face. 

The fizz burned in her throat still, leaving her slightly lightheaded, her pulse racing faster than the drink could explain. Ines wiped carefully at her mouth with the back of her gloved hand when a man approached from her side.  

“You might want to slow down,” a man said warmly, his accent faintly French. “The night is long, and the bidding has not yet begun.”  

Ines startled, nearly leaped out of her skin, before she registered the man beside her. 

He was tall, graying at the temples, his dark suit perfectly cut, and he smiled with all his teeth. He leaned in without hesitation, catching her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles, then going straight into the double cheek kiss, the European greeting Senora Blanca had drilled into her in etiquette lessons. 

Every nerve in Ines’s body screamed for her to pull away, but she forced herself still; her skin prickled when his lips brushed her cheek. 

“You’re new,” the man said, releasing her hand from his grip. “I don’t recall seeing you at any of the other auctions. Who are you here with?” 

Ines’s tongue felt like lead in her mouth. Every instinct screaming at her not to tie herself to a crime family, but every shred of training told her silence would be worse. 

“I, uh... I’m—” She stammered, heat crawling up her neck. “I’m with the Pombo family.” 

His brows lifted, interest sparkling.  “Oui, Pombo. Of course. I did not hear anything of Hector having a new fiancée.”  

“I—no, I'm—” She tripped over her words, panic making her voice crack.  

But before she could dig the hole deeper or stammer anymore, another voice slid neatly into the conversation. 

“Not Hector,” Came the cool, assured correction. 

Ines whipped her head to see Mistress’s mother standing there, her cane clicking once against the polished marble floor. Her dark eyes swept the tall man, just once, before landing on Ines. 

Sharply. 

Disappointed. 

“She belongs to Isabel,” the matriarch said, final as a death sentence.  

The man blinked, then gave a low, amused laugh, bowing his head. “Ah, my mistake.” 

He reached for his champagne, clearly unbothered, though his gaze lingered a moment too long before drifting away into the crowd, having never even introduced himself. 

Ines let out a shaky breath of relief, only for tension not to fade when she realized the older woman was still looking at her with a level of scorn. 

The older woman stepped in closer, her cane clicking against the marble, her voice low enough to mean they were for Ines alone.  

“If you are to introduce yourself as a member of my family, you say it with your chest.” She hissed; each syllable laced with disdain. “Full-throated and proud. The Pombo name does not come out in the whimper of a dying sheep.” 

Ines felt her throat bob on reflex as she gulped. “I-I, Never Intended—” 

“Your ‘intent’ means little to me, girl.” The matriarch cut her off, eyes narrowing to slits. “If I were you, I would not choose to spend my remaining days stammering about.”  

With that, she turned, gliding backward into a swirl of guests without another glance, leaving Ines frozen in place, her stomach in knots, another thinly veiled threat laid at her feet.  

Isabel’s brother sailed by, his gaze sliding over her without pause, as if she weren’t there. Ines felt like the invisible help, except she wasn’t. She was dressed to the nines, in a dress that cost more than her car, and she was apparently on display like a prize pig at a county fair. 

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and fear.  

She'd never felt more exposed than she did right now, in this sea of wealth and power, dressed in a garment that left almost nothing to the imagination. 

From across the room, she caught an older man’s lecherous gaze lingering too long on her exposed cleavage, and she hadn’t missed the way his eyes had followed her curves like a predator eyeing prey. 

Ines drifted away from the throng of noise, from the gazes, her heart still hammering against her ribcage. She spotted a tall table tucked near the edge of the foyer and gravitated toward it, desperate to do something with her hands that wasn’t covering her chest.  

A server passed by with another round of champagne glasses, and without hesitation, she plucked two more from their silver home. 

Tipping the first one back quickly, the bubbles burning down her throat, hoping the buzz might drown out her panic, might dull Isabel’s mother’s words. 

Threats. 

“Careful,” a voice chimed in lightly before she could down the second. 

Ines froze, glass still in hand, as three women in evening gowns approached, their laughter weaving together like silk. 

One of them, tall, blonde, with pearls at her throat, and a neckline so plunging it was a miracle she wasn’t spilling out of her dress, smiled knowingly. 

“These things can really drag on,” she said, gesturing to the vast room of mingling elites. “Old people really love to talk. Best not to drink too many too quickly.” 

Another, a raven-haired woman with a jeweled necklace, leaned in like she was sharing a secret. “No, no. The trick is timing. One glass now for the nerves. A few more when the auction starts dragging. Then, when it's late and he wants you upstairs, in the car, or the jet...” 

She tilted her glass, eyes gleaming. “That’s when you down enough to not feel anything.”  

The third, the youngest looking of the three, but with the weary eyes of someone who’d learned the lessons early, gave a half-hearted smile. “Or take one of these babies...” She slid a white pill out of her glove. “This will make you blackout entirely; you won’t even remember him on top of you the next morning.” 

Ines laughed along with them despite finding nothing funny, but inside she felt something else, something sharp, almost giddy, pushing against the fear... 

God, I love being gay. 

The thought came suddenly, whispered in her own brain like a private joke. She'd rather be called a ‘sinful, disgusting, farce’ by Mistress’s brother a thousand times than to stomach a single night of what these women were describing. 

The blonde woman tilted her head, studying her with genuine curiosity. “So, who are you? I don’t remember seeing you at any of these before.” 

“Yes, love, who brought you here tonight?” The raven-haired woman followed up. “Don’t worry, we won’t judge your man by his net worth...much.” 

“Look at that necklace,” the blonde cut in, motioning to Ines’s shock collar, inlaid jewels abundant, from the outside, it must just look like a fancy choker. “Her man definitely isn’t broke.”  

Ines fumbled for an answer, her lips parting and closing like she’d forgotten how to speak.  

The women leaned in, curious, expectant.  

“There you are, darling.”  

Ines nearly dropped her glass as Isabel appeared at her side, arm wrapping tight around her waist, firm and possessive, pulling her back into Isabel’s side. The sudden warmth of her body pressed flushed against Ines’s own was making her heat up.  

Or the champagne was kicking in... 

In her other hand, Isabel carried a sleek black and silver briefcase, strange, unfamiliar. Ines was certain she didn’t have it before. 

The three women’s smiles tightened as they took in this development, their gazes flickering between the engaged pair, a mix of awe and surprise painting their faces. 

Mistress didn’t bother with pleasantries; her hand flexed at Ines’s hip as though taunting the women in front of her. 

“I trust you aren’t bothering my fiancée,” Isabel said smoothly, her eyes cutting into the women for a reason Ines couldn’t understand. 

“Of course not,” the blonde replied, sudden honey in her voice which was not present in their previous conversation. “We were only making her feel welcome.” 

Isabel’s smile sharpened, but she didn’t push further. Instead, she leaned down, brushing her lips close enough to Ines’s ear to make her shiver with flashbacks of their engagement night.  

“Don’t go far,” she murmured, squeezing her waist once before slipping away. 

Again. 

Just like that, she was gone again, the briefcase clicking softly as Ines watched her slip through the crowd and out the door they came through. 

And of course, Ines was left where she stood, champagne glass in hand, three women left gawking at her, gazes shifting from curiosity to appraisal now. 

Ines swallowed, forcing another glass of champagne down with it, but the fizz burned, lodging in her chest. Left on display again. 

“You’re engaged to Isabel Rodriguez-Pombo!?” The dark-haired woman blurted out, eyes wide. 

Ines shifted the empty glass in her hand, setting it down on the table behind her. “Pretty much,” she muttered, unable to summon anything more certain. 

The blonde leaned forward, enough that Ines could smell her perfume, curiosity taking over. “How’d you two even meet?” 

Ines shifted on her heels. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol pooling warm in her stomach or just the hollow need to talk to someone, to tell anyone her story. 

But the words tumbled out before she could stop them.  

“She... kidnapped me, well, not her technically.” She started softly. “They took me from my home. They brought me to her plantation. She told me if I didn’t comply, she’d have me... she’d have me gang raped.”  

Her voice wavered, but she pressed on as though it had happened to someone else. “And then...she killed my only two friends in the world.”  

The women stared at her, their faces twisting with horror, slackening into a stunned silence. 

“Wow...” The youngest final whispered almost to herself. “I’m so sorry. We're really sorry that happened to you.” 

Ines gave a small, shaky laugh and a shrug. “Oh...It’s okay. Really. We're in love now.”  

The women recoiled slightly as a collective almost. “In love?” The blonde echoed back to her in disbelief.  

“Yeah,” Ines nodded quickly, eagerly. “She takes care of me. She provides for me; she can be rough sometimes, but she cherishes me mostly. She chose me. I think that means something, right?” Her eyes darted between their faces, looking for validation. Pleading for it. 

The women exchanged glances, their silence deafening. 

Ines filled it herself, words spilling over like an overflowing glass. “It honestly sounds worse than it was...it was mostly Dani’s fault anyway. But Isabel never gave up on me, even when my family did. That's love, isn’t it?” 

The women’s silence stretched; the clink of glasses and low hum of conversation around them suddenly very loud. One of them shifted their weight back, another’s smile dropped entirely. 

Ines’s own smile faltered under the discomfort, her stomach turned, but she forced herself to push past it. “Is that not...like a lot of women here?” She asked, voice small, the tiniest slur of words coming on at the end. 

“Uhh, not exactly.” The blonde said, smoothing her hand over her dress, buying time. “I worked at Starbucks when a man came in offering to buy me new tits and to take care of my family.” 

The other two nodded in seeming agreement. They weren’t here via kidnapping, Ines imagined none of their stories were romantic, but compared to Her's they sound almost ordinary. 

Transactional. 

The way they’d said it, there had been a choice for them. 
A yes, or a no. 

Ines blinked at them, words heavy and slow on her tongue as the champagne fogged her brain. She'd never been offered a choice, and yet here she was... telling strangers she was in love. 

Then, like a shadow cutting across the floor, Isabel slid back into the circle. Her arm slipped around Ines’s waist like it had been previously. Her sudden presence making the three women stiffen, their eyes darting between Mistress and the woman being pressed into her side. 

Isabel’s smile was polite, but the women took a collective step back anyway, murmuring a quick excuse before retreating into the crowd. 

Ines watched them disappear into the crowd, realizing with a strange hollowness that they had never even told her their names. 

Her eyes flickered down.  

No briefcase. The black and silver one from before.  

Gone. 

Like it had never existed. 

And yet, Isabel seemed...lighter. The line of her jaw softened by a genuine smile she hadn’t worn all evening. 

The smile turned toward Ines, warm but inquisitive. Searching Ines’s eyes like they were telling her something. 

Her fingers gave Ines’s waist a subtle squeeze. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” She said, eyeing the empty glass on the table behind her. 

Ines felt the heat rise in her cheeks and shook her head a little too quickly to be convincing. 

“What? No. Nooo. I'm not drunk; it was like two or three, or four glasses.” She said, words wobbling slightly, not quite slurring. 

“Of course not, Ines.” Isabel purred smile deepening, like she found it funny, brushing her thumb over Ines’s cheekbone, testing the heat of her skin. “You’re just making eyes at me like you want to be licked head to toe and then get a cheeseburger, for no reason.”  

While Ines’s face flushed with the idea of which she preferred more, or in what order. Isabel lifted her hand, snapping her fingers slightly at a passing server. Isabel said a single word without even looking at the woman. “Water.”  

A tall glass of water appeared almost instantly, set down on the table with deference. Isabel handed it to her without looking away. Palm firm over the small of her back. 

“Drink,” she murmured, not unkindly but in a way that screamed in its non-negotiability. 

The fizz still burned in her chest, but she took the glass with both hands and took a slow sip, eyes flickering nervously to the glittering crowd of elites. 

Isabel leaned close, lips brushing her ear, sweeping a curl away from Ines’s temple. “Good girl.”  

Before Ines could even gather her thoughts to respond, the sound of heavy hinges groaning filled the foyer. The grand double doors at the far end of the hall swung open, and a hush rippled through the crowd as a uniformed attendant stepped forward. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice carrying with crisp formality, “the auction will be underway soon. If you’ll please follow me.”  

Conversations tapered off, glasses were set down, and the entire pivot of guests seemed to pivot at once, moving like a tide toward the doors. 

The champagne warmth in her stomach curdled into something cold. She hadn’t even been told what this auction was. 

She felt Isabel’s hand settle possessively on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd of silk dresses and tailored suits. 

The crowd funneled into a vast theater-like chamber, its ceiling gilded with carved wood and golden inset lights that glowed like falling stars. Rows upon rows of seating stretched out before a raised stage with a thick velvet curtain. Flanked by an assortment of mounted monitors and televisions. Their screens still black, waiting. 

The Pombo family moved toward the front, reserved seating, conspicuous, close enough to the stage that Ines could see her reflection in the blank TV glass. Isabel guided her down into a plush velvet chair, with nobody sitting to her left, and Mistress herself taking the seat to her right. 

Around them, the atmosphere had shifted entirely; the buzz of a cocktail party was gone, replaced by anticipation. 

Replaced by the smell of people about to throw life-changing money at something. 

Ines folded her hands in her lap, the weight of what she was doing by being in this room pressing down on her. If a police agency swooped in right now and arrested everyone here, kidnapped or not, she’d be going to prison... 

Prison. 

She realized with a tremor that this wouldn’t be something she could drink herself through.  

Then, the lights dimmed, focusing on the stage, and a hush fell over the seated guests. 

And she appeared. 

A woman glided onto the stage, every step unhurried, deliberate, commanding. Her dress was a waterfall of crimson silk, cut to cling and fall in all the right places, shimmering under the stage lights.  

Long copper ginger hair spilling over her bare shoulders like untamed fire. A black mask trimmed with gold framed her eyes, not hiding her identity by any means, but sharpening her beauty, making her seem almost unreal. 

Ines’s lips parted before she could stop herself, the word slipping out with a breath. 
“Wow.” 

Isabel’s hand closed around Ines’s thigh, her nails digging into the flesh. Her voice low. “Careful, Ines. You'd hate to see me get jealous.” 

Heat shot to Ines’s cheeks, she forced her gaze downward, fingers twisting in her lap, slightly ashamed.  

The red-draped goddess stepped to center stage; the microphone attached to her dress carried a British accent. “Welcome, honoured guests, to tonight’s gathering. You've come a long way, and I promise you, this evening will not disappoint. We have some excellent stock tonight.” 

Her smile curved, slow, deliberate, as she extended a hand to the black screens all around her. 

With a mechanical flicker, the monitors lit up, a grainy green night vision feed filling the room. 

Gasps rippled through the audience, not of horror but of appraisal. Ines’s stomach dropped. 

The image showed the inside of a shipping container. Ten men crammed inside, their faces pale and gaunt under the harsh light of the night vision camera, their bodies slick with sweat. Some sat against steel walls; others knelt with hands bound. 

The auctioneer’s smile widened. “Our first shipment for tonight. A fine collection of strength. Ten men, ages ranging from seventeen to thirty-five. Excellent for heavy labor on a farm or plantation...” 

She let the pause linger, her eyes glinting wickedly under her mask. “...or perhaps, for those that prefer to live the ‘Greek life.’” 

Laughter and murmurs moved through the audience like a breeze. 

Ines’s throat seized. Bile crawled its way up the back of her throat. 

“Shall we begin the bidding at fifteen thousand dollars?”  

A hand shot up from the row just in front of her before the auctioneer had even finished her sentence. Another followed. 

Then another. 

Numbers climbed quickly, called out in swift, detached tones. The screen showed the men still shifting uncomfortably. One of them pressed his forehead to his knees as if he were trying to disappear. 

Ines forced her eyes shut, wishing she could plug her ears too. But Isabel’s hand found hers quickly.  

Squeezing, not cruelly but not gently either. 

The numbers continued to climb, seventeen thousand. Nineteen. Twenty-two. 

The woman in red smiling brighter with every spike in price. 

Ines’s stomach churned painfully. Her chest tightened with the same awful pressure she’d felt months ago, sealed in that dark metal box, the stench of sweat and piss, the way the dark seemed to go on forever. 

Her vision swam in a way that had nothing to do with champagne; the air in the room was becoming too thick, too heavy. She tried to pull in a breath, but it stuck, shallow, useless. 

“Sold!” The woman announced. “For thirty-seven thousand.” 

Polite applause fluttered through the rows. 

Ines nearly gagged.  
Applause.  
For men being sold like cattle. 

She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, trying not to heave as the screens flickered again. 

The next image slammed into her gut. 

Another container. This one crowded tighter, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder.  

Women. Young. Twenty of them at least. 

Their hair plastered to their temples with sweat, some clutching each other's hands desperately, others staring into walls blankly. 

The host’s voice purred over the theater. “Lot two. A rare treat tonight. Twenty-nine beautiful young women, ranging from fifteen to twenty-six. Each one examined, each one ready. Perfect for your clubs, your brothels, or those that prefer a more... personal collection.” 

Fifteen. Fifteen years old. 

The words dripped from the woman in red's mouth like oil.  

Paddles shot up, faster this time. Excitement sparkled through the crowd. The bidding started higher. Thirty-five thousand. 

Ines’s heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the numbers.  

This container... 

Her sitting here. 

It was a betrayal.  

To Clara, to Hayes, to Lily, to the unnamed women too far in shock to speak. 

To Ruby... 

Lindsay was right. It was better to die, even if she had to do it herself...it would’ve been better to die, than to sit in a room where this happens, where people who’ve never woke up to cold metal biting into their legs, and darkness assaulting them think it's funny. 

Her hands flew up to her ears. She bent forward in her seat, pressing her palms against her head as if she could crush the sound of the bids rising out of her skull. 

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered, hoarse and broken. “God, I'm so sorry.” 

She squeezed harder, nails biting into her scalp, shuddering slightly in the padded chair. 

Isabel’s hand clamped down on her shoulder like iron. “Ines,” she said, low and sharp. “Stop it. Now.” 

Ines hunched lower, breaths coming in ragged gasps, her fingers still digging into her scalp. 

Isabel’s grip didn't loosen; it shifted. Her hand slid from Ines’s shoulder to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair with surprising gentleness. With firm but unhurried pressure, she guided Ines’s face sideways, pressing it against the crisp lapel of her suit jacket, right above the steady beat of her own heart. The fabric smelled faintly of sandalwood and vanilla.  

She pressed a kiss to Ines’s temple, lingering, possessive. “Breathe. For me.” 

Isabel’s lips brushed her ear again, softer this time. “Close your eyes,” she murmured. “Focus on my heartbeat.” 

Ines obeyed, squeezing her eyes shut. The thunder of applause dissolved into the steady rhythm beneath Isabel’s ribs. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Slow. Unhurried. Ines’s frantic breathing began to sync with it, each exhale loosening the knot in her chest. Isabel’s hand slid down to clasp hers, fingers interlacing, grounding. 

Isabel hummed low in her throat, a vibration against Ines’s skin. “Good,” she breathed. “Now stay here. With me.” Her other hand smoothed damp hair from Ines’s forehead, tucking her impossibly closer. The horror of the stage seemed to shrink, muted by the cage of Isabel’s arms. For a suspended moment, there was only the dark silk, the steady pulse, and the whisper against her hair: “Just like this. You're being a very good girl for me.”  

Her fingers traced delicate circles on the nape of Ines’s neck, a counterpoint to the distant drone of bidding. The touch was firm, possessive, yet undeniably soothing, anchoring Ines deeper against her. “That’s right,” Isabel murmured, her lips grazing the shell of Ines’s ear. “Forget them. Forget everything except my hand on your neck and my voice in your ear. This is where you belong.” The world beyond Isabel’s embrace dissolved into a meaningless hum. 

“Just focus on breathing with me. In... and out. That’s it.” 

A ripple of applause signaled another lot sold, but Isabel only tightened her hold, her cheek resting atop Ines’s head. “Perfect,” she whispered, the word a private promise against her hair. 

“You’re doing perfectly.” The scent of her, the rhythm of her heart, the possessive cradle of her hands – it built a fragile, temporary sanctuary, and unexpected comfort against the obscenity unfolding mere yards away. 

The pounding of applause and the auctioneer’s bark blurred together into a drone, time moving strangely in Isabel’s arms. Ines didn’t know how many minutes had passed, only every shout of ‘sold’ from the auctioneer marking another life being sold. 

Isabel’s grip on her head loosened only enough for Ines to be able to angle her head to the nearest screen.  

The camera panned over seven women in a shipping container. Their wrists were bound, their expressions slack with exhaustion, eyes glassy with the weight of too many nights awake. 

The lens caught every angle of them, invasive and clinical as the bidding began. 

Isabel raised her paddle without hesitation; her other arm tightened around Ines’s waist. She leaned in, voice pitched low in a poisonous lullaby. “I'll buy this one...to save them. If I don’t, they’ll be scattered into brothels.” 

Ines’s stomach lurched at the word brothel. 

“With me, at least, slave labor is better than sexual slavery. They'll be safer...” Isabel murmured as if it were comforting. 

The numbers climbed. Isabel countered each with calm, every lift of her paddle making the room go momentarily silent. 

“Sold! For twenty-four thousand.” The auctioneer stated, declaring Isabel the winner of said lot of women, polite applause rained down, but Ines saw Mistress’s mother out of the corner of her eye shake her head. 

Isabel smiled anyway, turning to press a kiss against the top of Ines’s head. “Seven lives spared,” she whispered. “All in a day's work.”  

All in a day’s work... 

Like she was a superhero saving a cat from a tree. And not literally buying another living person. 

Ines stared at the black screen long after it went dark, the outline of the seven women seared into her vision. 

She knew Isabel was manipulating her. Of course she did. Every word was a trap, twisting a horror story into making herself sound like the merciful hero. ‘Saving them’ was a lie. Saving them was buying them and letting them go. 

Saving them was calling the authorities and getting this entire thing busted. 

And yet. 

The alternative Isabel laid out...faceless men, brothels, clubs, bodies being used and discarded burned in Ines’s imagination, vivid and ugly. Compared to that, wasn’t Isabel...better? 

Wasn't it better to be a slave...than a sex slave? 

Ines’s throat tightened, the nausea rising again. Her rational mind screamed no, screamed that there was no ‘better’ in this, no safety in sleeping in cages and having your tongue cut out. 

No lesser of two evils. 

But her body betrayed her, leaning into Isabel’s warmth, clinging to the only shred of comfort she had left in the world. 

The auction rolled on in relentless rhythm, lot after lot flashing across the screens, jewels, contraband, more human lives parceled into numbers. Ines sat rigid, her glass of water untouched, each lot sold ringing like a nail being hammered in her skull. 

At last, the lot sold. The lights brightened, the crowd stirred. The spell of the auction broke, replaced by the low hum of conversation as men and women gathered in loose knots, murmuring over deals struck and fortunes spent. 

It was finally over; a strange sense of relief slid over Ines. 

Isabel rose smoothly, threading her fingers through Ines’s and pulling her up with her. Her grip was firm, guiding rather than inviting, her palm warm against Ines’s clammy one. 

The air in the main hall felt lighter, though the scent of expensive perfume and cigars clung as thick as ever. Clusters of guests lingered beneath the chandeliers, voices pitched low with the satisfaction of business concluded. 

Others drifted towards the exits, their footsteps echoing against marble as chauffeurs prepared to drive them off into the night. 

Ahead of them, Isabel’s mother and brother were already slipping toward their own waiting car, their figures vanishing behind dark doors and tinted windows. 

The cool, bright air hit Ines like a plunge into the ocean. The cicadas sang, loud and unbothered, as if nothing foul had just transpired behind these heavy doors. She shivered, the fine fabric of her dress doing little in way of protection from the chill.  

Without hesitation, Isabel unfastened her jacket and draped it over Ines’s shoulders, smoothing it into place. 

“There,” she said, grabbing her hand once more. “Don’t want you getting sick.”  

Ines blinked at her... was this really the same woman who had choked her earlier today for daring to ask where they were going? Was whatever being in that briefcase so good that it changed her mood?  

Without letting go of her hand, Isabel guided her toward the sleek black car waiting at the curb. She opened the door with her free hand, never once breaking their link, and helped Ines inside. 

The door shut behind them with a solid thud. Her heel knocked the silver-edged briefcase from earlier as she sat. 

She didn’t have time to ask about it before Isabel tugged her fully onto her lap, settling her there like she belonged there. Ines stiffened, but Isabel’s arm circled her waist. 

“You were good tonight,” Isabel murmured, her lips brushing Ines’s temple. “Yeah, you had your blip, but you stayed quiet, stayed obedient.” Her voice softened into something almost indulgent. “You’ve made me proud.” 

She tipped Ines’s chin upward with a single finger, Isabel’s lips brushed hers, slow and deliberate. “Very proud.” The kiss deepened, swallowing the tremor in Ines’s breath. 

The car eased forward, the headlights sweeping across the gravel drive, the smell of Mistress’s jacket heavy around her shoulders. 

The night passed in silence after that. The family's return flight was uneventful, no words spoken in the helicopter's cabin, like any single word would’ve torn apart their fragile peace.  

The helicopter touched down on the estate’s roof with a bone-shaking thrum, rotors whipping the chilly night air. Ines’s head was still swimming from the evening's events. 

The door slid open. Alya was already waiting at the edge of the helipad, ash-blonde hair pinned back neatly, face unreadable in the floodlights. 

She stepped forward the moment Ines climbed out, inclining her head before offering her a hand.  

Isabel snatched Ines before she could take it, however, dragging her into a brief embrace first, pulling her close, and planting a kiss on Ines’s forehead. “Goodnight, my darling. Rest well.”  

Then she let go, the release as deliberate as the hold had been. Alya fell into step beside Ines, a gentle but firm guide as they crossed the roof and descended the stairwell. 

“How was the event, Young Mistress?” Alya asked, her voice soft in the quiet night. 

Ines groaned, massaging her temples. “Stressful… Could you rub my feet again later? My feet are killing me.” 

“Of course, young Mistress,” Alya replied smoothly, her tone polite but patient. 

Ines smirked despite herself. “Keep saying yes, and I’ll start thinking you have a foot fetish.” 

Alya tilted her head slightly, suppressing the faintest of smiles. "I only live to serve, Young Mistress.” Said with a heavy amount of sarcasm.  

The banter carried them down the winding corridors, a temporary shield from the heaviness of the evening. Ines’s pulse began to slow, the warmth of human contact grounding her, though the thrill of tension from earlier still lingered. 

Finally, they reached Ines’s room. Alya pushed open the door to her room and stepped aside... 

And Ines froze. 

Seated inside, poised in a high-backed chair as though she had been waiting all night, was Isabel’s mother. Her posture was immaculate; her hands folded over a cane that did not seem to need supporting her. Her gaze lifted slowly, fixing on Ines with a cool weight that made the air in the room thin. 

The door clicked shut behind them. 

The moment the door clicked shut, Isabel’s mother’s sharp command cut through the silence. 

“Leave us,” Isabel’s mother said without so much as a glance toward Alya. 

Alya’s eyes flickered to Ines, a flash of worry breaking her usual composure. She lingered, waiting for Ines’s word. Ines hesitated, fear prickling up her spine at the thought of being left alone in the room. But slowly, she gave a small nod. “Go.” 

She was really hoping Isabel was right about the whole ‘She won’t kill a guest in her home thing.’ 

Alya inclined her head, though her eyes lingered on Ines with quiet reluctance. The door closed behind her with a soft click. The silence afterward was suffocating, pressing against Ines’s ears harder than the night air ever had. 

Isabel’s mother didn’t rise. She sat perfectly still, cane resting across her lap, gaze fixed on Ines with cold precision. “I tire of this farce,” she said, her voice low and measured, every word like a chisel on stone. “Isabel parading you through my world, daring to embarrass me, to humiliate my family. To taunt me with your very existence.” 

Ines bristled, her voice unsteady but sharp. “Nobody was embarrassed. Nobody said a word to me about it.” 

A humorless scoff escaped her. “Do you truly mistake silence for acceptance? They bit their tongues out of fear, not approval. You are not that naïve.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “You play your little role, ‘Ines,’ but we both know that is not your name.” 

The blood drained from Ines’s face. Her stomach hollowed, breath catching in her throat. “How the hell do you know that?” 

For the first time, the older woman allowed a sliver of amusement to touch her lips. Not warmth, mockery. She reached to the side table, plucked up a pen and a scrap of paper, and began to write with deliberate care. Each stroke of the pen sounded too loud in the silence. 

“This,” she said, sliding the folded note across the table toward Ines, “is a code. The code to a safe in Isabel’s room. She thinks I don’t know it. She thinks I don’t know why you are here. But a mother always knows.” 

Ines’s throat burned as she edged closer, hand trembling as she took the note. “Why… why are you giving me this?” 

“Because,” Isabel’s mother said, eyes never leaving hers, “when you open that safe and see what waits for you, you will come back to me. Begging for death.” 

Ines’s breath hitched. Her fingers shook as she unfolded the scrap. 

The letters and numbers leapt out at her. 

Her heart stopped cold. 

She'd seen this code before. 

‘Evergre33n.’ 

Chapter Text

‘Evergre33n’  

The code stared back at her impossibly. A million questions reverberated around inside her skull. 

How? 

How on earth did Rose know the code to a safe in Mistress’s bedroom?  

Do they know each other?  

Are they working together?  

Or does Rose know Mistress’s mother? And she told her the code? 

It was making her head spin. Even Rose was somehow connected to this damned game being played with her.  

The note trembled between her fingers. 

How? 

Her thoughts were splintering in a thousand directions. Nothing fit. Nothing made sense. Her stomach churned. If Rose knew the code to the safe, didn’t that mean she knew what was inside it?  

A sharp snap of fingers jolted her back, the sound slicing through her trance. Isabel’s mother leaned forward, tapping her cane impatiently. “Stop staring at it like some fool. Go, now. To Isabel’s room, I have a maid waiting in the hall to take you.”  

Her mother clearly had no idea about why the note had shaken her so much. But she couldn’t wonder about Rose’s involvement in this forever. 

“You think she’ll just let me in her room? Into her safe?”  

The older woman’s mouth curved in a cold, humorless smile. “Isabel will be in the shower. After an event with men kissing her cheeks and shaking her hand, she likes to bathe like she’s been exposed to the plague. You'll have time.” 

The maid Mistress’s mother had waiting for her didn’t speak to her the entire way to the room, just the clack of her heels and the occasional look over her shoulder at her, like she was making sure Ines was still following. 

And then she slipped away without a word, leaving Ines standing at the threshold. She stepped inside, pulse pounding. 

The bedroom was vast, suffocating almost in its size. A four-post bed sat perfectly made, the red quilt tucked so tightly it looked almost military. Opposite it, a wide desk stretched beneath a window, its surface immaculate except for a leather notebook and a single pen. 

To the right, a pair of dark oak doors sat closed. Ines wasn’t going to open them if she didn’t need to; making as little noise as possible seemed best, as to the left, she saw another door, slightly ajar, and could hear the faint hiss of steam and running water. 

Mounted above the vanity was a single guitar, black, gleaming under the chandelier's glow, displayed more like something ceremonial than something she played. 

Either way, Ines was happy she hadn’t told her she played a little. 

This room was...odd. 

This was the room of Isabel’s childhood? Where she spent her formative years, and yet, there was almost nothing personal in view, no pictures of friends, family, Ines understood that rich children probably didn’t hang up movie posters and band merch...she just expected it to look a little less clinical. 

Ines took her heels off at the door. If she could hear the shower from here, Isabel would probably hear her heels against her floor.  

Ines’s eyes darted around frantically, pulse pounding so hard she thought it might give her away, every step felt like walking on nails.  

Mistress’s mother had said in the safe was proof Isabel’s heart belongs to another...that she didn’t really care for Ines at all. It weighed on her. 

What on earth would she do if it were true? 

What could she do? 

As much as she loved Isabel, she was still very much here against her will. 

Her stomach flipped as her gaze swept over the desk. Something about it tugged at her. Slowly, carefully, she crouched, palms damp against the hardwood flooring. And there, tucked into the back shadows beneath the desk, a square of black matte steel. Seamless, heavy. 

The safe. 

The sight of it made her mouth go dry. A part of her hoped it was fake, that Isabel’s mother had lied to her. Dread and curiosity slammed into her all at once. Whatever was inside Isabel had hidden it for a reason. 

But now she knew the code. She typed it in with trembling fingers. 

The lock clipped open, a faint hiss of pressurized air escaping as the seal broke. Ines braced herself, pulse roaring in her ear. She expected neat stacks of cash, bricks of cocaine, maybe the gleam of a handgun tucked away for emergencies. Something befitting the daughter of a crime dynasty. 

But inside, there was only a single book. 

Why hide this?  

Square, blue, dust covering it faintly. 

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she reached in and lifted it free. The weight was...strange; it was incredibly light. She brushed her hand faintly over the cover, knocking dust free. It read: 

“St. Maria’s Private Catholic Academy.”  

A yearbook? 

Her hands trembling, she cracked it open. The pages rasped beneath her finger, brittle with age. But so many were...gone. Entire sections were torn out, leaving jagged bits of paper where pictures and pages had once been. Every student's photo and every group shot had been cut out. 

Her hands shook harder as she flipped.  

Empty 
Empty 
Empty 
Empty. 

Only their names and quotes below remained. 

Then she turned to the next page... 

And she saw it. 

A single face left. 

And everything came crashing down.  

Her pulse spiked, an audible gasp leaving her lips. “No. No, no, NO!” 

It was her... 

No, not her. 

The photo was of a young woman with curly dark hair going down to her neck, olive-toned skin, green eyes, and even an identical tiny beauty mark under her left eye.  

The woman in the photo was the spitting image of her. They looked so much alike that people would probably ask if they were twins if they stood side by side. 

Her eyes dropped to the name. 

Inés Zapata-Cardona. 

The room spun. 

Her hand froze over the photograph. Ines’s stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat, she forced to stay down. She couldn’t breathe. Her mind screamed, but no words would form. 

It wasn’t her, it couldn’t have been, the yearbook was dated 2002, the year she was born...it couldn’t be her.  

Her hands shook so violently she nearly dropped the book to the floor. The eyes, the hair, even the damned beauty mark. It was like looking in the mirror. 

It was a lie.  

All of it.  

The warmth, the touches, the whispered reassurances. It had all been about her; she had believed Isabel’s lies hook, line, and sinker. She gave Isabel everything. 

Her love. 

Her obedience. 

Her body... 

And it was all a lie. 

She was nothing but a stand-in. She was not wanted; she was tolerated, trained, molded to fit a life that belonged to somebody else.  

‘I do love you, Ines, but I love you in your place.’ 

The thought clawed in her chest, everything she had hoped for, every shred of intimacy she had let herself feel, had been truly directed at a phantom. The love she thought was hers to receive, the devotion she had believed in, Isabel’s heart was not for her.  

It never had been. 

Tears slipped freely down her cheek. This wasn’t just betrayal; it was heartbreak, it was erasure. Mistress had stolen her identity from her, made her associate Dani with murder, and promised her a new slate clean as ‘Ines.’  

‘Ines’ wasn’t a clean slate at all. It was Isabel’s fantasy.  

She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to tear the book apart, to tear Isabel apart.  

She wanted to die. 

This was all for nothing.  

She wanted to move, to go back to Isabel’s mother and accept death, but it was as if the realization tethered her in place, nailed her to the floor, making her a statue in her own horror. 

But under the overwhelming despair, and the fast-approaching emptiness, was fury, a boiling rage. She had been used, and that realization burned through her veins like lava. 

She shook violently as she clutched the yearbook to her chest, tears burning in her eyes, cheeks stained with tears. Rage had replaced the panic coiling in her gut, setting every nerve ablaze. 

She didn’t even register the faint sound of the water stopping. 

“What the fuck?” A low voice cut through the silence. “How the hell did you get...” 

She whirled around. 

Isabel stood in the doorway, a white bathrobe loosely tied at her waist, damp hair clinging to her neck, eyes wide with shock. 

“You...bitch!” Ines choked on her own words, the fury in her voice rising. “You fucking bitch!”  

Before she could think better of it, she hurled the yearbook straight at her. It hit Isabel straight in the chest with a heavy thump. 

Isabel staggered back, hands instinctively moving to catch it, then pivoted toward a nearby drawer. Her expression was a first for her. 

Panic. 

Isabel had panic in her eyes as she slid the drawer open. 

Ines’s stomach dropped. Her eyes followed the movement; they both knew what she was reaching for. 

The faint gleam of the shock collar's remote.  

Ines didn't hesitate. Fury burned through paralysis. She lunged, not at the drawer, but at Isabel herself. Her bare feet slapped against the cold hardwood as she launched her entire weight onto Isabel's back, fingers clawing at the damp robe, teeth sinking deep into the taut muscle where shoulder met neck. Copper flooded her mouth, warm, metallic, tangy. Isabel screamed, a raw, guttural sound that vibrated through Ines's jawbone. 

They crashed backward into the vanity. Glass shattered, perfume bottles exploding in a cloud of sharp citrus and jasmine. 

Isabel bucked violently, trying to dislodge her, but Ines clung like a wildcat, nails raking down her spine. The yearbook lay forgotten on the floor, pages splayed open beside Isabel’s discarded towel. Fingers scrabbled against polished wood; Isabel’s hand closed around a heavy crystal vase just as Ines reared back, gasping for breath, spitting blood onto the ivory rug. 

Isabel swung blindly. The vase clipped Ines’s temple, a white-hot burst of pain that blurred her vision. Stars danced behind her eyelids. She stumbled, tasting blood, but momentum carried her forward. They grappled, stumbling over shards of glass, breath ragged. Isabel’s robe tore open. Ines saw the drawer gaping inches away, the remote glinting inside. She made a desperate lunge, fingers outstretched. 

Isabel’s fist caught her jaw. Bone jarred. Teeth clacked. The world tilted sideways. Ines hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Above her, Isabel stood panting, blood dripping down her neck, eyes blazing with fury and something else, desperation. Her hand closed around the remote. 

Ines scrambled backward, glass biting into her palms. “Don’t—” Too slow. Isabel lunged. The cold metal pressed against Ines’s throat. The button clicked. 

A low hum vibrated through her skin. Then, agony. White-hot lightning seared her nerves. Every muscle locked rigid.  

She couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe. Her vision tunneled. The scent of shattered perfume and Isabel’s damp skin blurred into static. Her body arched off the floor, trembling violently, as if her skeleton fought to escape her flesh.  

Isabel held it there. Seconds stretched into eternity. The voltage intensified, a relentless, buzzing fire consuming thought, consuming breath. Ines tasted copper, smelled ozone. Her limbs twitched uncontrollably. Darkness crept in at the edges. A final, silent plea formed in her mind: 

Let go.  

Then nothing. Her body went limp. Consciousness fled like water down a drain. The last thing she registered was the cold hardwood against her cheek, Isabel’s ragged breathing above her, and the distant, mocking gleam of the yearbook’s torn pages. 

Cold shocked her awake. Water streamed over her face, plastering her hair to her temples, dripping into her nose and mouth.  

She choked, coughing violently, eyes flying open. Blurred shapes revolved in the ornate canopy above Isabel’s four-poster bed.  

Her wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the bedposts with rough rope, the fibers biting into her skin. Isabel stood beside her, holding an empty glass, expression unreadable. The scent of damp skin and shattered perfume bottles hung thick in the air. 

For a moment, they stared at one another, neither speaking. Isabel had done herself the kindness of patching herself up, a large bandage covering the wound on her neck. Her bathrobe was stained dark with blood and water.  

Ines had not received any such kindness. She could feel the dried blood at her temple, hair sticking to the side of her face. 

She set the glass down with a sharp click on the nightstand, beside the shock collar remote. Ines strained against the ropes, testing their strength. Hopeless. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain radiating from her temple and jaw. 

"Untie me," Ines hissed, the words raw and scraping. "Right fucking now, Isabel." Her gaze locked onto the remote, then snapped back to Isabel's face. "Let me go. I swear to god, if you touch that thing again..." 

Isabel leaned closer, her voice low and dangerous, cutting through the dripping water sounds. "Or what? You'll bite me again? Try to claw my eyes out?" A humorless smile touched her lips. "Look at you. Bound. Bleeding. What exactly is your leverage here?" 

"Let me GO!" Ines screamed, arching off the bed, the ropes sawing deeper into her skin. As Isabel stepped closer. 

"Fuck off! Get away from me! You lying, manipulative bitch! You used me! I was just... I was just her!" Tears mixed with the water on her face, hot and furious. "Everything you said, everything you did... it was for her!" 

Isabel's expression tightened, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before it hardened. She picked up the remote, her thumb hovering over the button. “That’s where you’re wrong, so...so wrong.”  

Ines scoffed. “Don’t you fucking dare.”  

Isabel’s thumb didn’t move from the remote. She sat on the edge of the bed, sickeningly close. Her voice was low, strained. 

“Yes, you look like her, but I love the two of you very differently. She was a firecracker. It's cliché, but she walked into the room, and it became brighter because she was in it. She was my best friend...my first love.” 

“THEN KIDNAP HER! SEND ME BACK TO MY FAMILY.” 

Isabel flinched as if struck. “She’s dead. God rest her soul.” The words fell flat, heavy. “She was taken from me. Stolen! Twenty-three years ago!” Isabel took a deep breath; Ines had never really seen her lose her composure like this before. 

Isabel collected herself, then said: “I figure it’s time I told you how it happened.” 

TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO

“Isabel...Isabel... Wake up, Izzy. If you don’t wake up, I'm gonna tell everyone your nickname from when we were kids. Bel-bel.”  

Isabel groaned, wanting to bury her head deeper into her desk, but instead her hands shot up to cover Ines's mouth, looking around to make sure no one else in the classroom heard her whisper that. "We were seven!" 

Ines grinned, pulling Isabel's hands away. Her eyes sparkled under the fluorescent classroom lights. "And you still blush when I call you Bel-bel. Come on, we're late for chemistry." 

Isabel’s breath hitched as Ines grabbed her hand, fingers threading through hers with casual familiarity. They wove through crowded hallways, past lockers plastered with band stickers and faded saints’ icons.  

Isabel memorized the warmth of Ines’s palm, the callus on her thumb from guitar strings, the way her curls bounced with each step. She wanted to freeze time, to live forever in this ordinary moment charged with everything unsaid. 

But just beneath the surface, it always felt...wrong. Ines wasn't holding her hand because she loved Isabel back. Their love was different. Isabel's love was... wrong. 

Ines's love was the simple, fierce loyalty of childhood friends who’d survived everything together, Ines’s father’s cold silences, Isabel’s mother’s sharp criticisms, the suffocating rules of St. Maria’s.  

Isabel squeezed Ines’s hand tighter, pretending for a stolen second that it meant more, that the flush creeping up her neck wasn’t just from rushing. Ines glanced back, her brow furrowed. "You okay, Bel-bel? You're gripping me like I'm about to vanish." 

The corridor echoed with distant footsteps and laughter. Isabel forced a smile, loosening her hold but not letting go. "Just thinking about... about after graduation." Her voice sounded brittle even to herself. 

Ines laughed, a bright, easy sound that made Isabel's chest ache. "Still stressing about your parents sending you to study in America?"

She tugged Isabel forward. "Relax, Bel-bel. We'll figure it out. I’ll email you every day." Her grin widened. "Can't be worse than smuggling tequila into Sister Agatha's choir practice." 

Isabel swallowed hard, her thumb tracing the scar on Ines's knuckle from a long-ago playground fall. The contact sent a jolt through her. Tell her, screamed a voice inside her head. Tell her before it’s too late. But the words lodged in her throat, thick and useless. Ines’s eyes held only warm, uncomplicated friendship. 

"Hey, Zapata!" A deep voice cut through the corridor chatter. Mateo leaned against the lockers ahead, grinning, effortlessly charming in his crisp uniform. "Graduation dance is next Friday. Still haven't found a date?" His gaze slid past Isabel as if she were invisible, locking onto Ines. 

"Save me a dance?" 

Ines squeezed Isabel’s hand, a silent anchor. "Maybe," she called back, her tone light but noncommittal. "Depends on whether Isabel here lets me out of studying!" She winked at Isabel, pulling her onward before Mateo could reply. The warmth of her palm, the casual intimacy of their linked fingers, it was pure torture. 

Isabel’s heart hammered against her ribs. She watched Ines’s profile, the curve of her smile, the way her green eyes crinkled at the corners when she teased. Every shared laugh, every brush of shoulders in the crowded hall, felt like a stolen jewel Isabel hoarded in secret.  

She memorized the scent of Ines’s perfume, vanilla and fake strawberry, and the rhythm of her breathing beside her. 

Mateo’s interruption faded as they rounded the corner. Ines’s fingers stayed tangled with hers, warm and steady. "Ignore him," Ines murmured, her thumb tracing idle circles on Isabel’s knuckle. "He’s just jealous you’re taller than he is." Isabel swallowed hard. If only Ines knew that this touch wasn’t comforting at all. 

Chemistry dragged. Isabel’s notebook filled with equations she’d already solved and sketches of Ines’s profile, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the way sunlight caught gold in her dark curls when she leaned toward the window. Every shared whisper about Sister Agatha’s terrible wig, every accidental brush of arms against the lab bench, tightened the knot in Isabel’s chest. By lunch, the unsaid words choked her. 

She watched Ines laughing with a group near the fountain, sunlight glinting off the rosary on her wrist. Tell her, the voice hissed again. Before graduation steals this chance. Before you’re sent away. 

The final bell’s shrill ring jolted Isabel from her daze. Students flooded the corridors, a river of navy blazers and chatter about weekend plans. Ines appeared instantly, slinging her bag over one shoulder. "Race you to the gates?" she challenged, eyes bright. 

Isabel’s pulse hammered. Now. Do it now. "Wait," she blurted, fingers catching Ines’s wrist. The contact sent sparks up her arm. "Come with me first. Upstairs. To the roof." 

Ines tilted her head, a playful frown forming. "The roof? Bel-bel, Sister Agatha will skin us alive if we get caught." 

"I don't care," Isabel whispered, the words thick with a desperation she couldn't hide. She pulled Ines towards the narrow, forbidden staircase tucked behind the janitor's closet, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Dust motes danced in the slanted afternoon light filtering through the grimy window as they climbed, the muffled chaos of departing students fading below.  

Each step echoed Isabel’s mounting terror and hope. 

The rooftop air hit them, crisp and smelling of distant rain and city exhaust. Below, Bogotá sprawled in hazy layers, mountains framing the horizon. Isabel gripped the railing, knuckles white, unable to meet Ines’s curious gaze. 

The silence stretched, filled only by the distant honking of traffic and the frantic drumming of Isabel’s pulse in her ears. Say it, she screamed inside her own skull. Say it now or choke on it forever. 

Ines leaned against the railing beside her, shoulder brushing Isabel’s arm. "Okay, Bel-bel," she murmured, her voice softer than usual, tinged with concern. "Spill. What's got us climbing forbidden staircases?" 

Isabel turned. The late afternoon sun caught the gold flecks in Ines’s green eyes, turning them luminous. Her throat tightened. Words she’d rehearsed dissolved. Ines had always been the most beautiful woman in the world. 

 "I... I need to tell you something," she stammered, voice barely above the city’s hum. "Something important. Before... before everything changes." 

Ines tilted her head, a stray curl escaping her ponytail. "Changes? Bel-bel, graduation’s weeks away. We’ve got time." She nudged Isabel’s shoulder gently. "You’re worrying me. What is it?" 

Isabel’s breath hitched. The words felt like shards of glass in her throat. "It’s about... us." She forced her gaze upward, locking onto Ines’s puzzled expression. 

"How I feel." Her knuckles whitened on the railing. "I’m...I’m in love with you, Ines. Not like a friend. Like... forever." The confession hung raw in the air, stripped bare. 

Ines froze. Her playful smile vanished, replaced by stunned silence. The distant city sounds faded into a dull roar. Isabel watched her eyes widen, not with joy, but disbelief. 

Then confusion. Then a slow, dawning horror. "Bel-bel," she whispered, voice trembling. "That’s... impossible. We’re best friends. Sisters." She took a step back, shaking her head. "You can’t mean that." 

Isabel’s heart shattered. The rejection wasn’t just spoken; it radiated from Ines’s entire posture, the stiff shoulders, the hand gripping the railing like a shield. "It’s not impossible," Isabel choked out, desperation clawing at her throat. "It’s real. Every day, every laugh, every time you touch me—" 

Ines recoiled as if burned. "Don’t," she whispered, her voice thick with revulsion. "We’re both women, Isabel. It’s... unnatural. It's sin." The words landed like physical blows. "God sees us. He sees this. How could you?" Her eyes darted toward the chapel spire piercing the skyline, a silent accusation. 

Isabel flinched, the familiar weight of shame crashing down. She’d spent nights whispering prayers until her throat was raw, begging forgiveness for desires she couldn’t extinguish. "Sin?" Her voice cracked. "Is wanting to hold your hand sin? Is memorizing your laugh sin?" 

She gestured wildly toward the city below, the sprawling chaos of Bogotá. "What about the dealers on the corner? The politicians stealing millions? That’s sin! This..." Her hand trembled as she pointed between them. "...this feels like the only true thing." 

Ines stared, her knuckles white on the railing. The revulsion in her eyes hardened into something colder, sharper. "True?" she spat. "It’s perversion." She took another step back, putting distance between them, her gaze flicking toward the stairwell door. "I need to go." 

Isabel lunged, fingers closing around Ines’s wrist. "Don’t walk away! Please!" The touch was electric, desperate. "Just listen—" 

Ines yanked her arm back as if scalded. "Don’t touch me!" Her voice cracked, sharp as shattered glass. 

"You think this is love? It’s sickness. Filth!" She backed toward the stairwell, eyes wide with terror now, not just revulsion. "You need help, Isabel. Come speak to Sister Freida with me...she can help you." 

Isabel froze, the plea dying on her lips. The word "filth" echoed louder than the distant traffic, louder than her own ragged breathing. 

She watched Ines stumble down the stairs, vanishing into the shadowed corridor below. The rooftop air turned icy, biting through her uniform blouse. Her knees buckled. She sank onto the rough concrete, fingers digging into the rusted railing until flakes of paint embedded under her nails. Below, Bogotá blurred into streaks of grey and green. The chapel bell tolled five times. Each chime hammered the word into her bones: 

Sinner. 
Sinner. 
Sinner. 

She didn't remember descending. The corridors were empty now, hollowed out by dismissal bells. Her footsteps echoed like gunshots in the silence. Near the chemistry lab, Sister Freida’s office door stood slightly ajar.  

Isabel saw Ines inside, shoulders hunched, hands gesturing wildly. Sister Freida’s face was a mask of pious concern. Isabel pressed herself flat against the cold tile wall, breath catching. She heard fragments, "...unnatural desires...danger to herself..." Each phrase a knife twist.  

When Ines finally emerged, she didn’t glance left or right. She walked straight past Isabel’s hiding spot, eyes fixed ahead, jaw clenched like stone. 

Isabel waited until the footsteps faded completely. Then she pushed Sister Freida’s door open wider. The nun looked up, her expression shifting from mild surprise to practiced sympathy. "Isabel? Come in, child. We were just speaking of..." 

Isabel cut her off, her voice unnervingly calm. "I know what she told you." 

Sister Freida folded her hands primly. "It takes courage to confront sin. Ines showed great strength. Now, let us pray for your soul's healing..."  

Isabel didn't move. "Where is she going?"  

Sister Freida sighed. "Home, child. To her family. Where she can be safe from... temptation." 

The nun leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Your father’s donations built the new library wing. Your mother sits on the Board. We cannot expel you, Ms. Pombo. This... incident... will vanish." She paused, her eyes sharp. "But you will not return to St. Maria’s. Not until graduation. Consider it a mercy." 

Isabel stared, the words landing like stones. Her family’s wealth and influence were a shield she’d never wielded, until now. It wasn’t mercy; it was exile wrapped in velvet. Sister Freida’s gaze softened, but only slightly. "Go home, child. Pray for guidance. And forget Ines Zapata-Cardona." The name hung in the air, a final nail. 

The drive home felt like a funeral procession. Isabel sat rigid in the back of the Mercedes, staring out at Bogotá’s twilight sprawl, the neon signs flickering on, the street vendors packing up, the mountains swallowed by dusk. Her knuckles were raw where she’d gripped the railing. 

She could still smell Ines’s perfume, still feel the phantom warmth of her hand pulling away. Forget? Impossible. The rejection was a physical ache, deeper than the sting of Sister Freida’s judgment. 

Her family’s penthouse loomed, a glass fortress above the city lights. Inside, the silence was suffocating. Her mother stood silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed. Her father sat stiffly in a leather armchair, fingers steepled under his chin.  

The air crackled with fury. "Disgusting," her mother spat, the word sharp as broken crystal. "Sister Freida called. You filthy little deviant." 

Isabel flinched, the rooftop rejection still raw. Her father rose slowly. "Enough, Elena," he said, his voice low but firm. "Our daughter is hurting." He stepped towards Isabel, his eyes searching hers, not with condemnation, but a weary sadness. "Tell us. What happened?" 

Her mother whirled on him, eyes blazing. "What happened? She confessed unnatural desires! For that Zapata girl! Sister Freida said she cornered her! Our reputation—" 

"Reputation?" Isabel's father cut in sharply, stepping between them. His voice remained calm, but his knuckles whitened where he gripped his daughter's shoulder.

"Isabel is our daughter, Elena. She's confused, hurting." He turned to Isabel, his gaze softening. "Talk to us. Tell us what truly happened." 

Isabel stared at the Persian rug beneath her feet, the intricate patterns blurring. "I... I told Ines how I felt," she whispered, the words scraping her throat raw. "On the roof... That I loved her. I didn’t corner anyone!” 

She flinched, anticipating her mother's recoil. "She called it unnatural. Filth. That I was a deviant and a pervert. She went straight to Sister Freida." The confession hung heavy, suffocating. "Freida said I can't come back until graduation. That it'll vanish. Because of your donations." 

Her mother’s face contorted, a mask of pure revulsion. "Filth?" she hissed, stepping closer, her designer perfume cloying and sharp. "That gutter rat dared speak to my daughter like that? After everything we've given her family?" 

Her mother operated on the ‘I can say whatever I want to my child and about my child, but if you say anything negative about my child, you’re dead’ level. Especially from the likes of someone like Ines’s family, who had a fraction of the wealth and power that Isabel’s family had. 

Calling a Pombo ‘Filth’ Had consequences.  

 Her manicured hand shot out, not to strike, but to point imperiously towards the hallway. "Go to your room. NOW!” 

The command was glacial, leaving no room for defiance. Isabel obeyed, feet dragging on the marble floor, the echo of her mother's hissed words chasing her, "Filth? From that family?" 

The hallway stretched endlessly. Two butlers materialized silently near the grand staircase, bowing their heads as she passed, their expressions carefully blank. A maid polishing a silver vase froze mid-wipe, eyes darting away. Their deference felt suffocating, a cage of silent judgment.  

Behind her, muffled but sharp through the thick oak door of the study, her parents' voices rose and clashed. Her mother's fury was a scalpel: "...ungrateful Zapata trash! We elevate them, and this is their gratitude? Calling my daughter filth!"  

Her father's reply was lower, a rumbling counterpoint trying to douse the flames: "...child is hurting, Elena! Focus on Isabel, not vengeance... she needs us..."

The words blurred into an angry hum that vibrated in Isabel's bones long after she shut her heavy bedroom door, leaning against it as if barricading herself from the world. 

Hours bled into the twilight gloom. Isabel sat rigidly on the edge of her sterile bed, staring at the ornate patterns on the rug without seeing them. The rooftop rejection replayed in brutal clarity, Ines's horrified recoil, the word "filth," Sister Freida's condemnation.  

Each memory was a fresh lash. The silence of the room pressed in, amplifying the phantom echoes of her parents' argument downstairs.  

She traced the raw skin on her knuckles where the rooftop railing had bitten in. The world felt irrevocably broken. 

A soft knock startled her. The door creaked open, revealing her father holding a silver tray laden with steaming ajiaco soup and warm arepas. His face was etched with a profound weariness that softened the usual stern lines.  

He placed the tray on her desk, the scent of chicken and potatoes a stark contrast to the sterile air. "Eat," he murmured, pulling a chair close. His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. "Your mother... she speaks from fear, from generations of rigid tradition. But fear is not truth." He took her trembling hand gently. "Tell me. This love... for Ines. Does it feel like filth to you? In your heart?" 

Isabel stared at their joined hands, the warmth a lifeline. Tears blurred the ornate patterns on her rug. "No," she whispered, the word cracking open a dam. 

"It felt... like sunlight. Like breathing." She described the rooftop confession, the raw terror and hope, Ines's horrified recoil, the sting of "unnatural" and "perversion." Her father listened without interruption, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her knuckles.  

When she finished, trembling, he sighed deeply. "The Church calls it sin. Society calls it wrong. But love," he squeezed her hand firmly, "true love, Isabel, is never filth. It is a gift. A complicated, painful gift sometimes, but a gift nonetheless." 

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Someday, Princess, the sun will shine on you. Even here." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The Dutch already have legal gay marriage. Imagine that."  

The words hung in the air, impossibly radical, a glimpse of a world utterly alien to Bogotá's conservative Catholic reality. Isabel blinked, stunned. Hope, fragile and terrifying, flickered in her chest, momentarily eclipsing the crushing rejection. 

Her father stood, squeezing her shoulder. "Eat," he urged softly, gesturing to the cooling soup. "We'll navigate this storm together." He paused at the door, his expression hardening slightly. The door clicked shut, leaving Isabel alone with the scent of ajiaco and the unsettling weight of today's events. 

Against her better judgment and Sister Frieda’s instruction, she went to school the next day.  

The polished corridors of St. Maria’s felt like a minefield. Whispers followed her like ghosts, sharp, fragmented phrases slicing through the morning bustle: 

 "...Heard she confessed...Another woman..."  

 "...Disgusting..."  

Eyes darted away as she passed, conversations dying mid-sentence. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, spine rigid, clutching her books like a shield. The familiar scent of floor wax and incense now smelled like judgment. Every step towards her locker felt like walking through wet cement. 

She saw it from twenty paces away. A crowd had gathered, a low murmur buzzing around her locker like flies. They parted silently as she approached, revealing the vandalism. Crude, dripping letters in bright red spray paint screamed across the mint-green metal: 

DYKE CUNT 
FAGGOT 
REPENT SINNER 
 

The words felt alien, violent, a deliberate export of hatred meant to humiliate. Someone had scratched out her nameplate beneath it. Laughter, sharp and nervous, cut through the silence from the back of the crowd. Her stomach clenched. The paint was still tacky, smelling acrid and chemical.  

It also meant one thing. 

Ines had told someone, maybe everyone.  

She didn’t know what she expected; in truth, she never planned for what would happen after she told Ines. The obvious hope was that she would declare her love back for Isabel, but she thought even if it went wrong...even if Ines went on to resent her, hate her, pity her... 

She thought she’d keep Isabel’s secret.  

She thought she’d earned that being best friends for over a decade, and yet Ines had reduced her to slurs on a metal locker.  

The hallway was loud. Too loud. Isabel’s stomach flipped, bile rising in her throat. She leaned against the lockers, face hot, hands shaking. 

“Didn’t think Isabel was that type.” 
“Guess we know why she’s been turning guys down for prom.” 
“Fucking dyke.” 

She gagged, swallowing it back, her vision blurring. 

A teacher walked by, glanced once, then turned away. The laughter kept going. 

Someone shoved her shoulder. Another stuck out a foot. She went down hard, her nose smashing against the tile. Pain shot through her skull. Blood poured instantly, hot and thick, down her lips and chin. 

The hallway exploded. Laughter. Whistles. Someone clapped. 

She pushed herself up, blood smeared across her face and uniform. Her chest heaved. 

And then the panic hit. 

Ines. 

She had to have told. There was no other way. 

Isabel shoved past the crowd, wiping the blood away, and ran. She needed to find Ines, now. 

Isabel tore through the halls, palm clamped to her nose, blood soaking through her fingers. The stares, the snickers, none of it mattered. She just needed to get to Ines, needed to look in Ines’s eyes and ask why she did this to her. 

She shoved the classroom door open, breath ragged, chest heaving. 

Ines was there, at her desk, back straight in her seat, curls falling past her ears. 

Isabel moved toward her, but two girls from their class, Carmilla and Sophia, rose from their desks and stood in her way. They planted themselves between Ines and Isabel like guards. 

“Leave her alone! Degenerate.”  

Isabel’s voice cracked. “Please. I just want to talk to Ines. Please, just move.” Her eyes darted past them, locking on Ines. Blood dripping steadily from her nose, down her chin. 

Ines turned, eyes going wide at the sight. For a heartbeat, Isabel swore she saw something flicker there. Shock, maybe guilt. But then Ines looked away. She didn’t move. 

She didn’t tell the girls to stand down. 

Isabel’s knees buckled. The betrayal cut deeper than the throbbing in her nose, deeper than the slurs on her locker. This silence was permission. This refusal to meet her gaze was the final twist of the knife. The classroom blurred, Carmilla’s sneer, Sophia’s crossed arms, the other students’ frozen stares, all dissolving into a smear of navy blazers and judgment. 

Ines had turned her back on her. 

She stumbled backward, colliding with the doorframe. Blood dripped onto her white collar, blooming crimson. A choked sob escaped her, raw and ugly.  

Then she ran. 

The polished hallways blurred past. Whispers chased her like hornets. She pushed through the heavy main doors, gulping humid Bogotá air thick with exhaust fumes and the scent of rain.  

Her eyes scanned the curb, empty. Her driver, Jorge, who was always punctual, was gone. Panic clawed at her throat. She couldn’t go back inside. Couldn’t breathe. She sank onto the concrete steps, shoulders shaking, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the salt of tears on her lips. 

Headlights sliced through the grey afternoon gloom. A sleek black Mercedes glided to a halt directly in front of the school steps. The tinted rear window lowered. Inside, her mother's perfectly composed face froze mid-sentence to Sister Freida beside her.  

Her gaze locked onto Isabel, crumpled, bloodied uniform, tear-streaked cheeks, the raw terror in her eyes. Her mother’s expression transformed instantly. Shock vanished, replaced by a volcanic fury that turned her aristocratic features to stone. Her manicured nails tightened like talons on the leather seat. 

The car door flew open before the driver could react. Her mother surged out, her designer heels clicking sharply on the pavement. She didn't run; she stalked towards Isabel, a predator zeroing in. Every step radiated controlled, incandescent rage. "Who?" She hissed, her voice dangerously low, cutting through the drizzle that had begun to mist the air.  

Her eyes, sharp as obsidian, scanned Isabel's ruined face, the crimson stain spreading across her blouse. "Who did this to you?" The question wasn't concern; it was a demand for a name, a target. Her fury wasn't directed at Isabel's vulnerability, but at the audacity of someone daring to assault her daughter. 

Isabel flinched, shrinking back against the cold stone step. Words choked her, the locker, the shove, the laughter, Ines's silence. All she managed was a ragged sob, pointing weakly back towards the imposing school doors.  

Elena’s gaze followed the gesture, landing squarely on Sister Freida, who had emerged from the car looking pale and flustered.  

The nun opened her mouth, perhaps to offer platitudes or explanations. Elena silenced her with a single, withering glare that promised consequences far beyond ecclesiastical concern. 

"I want the security footage, and the child that did it and their parents in my office within the hour," Elena commanded Sister Freida, her voice colder than the Bogotá drizzle soaking Isabel's shoulders.  

She didn't wait for a reply, turning instead to her daughter. Her fury softened momentarily into something fierce and protective as she gently lifted Isabel's chin, examining the broken nose.  

"Jorge!" The driver scrambled out. "Hospital. Now." She guided Isabel into the Mercedes's leather embrace, shielding her from the gawking students emerging from the school doors. 

Inside the sterile hospital room, Isabel drifted in a haze of painkillers. The doctor's words about a minor fracture and bruising blurred. Her mother's phone calls, sharp and clipped, echoed from the hallway: "Do something about this, Victor, or I will. And you will not like how many dead children are on the news tomorrow if I handle it."  

Isabel squeezed her eyes shut, the image of Ines turning away burning brighter than the fluorescent lights. The betrayal wasn't just public; it was intimate, a desecration of every shared secret, every whispered promise. 

Beside her, perched awkwardly on a hard plastic chair, sat Esmeralda. One of her mother's longest-serving maids, Esmeralda's round belly strained against her simple cotton dress, eight months heavy. 

She held Isabel's uninjured hand gently, her own rough-skinned fingers surprisingly warm.  

Isabel turned her head slowly, the movement tugging at her swollen nose. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken hospital dread. "Señorita?" Esmeralda murmured, her voice soft as worn linen. 

Isabel's gaze lingered on the pronounced curve of Esmeralda's stomach. The rhythmic kick of a tiny foot pressed against the fabric. "What," Isabel rasped, her voice thick from crying and medication, "were you thinking for a name?" The question felt absurd amidst the wreckage of her day, a desperate grasp at something normal, something hopeful. 

Esmeralda’s weathered face softened, a genuine smile touching her lips. She gently smoothed a hand over her belly. "Rosaria, Señorita Isabel," she murmured, the name carrying warmth. "After my grandmother. A strong woman." 

Isabel traced the stiff hospital blanket with her thumb, the painkillers dulling the ache in her nose but not the sting in her chest. "Rosaria," she repeated softly. The syllables felt solid, hopeful, a stark contrast to the ugly words still echoing in her mind. "It’s beautiful." 

Esmeralda’s smile widened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, Señorita Isabel. She kicks like a little donkey already." She guided Isabel’s hand gently to the swell of her belly. 

A firm thump vibrated against Isabel’s palm, a tiny, insistent pulse of life. The unexpected connection, the sheer normalcy of it, momentarily pierced the fog of betrayal and humiliation. Isabel’s breath hitched, not from pain this time, but from the raw, simple affirmation of existence beneath her fingers. 

The hospital door swung open abruptly. Her mother stood framed in the doorway, her expression a mask of glacial fury barely contained. Her eyes flickered to Esmeralda’s hand resting over Isabel’s, then dismissed the maid entirely.  

"Out," she commanded, her voice sharp as shattered crystal. Esmeralda withdrew instantly, bobbing a quick curtsey before slipping silently past Elena into the corridor. Isabel flinched, the fragile moment shattered. 

Her mother didn't approach the bed. She remained rigid near the door, her gaze sweeping over Isabel’s bandaged nose, the fading bruises beneath her eyes. "The Zapata girl," she stated, the name dripping with venom. "She orchestrated this. Spread the filth."  

Her manicured fingers tightened around her designer handbag strap. "Jorge is bringing the car around. We’re leaving." There was no room for discussion, no inquiry about pain. Only the cold efficiency of damage control. 

The ride home unfolded in suffocating silence. Rain streaked the tinted windows, turning Bogotá into a smudged watercolor of grey buildings and blurred taillights. Isabel pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the city bleed past. 

Each bump in the road sent a dull throb through her face, a physical echo of the day’s humiliation. Jorge met her eyes briefly in the rearview mirror, a flicker of sympathy quickly masked by professional detachment, before focusing back on the slick streets.  

The Mercedes glided through the imposing gates of the Pombo penthouse, its engine cutting out abruptly, leaving only the drumming rain on the roof. 

Her mother didn’t wait for Jorge to open her door. She slid out, barely glancing back as she strode towards the private elevator bank tucked discreetly beside the grand lobby entrance. "Rest," she commanded, her voice clipped, already pulling out her phone. "Do not leave your suite. We’ll discuss this… situation… later." 

The elevator doors swallowed her, leaving Isabel standing alone in the cavernous marble foyer, the scent of her mother's expensive perfume lingering like a threat. Jorge silently gestured towards the main elevator, his expression carefully neutral. 

Isabel rode up alone, the mirrored walls reflecting a bruised, hollow-eyed stranger in a stained school uniform. The penthouse was unnervingly quiet, the usual hum of staff activity conspicuously absent, likely banished by her mother's orders. 

She walked past the silent grandeur of the living room, past the closed door of her father’s study, past her brother’s vacant room, away on vacation in the Alps, and finally reached the sanctuary of her own suite.  

She locked the door behind her, leaning against it, the adrenaline finally draining away, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion and the throbbing ache in her face. 

She didn't bother with the lights. The city's twilight glow seeped through the tall windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the pristine white carpet. 

She peeled off the ruined blouse, sticky with dried blood, and dropped it like contaminated evidence. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She splashed cold water on her face in the ensuite bathroom, wincing as it stung the raw skin around her nose and the tender bruises beneath her eyes. The reflection in the mirror was worse now, swollen, discolored, a brutal map of the day’s violence. She avoided its gaze. 

Collapsing onto the silk sheets, she buried her face in the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of lavender laundry soap. The exhaustion was profound, a physical weight pinning her down. But beneath it, a cold, hard knot of resolve began to form.  

The locker graffiti, the shove, the laughter... they were public weapons. But Ines’s silence, her refusal to even look at her while Carmilla and Sophia stood guard? That was an intimate betrayal.  

It demanded an answer. Not in the hostile halls of St. Maria’s, surrounded by whispers and Sister Freida’s pious disapproval. No. Face-to-face. Alone. At Ines’s own home, where pretenses fell away. Tomorrow. Before dawn. She’d slip out before her mother stirred. She’d demand to know why Ines betrayed a decade of friendship. 

Sleep came fitfully, fractured by images of dripping red paint and Ines’s horrified face on the rooftop. She woke hours later to the deep indigo of pre-dawn, her nose throbbing dully beneath fresh bandages.  

Moving silently, she dressed in dark jeans and a simple black sweater, clothes meant for invisibility, not the Pombo image. She bypassed the penthouse elevator, opting for the rarely used service stairs, her footsteps echoing softly in the concrete shaft. The cool, damp air of the garage greeted her, smelling of oil and dust. Jorge’s usual spot was empty; her mother likely had him running errands related to her "situation."  

Perfect.  

She slid behind the wheel of her own small, unassuming Volkswagen, parked discreetly in the corner, a gift her father insisted upon for "independence," much to her mother's disdain. 

The city streets were eerily quiet as she navigated towards the Zapata-Cordona home, a world away from her family's gated towers. Dawn was just beginning to bleed pale grey light into the sky when she turned onto Ines’s Street.  

Rows of modest, single-story houses lined the block, their small gardens neat but unpretentious. She spotted Ines’s home instantly, not by memory alone, but by the stark, flashing blue and red lights painting the pale walls in pulsing strokes.  

Two police cars were parked haphazardly in the narrow street, blocking the driveway. Her Volkswagen crawled to a halt half a block away, engine idling softly. 

Isabel killed the headlights but remained frozen behind the wheel. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white. Uniformed officers moved purposefully around the small front yard; one spoke urgently into a radio, another cordoned off the patchy lawn with yellow tape that fluttered in the damp morning breeze. 

Panic surged, cold and sharp. Ines. 

She threw open the car door, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet street, and sprinted towards the commotion. "Ines!" Her voice cracked, raw with fear. "Where is she?"

A burly officer stepped directly into her path, a solid wall of navy blue. "Halt, señorita. You can't go in there." 

Isabel slammed into his outstretched arm, rebounding. Desperation overrode pain. "Get out of my way!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls. She tried to duck around him, but his grip clamped down hard on her shoulder.  

"Let me through! Do you have any idea who I am!?" The words ripped out, fueled by Pombo privilege and sheer terror. "My mother is—" 

The officer's eyes widened slightly, recognition flickering. He glanced towards another officer near the door, who gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. The grip on Isabel's shoulder loosened instantly. "Señorita Pombo," he murmured, stepping aside with surprising deference. "Apologies."  

Isabel didn't hesitate. She shoved past the fluttering yellow barrier, her boots crunching on the gravel path leading to the modest front door, left wide open. 

The stale air inside hit her like a physical blow, thick with the metallic tang of spilled coffee and something else, something deeply wrong. 

Uniformed figures moved with grim purpose in the cramped living room, their radios crackling static. Voices were low, urgent. Isabel ignored them all, her focus narrowing to the hallway leading towards the bedrooms.  

She knew the layout; countless sleepovers etched it into memory. Her feet carried her forward, past framed family photos showing Ines's bright smile, past the crucifix hanging crookedly on the wall. The door to Ines's room stood partially open. Light spilled out onto the worn linoleum. 

Isabel pushed it wider. The scene froze her mid-stride. Morning light streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like glittering ash.  

Ines hung suspended from the ceiling fan hook, a frayed jump rope coiled taut around her slender neck.  

Her head lolled grotesquely to one side, chin resting unnaturally on her collarbone. Her face was a swollen, mottled purple, eyes bulging wide open, staring sightlessly at the peeling wallpaper beside her desk. A faint trickle of dried saliva traced a dark path from the corner of her gaping mouth down her jaw. Her feet, clad only in mismatched socks, dangled inches above a small, overturned wooden chair. 

Her feet dangled mere inches above the worn rug Isabel knew so well, the rug where they’d sprawled for hours, whispering secrets, painting each other’s nails. One sock had slipped halfway off, revealing the pale sole of her foot. The air reeked of stale urine, sweat, and the cloying sweetness of decay just beginning to bloom. 

Isabel didn’t scream.  

A choked, guttural sound escaped her throat, like fabric tearing.  

Her knees buckled, hitting the linoleum hard. She scrambled backward on her hands, boots scraping, desperate to erase the image searing itself onto her brain. Her vision tunneled, the grotesque purple face and bulging eyes the only thing in focus. 

Her gaze darted wildly, landing on Ines’s desk. A single sheet of notebook paper lay pinned beneath a chipped mug, untouched by the chaos. Trembling violently, Isabel crawled toward it, knocking the mug aside. 

It read:  

‘I lied. Isabel Rodriguez-Pombo didn’t confess her love to me on the school rooftop. I was angry, bitter, and jealous of her family’s wealth, but seeing her nose broken and her reputation in tatters was too much. She didn’t deserve that. She did not deserve to be labeled as gay filth; Isabel has never made any unnatural desires known to me. I am so sorry, Isabel. The guilt is overwhelming. I'm so sorry.’  

What? 

Isabel stared at the scrap of paper until her vision blurred, her chest tightened, not with grief, but something sharper. 

This is wrong. 

All wrong. 

She had dragged Ines to the school roof and declared her love for her. Ines had never shown any resentment or jealousy at her family’s wealth; in fact, she made fun of Isabel’s designer boots and maids at her beck and call.  

She examined the note closer...not the words, the individual letters. She had Ines’s handwriting memorized. Ines always looped her ‘G’s’ and left a lazy tail on her ‘Y’s’. Isabel combed through the note comparing. Then laughed, a sound that’s more like a choked-off sob. 

The note was too neat, precise, the loops too small. The words were too formal, too formal for Ines, who always spelled sorry with the same crooked ‘s’  

The note using phrases Ines never used. “I lied,” and “overwhelming guilt.”  

This voice wasn’t hers. 

These weren’t her words. 

This wasn’t suicide.  

This was damage control. 

She turned back... looking at the dead, bloated, and decaying Ines in her face. She still loved her, even now. Even like this.  

Knowing exactly who had murdered the love of her life.  

“Mother.”  

Present day. 

“And of course I vowed to exact my revenge. To take everything from my mother, like she took everything from me. For decades, I couldn’t. Couldn't find the right way, couldn’t find a plan that didn’t end in my death. Until you...came. My second chance. You hopped out of that truck and into the courtyard, like a lifeline. God truly did send you back to me.”  

Ines lay tied to the bed, mouth agape. Isabel had just described something like out of a movie, and her delusions were coming out front and center. Every word about ‘God sending her to Isabel,’ their walk in the garden, where Isabel declared it was God that brought them together... 

Those words took on entirely different meanings. Now soured like years-old milk. Her being ‘The king’ was nothing more than being Ines’s double for her to start her revenge against her mother. 

This wasn’t a love story. It’s revenge. 

Something, even after the story, she wanted nothing to do with. 

“YOU’RE INSANE! SEND ME HOME! RIGHT NOW ISABEL!” Ines said, arching her body off the bed, desperate to get free.  

Isabel’s expression darkened. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing Ines’s cheekbone, a gesture that felt like ice. “Home? You are home. You’re her. My Ines. Reborn.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, trembling with fervor. “Don’t you see?”  

She shook her head, leaning ever closer. “You can’t possibly think it’s a coincidence that the original Ines died twenty-three years ago, and you, a woman who looks exactly like her, were born mere months later?”  

“What are you saying?” Ines froze mid-struggle, the ropes biting into her wrists. Isabel’s words hung in the air like poisoned smoke. 

Isabel traced the line of Ines’s jaw, her touch unnervingly tender against the violence of the bindings. “I’m saying God sent you to me,” she murmured, her voice thick with desperate conviction.  

“Reincarnated. Reborn.” Her thumb brushed Ines’s. Something raw and terrifying. “Look at you. The same eyes. The same curve of your lip when you’re scared. Even the stubbornness.” A choked laugh escaped her.  

“My mother took her from me too soon, punished her for my sin… but God gave her back. He gave you back. Gay. So we could be together. So we could finally be together.” The word landed like a hammer blow, final and absolute. “My reward for my faith.”  

Ines couldn’t handle the insanity pouring from Isabel’s lips. Reincarnation? Rebirth? These were the delusions of someone who was mentally unwell.  

“Listen...Isabel, you saw something traumatic, the girl you loved died...have you ever thought about talking to someone...” 

Isabel recoiled as if slapped. The fervent light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a chilling stillness. “Talking?” The word dripped with venom. “To whom? A therapist? Like my mother suggested after she murdered Ines?” Her laugh was brittle, sharp as broken glass.  

“She paid them well to tell me it was grief. Trauma. Hallucinations.” She leaned in, her breath hot against Ines’s ear. “But I know. I felt it the moment I saw you in the courtyard. God doesn’t make mistakes.” 

Ines flinched, straining against the ropes. “I am not her! ISABEL, YOU FELL IN LOVE WITH A STRAIGHT GIRL. IT HAPPENS. IT’S LESBIAN 101! MOVE ON! LET ME GO! I WON’T HELP YOU. FUCK YOUR PLANS. FUCK YOU. FUCK INES.” 

Isabel pressed the button. 

A jagged bolt of agony ripped through Ines’s body. It wasn’t just pain; it was violation. Electricity tore through muscle and bone, locking her joints, arching her spine impossibly off the bed. A silent scream tore from her throat, choked off by the sheer, overwhelming current coursing through the ropes binding her wrists and ankles.   

Her vision exploded into blinding white static, blotting out the opulent room, blotting out Isabel’s furious face. Every nerve shrieked. The scent of ozone burned her nostrils, sharp and acrid. 

The shocks came in relentless waves, each surge a fresh assault. Ines’s body convulsed violently, thrashing against the restraints like a fish hauled onto dry land. Her teeth ground together, a horrible grating sound filling the sudden silence between bursts. She tasted copper, blood from her bitten lip or nose, mingling with the metallic tang of terror flooding her mouth. 

Consciousness flickered like a dying bulb. Thoughts fragmented: Stop... please... make it stop...  

But the pleas were swallowed by the next brutal jolt. The elegant silk sheets beneath her were soaked with sweat, the humiliation swallowed by the sheer, animal need for the pain to cease. 

The shocks intensified. Each wave slammed into Ines harder than the last, locking her muscles in rigid, unnatural arches. Her spine felt ready to snap. Her jaw clamped shut so violently she tasted fresh blood, metallic and sharp, flooding her mouth. Her vision tunneled violently, the ornate ceiling swirling into darkness punctuated only by the strobing bursts of pain.  

A final, silent scream echoed only in her skull as the world tilted sideways into nothingness. 

Darkness swallowed her whole. Not peaceful oblivion, but a thick, suffocating blackness shot through with phantom echoes of agony. Her body felt distant, heavy, disconnected. Time lost meaning. She floated, unmoored, in a void where the only sensation was the lingering throb deep in her bones and the phantom taste of blood. 

Distantly, she registered pressure, hands moving her limbs, adjusting something cold and ceramic against her skin, but it belonged to another world. Muffled voices.  

When her eyes fluttered open again, hazily, vision swimming...black bathroom tile came into focus beneath her. 

Chapter Text

Black tile. 

She felt the cold tile against her bare skin, and her eyes fluttered open; the world snapped into place all at once. Cold against her cheek was the familiar suffocating black bathroom tile, its edges slightly aged, grout in some places. The scent of overpowering bleach spilling around her. 

Ines’s stomach dropped. 

No. Not here. 

“NO! No! No!” 

Her eyes skittered over the room like a trapped animal’s. The same modest vanity sat built into the wall, fake marble counter... only the sink was removed, gone. Four drawers sat beneath it, the top drawer no longer padlocked shut, but it was the two beneath that made her blood run cold.  

Tape label handwritten. Still there, never removed. 

The names, Valentina and Celeste. 

Her pulse thundered as her gaze slid lower, unwillingly, but unable to stop herself. It was spotless now. The bloodstain she’d once stared at until she was dragged out of here was gone. The floor gleamed, sterile and perfect, the smell of bleach radiating from it. 

But she could still feel it. Sticky beneath her bare feet. Like they refused to be erased completely.  

The cots were gone, replaced by nothing but the feeling of her bare ass against the cold tile flooring. She was completely naked... well, except for her collar. Mistress had made sure not to strip her torture device. 

Her chest convulsed.  

Her breath fractured into ragged gasps. She shoved herself against the wall. Nails scraping at the tile as if she could dig herself out. The scent of the bleach was suffocating her, the names on the drawers mocking her. Searing their way back into her mind.  

Her body folded in on itself, knees tight to her chest, arms trembling as she wrapped them around her shins. She couldn’t look. 

She couldn’t breathe.  

She was back in the bathroom, where it all started, alone, the few amenities they had completely removed. 

She curled tighter into herself, until her knees were under her chin. The collar chafed with every small movement. Tears came hot and fast, falling to her jaw and hitting the dark tile. 

Ines wanted to scream until every tile shattered, until her vocal cords stopped working; she was imprisoned again.  

For looking like some dead bitch. For some story that had nothing to do with her. 

For some grudge against Isabel’s mother. 

Her nails dug into her legs until crescent marks bloomed. She couldn’t stay here. Not again.