Chapter 6: The Wardrobe

When Lexie reached the spot where she had discarded her clothes, a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Her heart skipped a beat as she scanned the area, her eyes darting from the trees to the benches. Her clothes were gone.

No, no, no...

She spun around, desperate to find the clothes she had left in a crumpled pile, but they were nowhere to be seen. Her breath caught in her throat as she stood there, naked, in the middle of the campus, knowing she couldn’t stay in this vulnerable state much longer.

What was she going to do?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fumbled to retrieve it. There it was again: a message from Wildcard4U.

Wildcard4U: “You’ve been a good little toy, Lexie. Now go back to your dorm. Don’t bother trying to find your clothes. They’re mine now. You’ll learn to appreciate how I control you.”

Lexie’s stomach twisted in horror. How had he done this? How had he managed to take her clothes without her noticing?

A new wave of panic set in as she realized what she had to do. The thought of walking back through campus, her skin exposed to anyone who might see her, was unbearable. Yet, somehow, she had no choice. She couldn’t let anyone find out what had happened. She couldn’t let anyone know how far she had fallen. She began the long, humiliating walk back to her dorm. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground, avoiding the world around her as best as she could. The campus seemed so quiet, so empty—so far removed from the world of parties, football games, and social gatherings where Lexie used to shine.

But now, she was nothing.

She made it back to her dorm without anyone noticing. She locked herself in her room, her heart still racing. As she stepped into the bathroom, she examined herself in the mirror. Her skin was still flushed from her run, her hair wild, and her eyes puffy with exhaustion and shame.

She couldn’t stop herself from shaking as she grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her body. The humiliation still lingered, but she knew she couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not when she still had a few scraps of pride left.

The following days became a blur. Every morning, her phone buzzed with new instructions from Wildcard4U, each one more daring than the last. He controlled her wardrobe now, dictating every piece of clothing she wore. At first, it was subtle—dresses that were too tight, skirts that were too short, tops that revealed just a little too much of her chest.

But it didn’t stop there.

By the third day, he instructed her to wear a crop top that barely covered her midriff, paired with tight leggings that left little to the imagination. The next day, it was a backless dress that made her feel exposed and vulnerable, a constant reminder of the control he had over her.

She couldn’t stop herself from complying. She was trapped, caught in the web he had spun. The more she gave in, the more power he took from her. And the worse it felt.