Chapter 1

I knew I was rising, ready to claim my rightful place in the world.

The moment I stepped into Jacob Holloway’s home, I knew I had conquered something. Not the way I had won over his struggling business, not the way I had tamed numbers and market strategies, but something more visceral. To be invited to a client’s home in a town as insular as this was a rare feat, a mark of trust, of admiration. It was a signature of my success.

The house was warm in a way I had almost forgotten homes could be—wood-paneled walls, shelves adorned with family photographs, the scent of something slow-cooked and spiced drifting through the air. There was a deep comfort in this place, a structure built upon faith and discipline, upon the certainty that life was small and safe and neatly contained within the embrace of these four walls.

Jacob stood before me, a tower of a man with a grip like iron, his broad shoulders squared, his presence the unquestionable axis of his household. He was a man who commanded, who spoke in directives rather than requests.

“Jake, so glad you could join us.” His voice boomed, confident, satisfied. The kind of man who had spent a lifetime being right.

“A pleasure, sir,” I responded, my own handshake just as firm, just as measured. I knew how to play this game—when to challenge, when to submit, when to let a man like Jacob think he was in charge.

“And this,” he said, his voice dipping into something almost reverent, “is my daughter, Mya.”

I turned, expecting something forgettable. A young girl in an ankle-length dress, modest, meek, plain. And yet—

She was a vision.

Eighteen, just barely stepping over the threshold of girlhood into something else. Beautiful in a way that was unassuming, untouched, almost untouched. Her hair was dark as night, pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense bun that left no room for vanity. And yet the severity of it only emphasized the delicacy of her features—the high cheekbones, the impossibly soft pink of her lips, the way her green eyes seemed almost too large for her face, as if she had spent a lifetime looking at the world in quiet wonder.

“Nice to meet you, Mya,” I said, extending a hand.

She hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. Then, with a glance at her father, she placed her small hand in mine. A feather-light grip. A thing that had never known how to hold on tightly.

“Likewise,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost hesitant, but not weak. There was something behind it, something unsaid.

Jacob was watching, and Mya pulled her hand back quickly, lowering her gaze.

“Jake here has been instrumental in our recent success,” Jacob continued, pride thick in his voice. “Couldn’t have done it without him.”

Her mother, Leila, was standing just behind him. She was a handsome woman in her own right, maybe in her forties, wearing a high-collared blouse and a knowing smile. She had the air of someone who had lived her life in the shadow of her husband’s dominance, but not without her own quiet power.

“Yes, we’re truly grateful for all your help,” she said. I caught her gaze flickering over me, something lingering there before she looked away.

I turned my attention back to Mya. She was sitting at the table now, hands folded neatly in her lap, watching me with careful curiosity. She had no internet, no television, had spent her whole life in this town, and yet—she knew. Maybe not the details, maybe not the intricacies, but she knew enough to recognize that I was different. That I came from the outside, from the world beyond.

And she wanted it.

I could see it in the way she stole glances when she thought I wasn’t looking. The way her throat moved when she swallowed. The way she adjusted her posture, just slightly, as if trying to take up less space but unable to shrink from the moment.

She had been raised to be obedient, to be good, to submit to the rules of her father’s house. But that spark—oh, that spark. That was something raw, something untamed. Something that, given the right direction, could be molded into something exquisite.

The dinner was set, and I took my seat at the table. The meal was simple but hearty—roast beef, potatoes, homemade bread. It had been a long time since I had eaten a meal like this, food made not for spectacle but for sustenance.

Jacob carved the roast, distributing the portions. Leila poured the wine. Mya barely touched her glass.

“So, Jake,” Jacob said, cutting into his beef. “Tell me, what’s the biggest difference you’ve noticed between city life and a place like this?”

I smiled, setting down my fork. “Pace, mostly. In the city, everything moves fast. Decisions, markets, people. No one stays still long enough to think about the consequences.”

Jacob nodded approvingly. “And here?”

I met his gaze. “Here, everything is ... preserved.”

His smile widened. “That’s exactly right.”

Mya was watching me again. Her plate was barely touched.

“You don’t like your food?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

Her cheeks flushed. “No, I do,” she said quickly, picking up her fork and taking a small bite, as if to prove it.

Jacob chuckled. “She’s just not used to eating in the presence of such esteemed company.”

I smirked. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

She looked down, a small, involuntary smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It was so easy.

The control her father had over this household was absolute, but control had a way of shaping things, of conditioning people to respond in predictable ways. Mya was an obedient daughter, raised in obedience, trained in obedience.

And obedience, when given the right kind of guidance, could be turned into something far more ... intoxicating.

Jacob continued talking about the business, about expansion, about the future, but I barely heard him. My attention was on Mya, on the way she fidgeted, on the way she was trying not to stare.

She wanted to escape. I could see it in every stolen glance, every hesitant word, every tremor of curiosity that she didn’t yet have the vocabulary to articulate.

I took a slow sip of my wine, watching her over the rim of my glass.

This town had kept her caged. Kept her safe. Kept her untouched.

But a cage could only hold something for so long.

And Mya ... she was already beginning to test the bars.

I had never felt anything like it before.

The moment I saw him—Jake—something inside me ... changed.

It was like a spark, a warmth, a fluttering deep in my belly that I had never known before. My body responded before my mind could catch up—heat rushing to my cheeks, a tingling in my fingers, my lips parting slightly as I stared at him, at the man sitting at our dinner table, speaking so easily with Papa.

He was strong. Not like the boys in town, not like the men who came to church with their neatly trimmed hair and their polite, rehearsed words. Jake was different. He carried himself with this quiet power, this confidence that wasn’t loud but settled into the room like he belonged there, like the world bent just slightly in his favor.

I tried not to look.

I really did.

But my eyes kept slipping back to him. The way his shoulders filled out his crisp white shirt, the way his hands—so big, so capable—held his glass, the way his voice was deep and smooth like something I wanted to wrap myself in.

He smiled at me.

Oh, Lord, help me.

I had never seen a man smile at me like that before. Like he saw me. Not just as Papa’s daughter, not just as a good girl who helped her mama set the table and kept her head down in church. He looked at me like ... like he knew something about me that I didn’t even know myself.

And then he spoke to me.

“You don’t like your food?” His voice was teasing, but not unkind.

My face burned. I hadn’t even realized I’d been pushing my potatoes around my plate.

“No, I do,” I blurted out, quickly taking a bite. I barely tasted it. My heart was beating too fast.

Papa chuckled, his deep voice filling the room. “She’s just not used to eating in the presence of such esteemed company.”

Jake smirked. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

I looked down at my plate, but I couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at my lips.

After that night, he came more often.

Papa liked him. That was important. He respected Jake, admired him even. When Papa spoke about business, about the company, about all the things that were too complicated for me to understand, he spoke with a kind of trust that he didn’t give to just anyone.

Mama liked him too. I could tell in the way she set out her best plates when he came for dinner, in the way she sometimes smoothed her hair before she opened the door for him.

And me?

I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It was silly, wasn’t it? I barely knew him, but every time I saw his car pull up in front of the house, my stomach flipped. Every time he spoke to me, I felt warm all over.

He made me feel ... noticed.

And I liked it.

More than I should.

It was a cool evening when he asked.

We were sitting on the porch after dinner, the golden light of the setting sun stretching long across the hills. Mama was inside cleaning up. Papa was smoking his pipe, his presence solid and unmoving. I was sitting on the steps, watching the fireflies dance in the grass.

Jake was next to me. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, even though we weren’t touching.

“I was thinking,” he said, his voice smooth, careful, “I’d like to take Mya into town this weekend. Show her around.”

My heart stopped.

I looked up at him, wide-eyed. Did he mean ... like a date?

Papa made a low noise in his throat. Not angry. But not pleased either.

“Into town?” he repeated, his voice measured.

Jake nodded, keeping his gaze steady. “Just for a little while. Maybe get a bite to eat. I imagine she doesn’t get out much.”

I held my breath.

Papa exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair. He looked at me, his deep-set eyes assessing, weighing.

“I don’t know about that,” he said slowly. “Mya’s not one to be out running around.”

Jake smiled. That same easy, confident smile that made my stomach flutter.

“Of course. I wouldn’t keep her out late,” he said. “Just long enough to stretch her legs. Maybe let her see something new.”

Something new.

My fingers curled into the fabric of my dress.

I wanted to go. Oh, I wanted to go so badly. I wanted to sit across from him at a table, to talk to him without Papa listening in, to see what it would be like to be out in the world with a man like him.

Papa’s eyes narrowed slightly. He looked between me and Jake, and I knew what he was thinking.

He was thinking that I was his little girl. That I was untouched, protected, unspoiled.

That Jake was a man.

A man who was not from here.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

Jake inclined his head. “That’s all I ask.”

I exhaled, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath.

He looked at me then, just for a second, and I felt that same shiver run down my spine.

I had never wanted anything more.

Mya looked determinant. She wanted me, no matter what her parents said, I could see it in her beautiful blue eyes. I knew I had her.

Jacob sat across from me, his heavy hands folded on the thick wooden table, his expression unreadable. The room was dimly lit, the oil lamp casting long shadows against the paneled walls. It was the kind of home built on discipline, on rigid belief, on the certainty of right and wrong. And here I was, an outsider, asking for the one thing a man like Jacob guarded with his life.

His daughter.

“I trust you, Jake,” he said finally, his voice slow, deliberate. “But trust is not given lightly in this house. Mya has been raised with values, with a foundation built on faith and family. I expect you to uphold those values, not lead her astray.”

I nodded, my expression solemn, measured. “I understand, Jacob. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Mya, for your family. You’ve raised her well, and I would never do anything to compromise that.”

Leila sat beside her husband, watching me with quiet consideration. She had been wary of me at first, as any mother would be, but I had played my part well—responsible, respectful, steadfast. She had warmed to me over time, her guarded smiles growing softer, more approving.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think much of you at first,” she murmured, confirming what I already knew. “Men from outside this town don’t always understand our way of life. But I see now that you have strong principles, Jake. You’re determined. Responsible. That’s what a young man should be.”

I offered her a humble smile. “Thank you, Leila. That means a lot to me.”

Jacob exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against the table. “I’ll allow it,” he said at last. “You may take Mya into town. But she will be home at a reasonable hour. And there will be no...” He paused, leveling me with a look that could pin a man to the wall. “Impropriety.”

“Of course, sir,” I said smoothly, my voice steady. “You have my word.”

It was the easiest lie I had ever told.

The first date was sweet.

Mya was a ball of nerves, her hands twisting in the fabric of her dress as she climbed into my car, her cheeks pink with excitement and hesitation. I played it slow, careful, patient. I let her set the pace, watching as she took in the outside world like a child seeing sunlight for the first time.

We went to a quiet diner, where she marveled at the neon lights, at the sound of laughter from groups of people who weren’t bound by rules as strict as hers. She asked me a hundred questions about my life in the city, her curiosity bubbling over in the most innocent way.

The second date was livelier.

She was looser, more daring, her laughter filling the space between us like a melody I wanted to bottle up and keep for myself. I took her to the lake, where we sat on the dock, the night air crisp against our skin. She let herself inch closer to me, her shoulder brushing against mine. When I finally reached for her hand, she gasped—soft, breathless—but didn’t pull away.

The third date changed everything.

I knew it would happen eventually. The moment had been building, stretching between us with every stolen glance, every brush of fingers, every lingering look. But when I finally kissed her—when I felt the way her body melted against mine, the way she sighed into my lips like I was the only thing holding her to the earth—I knew.

She wasn’t just a good girl.

She was my good girl.

She was pliant, sweet, eager. I could feel it in the way she clung to me, in the way her breath hitched when I traced my fingers along the delicate line of her jaw. She had never known anything like this before, and yet, instinctively, she responded as if she had been waiting for it her entire life.

It was intoxicating.

And it was dangerous.

Because I had to leave.

The call had come that morning. My assignment was done. The city was waiting.

But I wasn’t done with Mya.

Not yet.

Jacob listened as I spoke, his face unreadable.

Leila stood beside him, her fingers laced together, her lips pursed in thought. Mya sat next to me, her hands clutching my arm as if I might disappear if she let go.

I had laid it all out—the tradition, the idea, the compromise. Rumispringa.

“It’s an opportunity,” I said smoothly, my tone even, persuasive. “A chance for Mya to see the world, to experience life beyond this town before she decides what she truly wants.”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “The Amish do this to test their children’s faith. To see if they will return.”

I nodded. “And isn’t that the point? You’ve raised Mya to be strong, to have conviction. If her faith is true, she will return to it. But if she never steps outside these walls, how will she ever truly know?”

Mya squeezed my arm. “Papa, please.”

His eyes flicked to her, his expression softening just slightly.

“She’s not a child anymore,” I pressed, careful, measured. “She’s a woman. And I care about her, Jacob. I wouldn’t ask this if I didn’t.”

Leila exhaled, her fingers brushing against her husband’s wrist. “He’s right,” she murmured.

Jacob turned to her, his eyes sharp. “Leila—”

“She’s eighteen,” she interrupted gently. “And we’ve done our part. We’ve raised her well. If she truly is meant to live her life here, she will return.”

Jacob’s lips pressed into a thin line. I could see the battle warring inside him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a long, slow breath.

“You will take care of her,” he said, his voice low, steady.

It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

I met his gaze, my expression unwavering. “With my life.”

Jacob nodded, but I saw the hesitation in his eyes. The doubt. The worry. He had spent his entire life protecting his daughter from men like me.

And now, he was handing her over willingly.

Mya turned to me, her eyes wide, shimmering with excitement, with possibility.

“Jake,” she whispered. “We’re really doing this?”

I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face, savoring the way she leaned into my touch.

“Of course, sweetheart,” I murmured. “You deserve to see the world.”

And the best part?

She still thought it was her choice.

The moment Jake suggested we leave my small town and explore the world together was etched vividly in my mind. I could still feel the rush of hope that had swept over me, my heart thudding in my chest as the possibilities unfolded. Tears of joy had welled up in my eyes as I threw my arms around him. For the first time, I saw a future beyond the narrow confines of this sleepy mountain town.

“Yes, Jake,” I whispered, my voice trembling with conviction. “I’ll go with you.”

In that tender moment, filled with promises of a new life, we knew that no matter what lay ahead, we could conquer it together. Jake would guide me, protect me. With him, I felt safe, and for the first time in my life, free.

But we both knew there would be obstacles—starting with my parents.

Later that evening, we sat in the family’s cozy living room, facing Jacob and Leila, the weight of the conversation pressing down on us. The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, but the atmosphere between us remained thick with tension. My father’s stern expression and furrowed brow told me this wouldn’t be easy.

“So,” Jacob began, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes sharp and assessing. “You’re asking for our blessing to take Mya with you to the city?”

“Yes, sir,” Jake answered calmly. His tone was steady, respectful, yet resolute. “Mya has so much potential. I want to give her the chance to experience life outside this town, to see the world, and discover herself. I’ll be there every step of the way to guide her and ensure she’s safe.”

Jacob leaned back in his chair, studying Jake for a long moment before turning his gaze to me. “Mya, you’ve been raised with strong values. We’ve done everything to protect you, to ensure you follow the right path. How can I know that won’t be compromised in the city? It’s full of temptations and dangers.”

“I know, Daddy,” I said softly, my voice barely audible. “But I trust Jake. He’s kind, responsible, and he understands what’s important to us.”

Leila placed her hand on Jacob’s arm, her voice quieter but no less firm. “She’s right, Jacob. Mya isn’t a child anymore. If we trust her judgment—and Jake’s—maybe this could be a good thing for her.”

Jacob shook his head, still unconvinced. “I hear what you’re saying, but what about her purity? It’s one thing to send her off, but the world is full of ... distractions. I need to know she’ll come back the way she left.”

Jake’s eyes met mine for a brief second, and I saw the flicker of an idea form in his mind. Turning back to Jacob, his expression calm, he said, “What if there was a way to ensure her purity remains intact?”

Jacob’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you suggesting?”

“A physical guarantee,” Jake said carefully, choosing his words with precision. “It’s an idea I’ve seen in certain communities. A chastity device, specifically through piercings. Three small rings that seal her labia, ensuring there’s no ... risk of temptation. It’s secure and respectful of your values.”