Chapter 1

Elena kicked off her work shoes the moment she stepped through the front door. The early summer heat clung to her skin like cellophane. From the kitchen, her mother’s voice drifted out—muffled and familiar—reminding her that dinner would be at seven.

“I’m running to the hospital first,” Elena called back. “Want to see Dad before visiting hours end.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She was already upstairs, setting her purse on the dresser and unbuttoning her uniform. The synthetic fabric clung to her back and thighs as she peeled it off, carrying with it the sharp tang of sweat and the musty trace of a long shift in overworked air conditioning.

She unclasped her bra, and rolled down her panties and ankle socks, tossing everything into the laundry basket in one practiced motion. In her ensuite bathroom, she twisted her hair into a quick bun and pinned it out of the way. The water warmed quickly. She stepped into the shower and let the spray hammer her skin, washing away the grime of the day.

She scrubbed fast but thoroughly, under her arms and between her legs. When she shut off the water, steam clouded the mirror. She reached for the depilatory cream, smoothing it over her legs, between her thighs, around her butt, across her arms, and into her armpits. Years of practice had turned the routine something automatic.

For several minutes, she stood still, naked and gleaming under the bright bathroom light, listening to the fan hum overhead. Then she stepped back under the water and rinsed the cream away in long, downward strokes watching the foam swirl down the drain.

A final inspection in the mirror showed no missed patches. Satisfied, she toweled off briskly, skin flushed and smooth. It was time to get dressed.

She chose the black set on impulse—a demi-cup bra that cradled the underside of her breasts but left the upper curves and dark nipples clearly outlined beneath the thin white tee she’d picked. The shirt wasn’t sheer, but thin enough to reveal the contrast of fabric and skin.

The panties were French-cut lace—sheer in the back, low in front—designed less for comfort than for the quiet thrill of being a little daring. She wouldn’t have worn them to school or work, but for a hospital visit? It felt like a private rebellion. One nobody else would see—unless something went wrong.

She slid a black, pleated, mid-thigh skirt up her smooth, hairless legs, zipped and hooked it, then spun it around to rest flat across her hips. She picked up the white flip-flops from beside her bedroom door—the pair she kept upstairs for slipping on outside—and carried them with her as she headed downstairs. At the entryway, she set her purse on the bench, stepped into the flip-flops, grabbed her bag again, verifying that her phone, wallet, and keys were in her purse, and headed out the door.

Traffic, as usual, was a crawl. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across Tucson’s west side. Elena didn’t mind. She had the windows cracked, the low hum of the radio filling the car with background noise. A playlist she hadn’t updated in years cycled through old favorites, each one a faded snapshot of who she used to be.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, a nervous rhythm she didn’t try to stop. The hospital’s 6:00 p.m. cutoff loomed, and the clock on her dash seemed to inch forward faster than the cars around her.

She shifted in her seat, adjusting the skirt that stuck slightly to the backs of her thighs. The air conditioning struggling against the lingering heat inside the car, but she didn’t want to roll the windows up completely. It felt too enclosed, too quiet.

At a red light, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her face was free of makeup. Her eyes looked tired—not sad, exactly—just ... drained. A kind of emotional fatigue that had settled deep in her bones over the past year.

She hadn’t seen her dad since the surgery, Truthfully, she hadn’t planned on it until earlier that morning when she felt a silent nudge from inside that said: go. So, here she was. Caught in traffic. Finally, she turned into the hospital parking lot with an hour to spare.

She pulled into the nearest parking space and stepped out, squinting as the sun hit her full in the face. Just as she entered the E.R. the sharp wail of sirens made her glance left. An ambulance had just arrived at the emergency entrance, its back doors flung open before the wheels had even stopped.

Curiosity drew her attention back toward the entrance. She wasn’t trying to be nosey—just aware. Habit, maybe. Her gaze followed the gurney being unloaded, EMTs barking stats as they wheeled it toward the sliding doors. Something in their urgency made her pace slow. She wasn’t late, she told herself. She had time to stop. Time to look.

The woman strapped to the gurney wasn’t just anyone—it was Carol—naked. Collared. Barely conscious. Elena froze.

The last time she saw Carol was the day they graduated high school—two girls hugging outside the gym, full of plans. College. Travel. Careers.

Now Carol’s wrists and ankles were cuffed. The black polished steel collar was locked around her throat. Elena’s breath caught.

She took a step forward before catching herself, her mouth half-open, her hand reaching without thinking. The paramedics wheeled Carol past without a glance, their urgency sharp and clinical. One of the EMTs shouted vitals toward the trauma team waiting inside.

Elena watched the sliding doors close behind them. Her stomach flipping. Her skin prickled. What the hell had happened to Carol?

Seeing Carol naked and collared brough back a memory—something that surfaced whole and immediate. A memory of the last time she saw Carol.

High school graduation. Carol walking across the stage, both of them tossing caps in the air, the nearly endless flood of pictures taken outside the gym.

For months, they had talked about the trip Carol’s parents promised her if she kept her grades up. A graduation present. The last time Elena saw her, they stood at the airport terminal—Carol smiling, her boarding pass in hand, backpack slung over one shoulder, saying final goodbyes.

They had hugged. Promised to text. Promised to share everything. Then she was gone, slipping through security without delay.

The memory was brief, but bright. Elena blinked, snapped back to the present just as the EMTs wheeled Carol into exam bay six.

Elena moved toward the curtained exam bay where they had taken Carol. She didn’t even think—her body just moved.

A voice stopped her. Male. Deep. Calm in a way that didn’t soothe so much as intimidate. “What business do you have with my slave?”

She turned. He stood a few feet away, tall and broad, early to mid-twenties at most. His beard was neatly trimmed, his dark hair styled with the kind of effortless precision that only came with intent. He wore a black collared shirt and slacks—clean, fitted, and sharp without trying too hard. His eyes were cold.