Chapter 1

Elena slid the last stack of folded shirts onto the display table and checked her watch. 3:55 p.m. Almost free. When the clock finally struck four, she swiped her badge and muttered, “Done,” under her breath.

It wasn’t glamorous—full-time retail was hardly her dream job—but it paid, and it filled the gap between graduation and college in the fall. The endless hours under fluorescent lights, the constant chatter of customers, the ache in her legs from standing all day ... it all blurred together. Still, it meant a paycheck, and that paycheck meant a little independence when she left home.

“See you tomorrow, Elena,” one of her coworkers called out. She waved back, too tired to reply.

The summer heat slammed into her the moment she stepped out of the building, pressing down like a heavy blanket. By the time she pulled into her driveway, sweat plastered her shirt to her slender body.

Cool air enveloped her as soon as she opened her front door, chilling the sweat and causing her to shiver. She kicked off her shoes after closing the door. From the kitchen, her mother’s voice called out. “Dinner at seven, don’t be late!”

“I’m going to the hospital first!” Elena called back. She wanted to see her dad before visiting hours ended at six.

She was already upstairs, tugging at the polyester polo that clung uncomfortably to her skin. Shoes abandoned at the door, purse tossed onto the dresser—she stripped the rest of the uniform and tossed it into the hamper all in one motion. Her hair was up and the shower was running before her mom could even reply.

The hot spray hit her skin, washing the weight of the day from her exhausted body. She scrubbed fast but thoroughly, chasing away the day’s grime, the cling of polyester, the smell of sweat, customers, and spray cleaner. Her body relaxed, the tension of the shift unwinding as steam clouded the mirror.

She turned off the water and sluiced the excess water from her body. She picked up a jar of depilatory cream and began spreading it on her legs, working upward until everything from her feet to her waist—front and back—was covered in cream. Standing there, slick and pale, she looked like a female version of the Vitruvian man, every inch of her covered. Steam still curled around her as she rinsed the cream from her skin, leaving it baby smooth and hairless. By the time she was finished and toweled dry, she felt lighter. More herself.

She wiped the mirror clear of fog and stood back a step. A final inspection showed no missed patches—her reflection gleamed pale and naked under the bathroom light. She ran her hands over her arms, her stomach, down the line of her hips, savoring the familiar, silken glide of hairless skin beneath her fingertips. For a moment she lingered, brushing lower, and shivering at the tingling sensation between her thighs. The thrill brought a smile to her face; her pulse kicked hard. Not now. No time, she thought as she pulled her hands away, flicking her awakening clit for one last thrill. Smiling at the denied thrill, she grabbed the towel and forced herself back to the task at hand.

She toweled off briskly, skin flushed and smooth, and crossed to her dresser. It was time to get dressed.

She lingered at her dresser for a moment before choosing the black set. The demi-cup bra went on first, her hands guiding the straps over her shoulders, cups lifting the soft weight of her breasts while leaving the upper curves of her breasts and her nipples exposed. Through the thin white tee, she pulled on after, the outline of her nipples pressed faintly against the fabric, dark shapes visible in the light. The cotton clung just enough to suggest what it hid.

Next came the panties—French-cut lace, cut low in the front, sheer enough to flash bare, hairless skin. She stepped into them one leg at a time, tugging them up over her hips with a little snap of the elastic that settled snugly against her. They weren’t made for comfort, not really, but for the delicious secret of daring under clothes that looked ordinary. Nobody at the hospital would ever know—unless something unexpected happened.

From there she reached for the black, pleated skirt. Gathering the waistband in both hands, she drew it up her thighs slowly, the fabric whispering over her smooth, hairless skin. A twist at her waist, the zip sliding into place, the hook catching; she gave the skirt a quick spin so the pleats fanned out before settling neatly across her hips.

At her door, the white flip-flops waited. She bent to pick them up, then straightened and took up her purse. A quick check: phone, wallet, keys. All there. With one last glance at her reflection—satisfied enough—she stepped into the hallway and headed downstairs.

At the front door, she set the flip-flops on the tiled floor and stepped into them, her toes flexing against the cushioned soles. The coolness of the tiles lingered on her feet a heartbeat longer, before the door swung wide and a blast of Texas heat hit her full in the face. Early evening pressed down, heavy and oppressive, as she stepped outside. She squinted against the lowering sun, adjusting the hem of her skirt where it clung faintly to her thighs. Already the heat was working on her freshly showered skin, pulling a sheen of dampness from her as if the day meant to undo all her effort. With a small sigh, she shifted her purse on her shoulder and started toward the car, the flip-flops slapping softly against her heels.

Traffic, as usual, was a crawl, eating into her already limited time. The lowering sun in the west pulled long shadows eastward, striping the pavement in bands of light and dark. Elena drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, irritation rising with every unmoving car ahead. The A/C had been dead for months, so she left the windows open, the hot air tugging at her hair while the low hum of the radio filled the car with background noise.

The hospital’s 6:00 p.m. cutoff loomed, and the clock on her dash seemed to inch forward than the traffic itself. She shifted in her seat, peeling her skirt from where it clung to the backs of her thighs. The open windows let in the oven-like air, but closing them would feel worse—too enclosed, too silent.

At a red light, her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. No makeup. Tired, not exactly sad, just ... drained. A kind of fatigue that had sunk deeper than skin over the past year.

She hadn’t seen her dad since the surgery. Truthfully, she hadn’t planned to—not until that morning when a silent nudge inside her whispered: go. So here she was. Stuck in traffic. Waiting.

At last she turned into the parking lot with an hour to spare. She pulled into the nearest space and stepped out, squinting as the sun hit her full in the face. Just as she reached the E.R. doors, the sharp wail of sirens cut through the evening. She glanced left. An ambulance tore up to the emergency entrance, its back doors flung open before the wheels had even stopped.

Curiosity tugged at her as the commotion spilled from the ambulance bay. She wasn’t trying to be nosey—just aware. Habit, maybe. Her eyes tracked the gurney as it rolled closer, EMTs flanking it on either side, their voices clipped and urgent as they rattled off vitals. Something in their haste made her steps falter. She had time to pause. Time to look.

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

Elena froze mid-step. For a heartbeat, her brain refused to process what her eyes were screaming. The last time she had seen Carol was the day they graduated high school—two girls hugging outside the gym, full of plans. College. Travel. Careers.

Now Carol’s wrist and ankles were cuffed. A silver, polished steel collar gleamed against her throat, locked in place like something out of a nightmare. Elena’s breath caught, sharp and shallow, as if the air itself had turned against her.

She took a step forward before catching herself, her mouth half-open, her hand lifting without thought. The paramedics wheeled Carol past without a glance, their urgency sharp, clipped, all business. One EMT rattled off vitals to the charge nurse, who gestured them toward an open bay.

Elena drifted closer without meaning to, watching as the gurney locked against the waiting bed. Straps unbuckled, wrists and ankles freed in preparation for the lift—then, in one practiced motion, the paramedics and nurses slid Carol over to the hospital bed. The empty gurney was quickly moved away as the paramedics turned to leave. Carol was no longer their responsibility. Elena ignored them as they returned to the waiting ambulance.

Elena stood rooted, watching as the sliding doors swallowed them. Her stomach flipped. Her skin prickled as the heated Texas air was cut off and the chilled air of the hospital surrounded her. What the hell had happened to Carol?

The sight of her naked, collared friend cracked something loose inside her—brought back a memory, surfacing whole and immediate: The last time she had seen Carol.

Graduation day. Carol had walked across the stage in her crimson gown, tassel swaying as she took her diploma. They had tossed their caps into the air together, laughing until their cheeks hurt while parents snapped picture after picture outside the gym.

For months, Carol had talked about the trip her parents promised if she kept her grades up—a graduation present, a ticket to freedom. The last time Elena had seen her was at the airport terminal. Carol had smiled, ticket in hand, carry-on bag slung over one shoulder as she said her final goodbyes.

They hugged. Promised to text. Promised to share everything. Then Carol had slipped through security without a glance back, and she was gone.

Elena blinked, and the airport dissolved. The memory was brief, the images passed in fast-forward, blinding. Now Carol was here weeks later—naked, collared, and cuffed to a hospital bed. The present rushed back in—bright lights, antiseptic smell, and Carol now on the other side of the curtains.

Without thinking, Elena approached the closed curtains. Her pulse hammered in her ears, carrying her forward past visitors and nurses until she stood only steps away from the curtained bay.

Two steps away, fingers closed suddenly around her shoulders. She froze. The grip was firm but not rough, steady enough to make her breath catch. Then came the voice—low, calm. The kind of voice made you want to yield even as it scared you to resist.

“What business do you have with my slave, young lady?” he whispered.

He released her shoulders as she turned to face him. He stood barely a foot away, close enough to steal her breath—tall, broad shouldered, no older than his mid-twenties. A neatly trimmed beard framed his jaw; his dark hair styled with the kind of polish that came from intent, not accident. Black button-down shirt, black slacks—clean, fitted, sharp. His eyes, when they met hers were warm. He’s gorgeous, she thought, unsteady.

Elena’s breath caught. “She’s—Carol. I know her. We went to high school together. Graduation, then Spain. We ... we were best friends. I haven’t heard from her since.”

He studied her in silence, his gaze traveling over her like she was something to be appraised. Finally: “You were close?”

“Yes,” Elena said too fast, the word choking her throat. “Until she disappeared.”

He tilted his head, the faintest nod. “Then you’ll understand why she’s in no condition to talk right now.” His voice was calm, but carried a weight that made her shiver.

Marcus’s hand lifted, deliberate but unhurried, and brushed a strand of hair from Elena’s face. His knuckles grazed her cheek as he tucked it behind her ear, lingering there a beat too long. The touch was gentle, almost tender, but the steadiness in his eyes kept it from being mistaken for kindness.

Elena’s breath caught. Without meaning to, she leaned toward his palm, drawn by the warmth of it, by him. Her gaze didn’t waver.

“What happened to her?” she asked, voice cracking at the edges.

“That’s not your concern,” he said, calm but unyielding. The softness of his hand contrasted with the firmness of his tone, and the contradiction made her shiver.

The words hit like a slap. Elena flinched, her cheeks burning as she straightened and took a half step back. The warmth of his touch still lingered on her skin, confusing her even more. Fear, anger, and something harder to name tangled inside her chest, yet she didn’t leave. She couldn’t.