Skin in the Game
Copyright© 2025 by Danielle Stories
Chapter 3: The First Morning
I woke up to silence. Not the good kind of quiet, but a deep, heavy silence that felt wrong. No muffled TV from the living room, no smell of coffee, no Mom humming off-key in the kitchen. Just the low hum of the air conditioner and the faint beat of my own heart.
For a second, I was confused. Where was I? Then it all crashed back. The black badge. The interview. The contract.
My eyes snapped open. The room was filled with the grey light of a Seattle morning. I was lying in a stranger’s bed, in a penthouse I didn’t own, and I was naked.
The reality of it hit me like a bucket of cold water. This wasn’t a bad dream. This was my life now.
I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist. The air was cool on my skin. My first instinct was to find my clothes. My hand automatically reached for the floor where I usually dumped my jeans and hoodie. My fingers brushed only empty, plush carpet.
Right. No clothes. Not ever again.
A wave of panic, hot and sharp, rose in my chest. What have I done? I could still walk out. I could demand my things back. I could
The chime from the wall panel cut through my spiraling thoughts. It was louder in the morning quiet. I looked over. The screen was lit up.
My office. 06:00. Do not be late.
It was 5:52.
The panic vanished, replaced by a cold, clear focus. This was my first test. I couldn’t be late. I threw the covers back and stood up. My legs felt shaky. What was I supposed to do? Brush my teeth? With what? I had nothing.
I walked to the door of my room and opened a crack. The penthouse was just as silent as my room. I slipped out and padded across the cool floor to the main bathroom I’d seen last night. It was all white marble and chrome. On the counter was a single, new toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a plain hairbrush. All laid out just for me. No choices. Just the essentials.
I brushed my teeth, looking at my wide-eyed reflection in the mirror. The naked girl looked back, a faint line of toothpaste on her lip. This was me now. This was my uniform.
I finished and walked back into the hall. 5:58. I turned toward the door to Angelica’s office, my bare feet silent on the floor. I took a deep breath, stood up straight, and at exactly 6:00 AM, I turned the handle and walked in.
Angelica was already at her desk, the same black stone monolith from her office downtown. She was bathed in the early morning light, looking like she’d been there for hours. She didn’t look up as I entered.
I stood just inside the door, unsure what to do. Should I say good morning? Should I just stand here? The silence stretched, broken only by the soft tap of her fingers on her tablet.
Finally, she spoke, her eyes still on her work. “The first rule. You do not speak unless I permit you. Your opinions, your thoughts, and your greetings are irrelevant. You are an extension of my will. Extensions do not initiate conversation.”
Her words were a slap, but a clean one. They drew a clear line. “Yes, Angelica,” I said, my voice quiet.
She finally looked up, her gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. It was an inspection. “Posture. Shoulders back. Chin level. Do not fidget. Your body is to project calm and assurance at all times. It reflects on me.”
I immediately adjusted my stance, forcing my shoulders down and back, lifting my chin. I let my arms hang loosely at my sides, fighting the urge to clasp my hands in front of me.
“Better,” she acknowledged. She picked up a simple silver keycard from her desk and held it out. “Your first task. Coffee. From the lobby kiosk. Black. It must be between 180 and 185 degrees Fahrenheit. You have ten minutes.”
She was sending me out. Down to the lobby. Naked. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was the real beginning.
I crossed the room and took the keycard from her. Our fingers didn’t touch.
“Do you understand the instructions?” she asked.
“Yes, Angelica.”
“Then go.”
I turned and walked out of her office, through the silent penthouse, and to the private elevator. The doors closed, and I was alone with my reflection again. The girl in the mirror looked scared, but she was standing straight. She was following orders.
The elevator descended. My stomach dropped with it. The doors were about to open onto my old world, but I was coming back into it as a completely different person.
The lobby. The people. The stares.
I took a deep breath as the elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
The lobby was already busy. A river of suits and briefcases flowed toward the security turnstiles. The sound of a hundred conversations and clicking heels hit me like a wall.
I stepped out of the elevator.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, like a ripple effect, the noise began to die. A conversation cut off mid-sentence. A heel stopped clicking. I felt the weight of dozens of eyes land on me all at once. It was a physical pressure, like walking through deep water.
My face burned. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to cover myself, to hide. But I remembered Angelica’s words. Shoulders back. Chin level. Project calm.
I forced my body to obey. I focused on a spot on the far wall where the coffee kiosk was and started walking. My bare feet were silent on the cold marble floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it all. The man in a pinstripe suit did a double-take, his mouth hanging open. The woman at the reception desk who gasped softly, then immediately looked down at her computer screen, her cheeks flushed. A security guard I’d smiled at every morning for months, Javier now stared rigidly at the ceiling, his jaw tight.
They weren’t seeing me, Denise from the mailroom. They were seeing Angelica Howell’s power. My nakedness was a message from her, and they were all reading it loud and clear.
The crowd parted for me. Not out of respect, but out of a kind of shocked avoidance. I was a lightning rod, and they were all afraid of getting struck.
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