The Lives
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 9: The Fiancé
“Your brother’s insane.”
I could hear her giggling through the phone.
“It’s not funny,” I replied, exasperated.
“You’ve been with him long enough to know what he’s like,” she said, teasing.
“Well ... yeah,” I admitted. “But I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.” I paused. “I just thought he’d forget. Let it go.”
I sighed. “But he won’t.”
“Gabby,” Steph said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Derrick doesn’t let things go. That’s for sure.”
“But through an airport?” I asked, incredulous. “On a commercial flight?”
“He did it to me,” Steph replied matter-of-factly. “You heard the story—it’s all true.”
I huffed, running a hand through my hair. “So, what do I do to get out of this?”
There was a long pause on the other end. “I don’t know, Gabby,” she said finally, her voice frank. “This is just how Derrick is. He’s been like this since we were kids. We grew up around restraints. I told you—he used to cuff me when our parents weren’t around. With our Dad’s...”
She trailed off. “With the stuff our parents kept around in their bedroom.”
“If you want to be with him,” she continued slowly, “you have to understand that. I know you love him. And he really loves you. You guys are just really good for each other.”
Another pause. “I really love you too. Gidget does as well. But you need to decide if you can live with all of it.” She said the word carefully, as if measuring it. “The restraints ... the bondage.”
I closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath. “I’m fine with all of that at home, in the bedroom. I can handle that. I just ... it’s just the public situations. Being like that.”
“He’ll be in uniform,” Steph replied. “People will just assume he’s escorting you somewhere—like you’re being transported. No one will think twice. They’ll assume you need to be in them. Prison, court, some kind of official thing.”
“Great,” I exhaled, my voice tightening. “Everyone’s going to see me like that and assume the worst. Like I’ve done something terrible just to end up in all those restraints.”
Steph was quiet for a moment before answering.
“Maybe,” she said softly. “People might assume things. But they don’t know you, Gabby. They don’t get to define you based on a glance.”
She paused, then added more firmly, “And if you’re going to be with Derrick ... you kind of have to learn to let that go.”
“So, what you’re telling me,” I said slowly, “is that I’m basically getting transported to Vegas in restraints ... for my own bachelorette party? A whole weekend of fun—in cuffs?”
“It’s not going to be the whole time,” Steph explained. “Just the travel—there and back—and maybe a few hours over the weekend. That’s it. You’re not going to be stuck in them the entire trip.”
She let out a small breath. “I already told Derrick I’m not spending the weekend shopping or trying to have fun while you’re struggling to keep up with us. I’m not dragging you around with me and Gidget and the other girls while you’re ... dealing with all that.”
There was a pause before she continued, more quietly, “But yeah ... the flights, for sure. And he’ll probably want a few hours at some point during the weekend. That part’s not really negotiable for him.”
“It’s about ripping off the bandage,” she told me gently. “About just doing it once and getting past that first hurdle. After that ... it’s not as overwhelming. You get used to it. Trust me, part of being married to a cop is that you get introduced to cuffs.”
I swallowed, staring at nothing. “So, I’m just supposed to get comfortable being out in public like that? Traveling, going places ... with people ... just judging?”
Steph didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was softer, but steady. “Not all the time,” she said. “But yeah ... sometimes. On certain trips, or certain situations, he’s going to want that.”
“I’m going to New York tomorrow,” she added. “Just visiting some friends. They had their first kid and haven’t seen them yet. Early flight out, spend the day there, then fly back late that night. A one-day trip.”
She kept going before I could respond. “Flights are cheap—like a hundred twenty round trip. I already checked.”
I frowned.
“Come with me,” she said. “Seriously. Where my friends live ... let’s just say you’d be able to experience being out in public like that, and it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
She hesitated, then added, “It’s a long story. I’ll explain it on the flight.”
I didn’t say anything.
“There are still seats,” she pressed. “Just book it. I’ll pick you up on the way to the airport tomorrow, and we’ll spend the day together. You can see how you feel about all of it—being out in public, getting used to it. In a controlled, safe way. Then you can decide what you want to do after that.”
“I don’t know...” I said quietly.
“It’ll be fine. Really,” she replied, her voice steady.
I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly.
“ ... Fine.”
I hung up and booked the flight, then packed, leaving my luggage by the door since Steph would be coming by early.
And it was early. Too early. I might have caught some sleep on the plane, even though it was a short flight.
But Steph was filling me in—about the Prescotts and, well, all the details surrounding their use of restraints. And she didn’t sugarcoat anything, and I tried to take it all in, feeling equal parts nervous and curious.
“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” she said as she made a turn.
“You’re going to like them,” she added. “They’re really easygoing.”
She then glanced over at me. “Don’t worry—they won’t make it weird or anything.”
I gave her a pointed look. “What part of this isn’t weird?” I asked. “I’m tagging along to see your friends, and, oh, by the way ... they’ll be restraining me for the day.”
“Well,” she said with a small laugh, “when you put it that way ... yeah. That does sound weird.”
She sighed as she pulled into a quiet neighborhood. “Just promise me you’ll try.”
I looked at her. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“Good,” she replied.
“Has Gidget met them?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said.
“Has she ... gotten the full experience?” I pressed.
She laughed. “You mean, put into restraints?” She glanced over at me and smiled. “You’ll have to ask her that yourself. I’ll never tell. Just like I won’t acknowledge—or deny—that you were in restraints on this trip.”
She parked the car, and we walked up the steps, ringing the doorbell.
“Ah! Hi!” the woman who answered said, reaching out to hug Steph.
“Hey,” Steph replied with a smile.
“And you must be Gabby,” she said, looking at me.
“Hi,” I said, nodding.
“I’m Sophie,” she introduced herself.
I nodded again, feeling a little shy.
“Come on in, come on in,” she said, opening the door and motioning us inside.
“Ben’s downtown, looking at a property,” she added, “but we’ll see him later today for lunch.”
“He’s really going to do it?” Steph asked.
“Yep,” Sophie replied. “Finally convinced him to go along with it.”
“Is he ... excited?”
“Terrified,” Sophie said with a laugh.
Steph chuckled. “I just can’t imagine him scared. He’s so calm all the time.”
As Sophie laughed, Becca walked in, holding a baby.
“Ah!” Steph exclaimed, walking over to Becca. They kissed quickly, and then Steph gently took the baby in her arms.
“She’s beautiful,” she said.
“Yeah ... and exhausting,” Becca replied with a sigh. “And a little leech,” she added, pointing at her chest. “All she wants is them.”
Steph laughed as the baby started fussing and reaching for Becca.
“Oh, and she’s a screamie-weamie too,” Becca warned, smiling.
Steph laughed again, bouncing the baby gently to calm her.
We all sat around the kitchen table and talked. Sophie brought out some pastries she said Ben had made—and after tasting one, I understood why the girls were pushing him to open a restaurant.
“So...” Becca started.
“I’ve got mom duty today,” she said, smirking at Steph. “If you want, you can hang out with me and see my ... exciting life,” she added sarcastically.
“Sophie has to go to the museum,” Becca continued now looking at me. “After we talked yesterday, we figured Sophie could take you, Gabby. Show you the place. And it’ll be the best way to ... kind of experience being in restraints.”
I blinked. “Um ... a museum? Full of people ... looking at stuff ... like me?”
Becca smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Everyone’s used to it. Did Steph explain it all to you?”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “She told me.”
“It’s the best place to do it,” Becca added. “And you won’t be alone. Isla will be tagging along—and she’ll be in them too.”
“She’s the assistant?” I asked. “Steph said she has to wear them when she’s out ... around other people? Like some court thing?”
“Yeah,” Sophie said. “Court-mandated. Big misunderstanding, and it’s been dragging on forever. She’s been in them for a few months now.”
I nodded.
“So, if you’re okay with it, we can get you ready ... or Sophie can help,” Becca added.
“Sure,” I said, still feeling a little nervous.
Sophie grinned. “As you can see, I’m in a dress, hose, and heels. Isla will be in something similar. And ... good news for you—you’re basically Becca’s size.”
I glanced at Steph, raising an eyebrow.
“I may have mentioned your sizes,” she said, shrugging, half-laughing. “Okay,” I said, not happy, but also couldn’t really be upset—they were just so nice. “What do I do?”
I got up, and Sophie led me to a back bedroom.
On the bed lay a dress. Not black, but not gray either. On top of it was a small package of stockings. Pantyhose, I think. Sophie picked up the hose and the dress and handed them to me.
“Bathroom’s there. Go put it on. We’ll see how it fits,” she said.
“Assuming you’ve worn hose before?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah ... hate them, but yeah.”
She chuckled as I took the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. I changed into the dress and pantyhose, pinned up my hair with a clip, and twisted the braid to match the style of the dress—giving it a kind of polished, sophisticated look. Then I came back into the bedroom.
“Wow,” Sophie said. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” I told her.
She walked closer, studying the dress on me. “Yeah, it fits great.”
I nodded. “Yeah ... I don’t like the pantyhose. And it’s a little tight around the knees, but ... it’s nice.”
Sophie smiled. “Definitely gives off that hourglass shape of yours.”
I nodded again, feeling a little self-conscious but also ... okay.
She walked over to the bed. There were heels on it—they hadn’t been there before. She must have grabbed them while I was changing. Next to them was a pile of metal cuffs. Those hadn’t been there either.
“I think these heels will go with that outfit,” she said, lifting one of the pairs. “Just depends on what you’re comfortable with.”
“Flats,” I told her.
She laughed.
“Start with these,” she said, handing me the tallest pair.
I sat on the bed and slipped them on, then stood up. “Okay,” I said. “Help ... definitely high heels.”
“Four and a half inches,” Sophie replied laughing. “But believe it or not, they’re comfortable.”
I walked around a little and nodded. “Not great, but ... they don’t hurt. At least, not yet.”
She had me try on the other pairs, and I walked around the bedroom in each. When I sat back down, she smiled at me.
I slipped off the ones I’d been wearing and put on the four-and-a-half-inch pair.
As I stood up, she walked over and lifted a pair of cuffs from the pile.
“Have you ever been restrained before?” she asked. Then she paused. “Wait ... wedding. Duh. You spent the night in cuffs like the rest of us.”
I smiled back, glancing at the cuffs she was holding, not wanting to get into a discussion about Derrick and our extracurricular activities. But then I realized she was probably asking about wearing them out—in public.
“Hinged,” she said. “But once the box is on, it won’t matter—even if they were the chain kind. And this way you get to experience the most restrictive ones.”
And then she locked me into all of it. She was gentle, walking me through every step like she’d done it a million times before. She knew exactly how tight to make everything, double-locking the cuffs to keep them secure. Mechanically, it felt just like when Derrick put me in them—but with a little more care, more nurturing.
I took a few tentative steps.
“They take a little getting used to, especially in heels,” Sophie said, watching me try to walk.
I nodded, looking down at my feet.
“I can put on the longer chains—they’re about 18 inches,” she explained. “But in heels ... the connecting chain will hold up the leg cuffs’ chain, but if you get your feet too close together or sit down, there’s a risk the chain could get tangled in the heels.”
She pointed to my feet. “Those are 10 inches. They won’t tangle.”
“You could go shorter, too—we have six-inch chains. But if you’ve never worn leg cuffs that short with heels, it might not be safe,” she added.
I kept taking steps, figuring out my gait in relation to the dress and how much room I had to move.
“Do you want to try the longer ones?” she asked.
“No,” I replied firmly. “I believe you. I don’t want to faceplant in these things. I can walk just fine,” I said, shaking my head. “And with this dress, the longer chain wouldn’t really matter anyway.”
“I’m okay,” I finally told her, adjusting my wrists in the cuffs.
She walked up to me. “Just relax,” she said, holding my hands. “Let them go limp.” Then she added, “You can’t use them like this. Not like this.” She explained, “Fighting against them, even if you don’t mean to, will just bruise your wrists.”
I nodded and let my wrists go limp.
She turned me around and tested the padlock. “Okay,” she said, then faced me again.
“You know how this works?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. The padlock has to come off first to get the box off ... but can’t reach it in these. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Okay,” she replied. “I have the keys. Isla’s, too. So, if need be, I’ll get you out of them.”
She nodded at me to make sure I understood. “But unless it’s an emergency—or you need to use the bathroom—you stay in them.”
I nodded.
“Ready?” she asked.
I nodded once more, and we walked out to the rest of the house.
We talked a little more, and Becca mentioned she’d see us later for lunch. She said she’d bring Steph, the baby, and pick up Ben.
Sophie then helped me out the front door. She’d normally leave out the back, but she had to go get Isla next door.
She could also tell I was nervous, walking outside like this, but she reassured me, that the neighbors were used to it. And most don’t even flinch anymore.
She helped me down the stairs, gently holding my arm and putting her hand on my back to steady me.
“You’re doing great,” she said.
“Thanks,” I replied as we reached the sidewalk and she helped me up the curb.
“You stay right here—I’ll get her. No need for you to climb another set of stairs just to turn right back around.”
I nodded, not happy about it, but she was right. This was better.
As she disappeared into the house, a car drove by and just looked at me for a moment before driving on.
I took a breath. Guess Sophie was right. People just didn’t care—or they’d become desensitized. Just like Steph told me on the flight here. That people had gotten used to seeing women like this. Around this town.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Sophie stepped out with another woman. She wore a crisp white shirt and a suit, along with hose and what looked like four-inch heels—slightly shorter than mine.
Seems like I was wearing the tallest heels of the three of us. Sophie’s were about the same height as Isla’s, but Sophie was taller, too. But then Sophie was pretty much a model.
Then Isla came down the steps, and Sophie introduced us.
The funny thing was, Isla walked out like she wasn’t even in restraints—just sliding down the steps easily in her heels without needing any help.
“Hi,” I said, and Isla said hi back.
She was also in heavier restraints—same setup with the box and waist chain—but everything was thicker, molded differently. The cuffs around her ankles were shorter, like mine, but not standard. The locks protruded.
We walked back across the street and up the driveway to Sophie’s SUV, and she helped each of us inside. It was a challenge—at least for me. Isla seemed to get in just fine, but then again, from what Sophie had said, this was her life. She’d been doing this for months now.
Isla looked back at me and asked a few questions—about what I did, and if I was excited for the big day, about the bachelorette party.
I had to then explain that the wedding was at least a year away, and the bachelorette party was months off, but the thought of it still panicked me. Mostly, the idea of being in restraints the entire time in Vegas.
But with me being here, and Steph explaining the situation, I could see how they thought it was just around the corner.
And of course, I invited both of them—Becca too. Though with the baby, I wasn’t sure who would actually come. Still, I invited them because it seemed polite ... and because they genuinely seemed nice.
Then Isla told me she couldn’t just travel freely. If she did, it had to be coordinated through the New York prison system, and she’d done that before—it sucked. At one point, she thought they weren’t even going to let her out.
I listened, surprised at how bad it really was. She was stuck—here, in this town, in restraints—and yet ... she seemed okay with it.
She even joked about it, saying it wasn’t so bad.
Then she mentioned the weekly therapy. She said it was helping—helping her deal with some maladaptive coping habits, and the dissociation she’d been struggling with. She used a lot of clinical words, but what it really came down to was this growing psychological dependence on the restraints.
The therapy, she explained, was there to make sure she didn’t get ... stuck. Not just physically, but mentally. So that when all of this was over, she wouldn’t still feel like she needed them just to feel okay.
She and Sophie then shifted into talking about the museum—what was going on that day, different exhibits, and the usual behind-the-scenes details.
Then they started discussing a client they were working with for some upcoming private event. From the way they described it, it sounded ... complicated. A little too complicated.
Sophie shook her head at one point. “Eleanor’s never going to approve this,” she said.
Isla laughed softly. “Yeah ... it’ll probably get shut down before it even makes it out of planning.”
We parked in the back of the museum—in what looked like an employee lot. Thankfully, there were no steps leading up to the entrance. Sophie pulled in as close to the door as she could, and we made our way inside.
Getting out was easier than getting in, and we approached the doors just as a woman was trying to badge herself in.
“Sticking again?” Sophie asked.
“Yes,” the woman said, closing her eyes in frustration. Then she sighed. “Why can’t they ever get these to work? This is just as bad as the elevators.”
Sophie swiped her badge, and the door clicked open. We all stepped inside.
The interesting thing was, the woman didn’t even look at me. It was like I was just ... there. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth noticing.
Isla and I were completely restrained, and it didn’t even register for her.
In fact, she complimented Isla’s purse.
That stood out more to her than anything else.
We dropped off our purses in Becca and Sophie’s office, where Isla stayed behind to make some calls. I wasn’t really sure how she did it—guessing she just used her cell, not the desk phone.
Sophie and I then stepped out into the museum. She gave me a little tour as we walked, pointing out the rooms and explaining what went on in each.
It was nice. Small—the kind of museum you’d expect in a town like this—but still upscale and thoughtfully put together. There were a few halls upstairs, mostly for rotating exhibitions. Some anchor pieces, from what Sophie described, but most of it was curated by her and Becca.
A lot of their focus, though, seemed to be on the galas and private events. Those were what really brought in money—enough to keep the place running and support the foundation they were part of.
That foundation was run by someone named Eleanor, who had already come up a couple of times in conversation. Although, from the way they had talked about it in the car, it also sounded like Becca was the one actually running things day to day ... which I didn’t fully understand.
Sophie introduced me to Jack—the museum director. He was older, quiet, polite.
He didn’t say much beyond a simple hello and a welcome to the museum.
He didn’t acknowledge the restraints either. Not directly, at least. But I did catch him looking—at them, or maybe at me—a little longer than anyone else had.
Altogether, it didn’t feel real.
I kept waiting for something to happen—for someone to say something, to stop us, to make it into a scene. Back home, it would have been immediate. Questions. Anger, even. At the very least, attention you couldn’t ignore.
But here ... nothing. People passed by like it was normal.
The closer we got to the front—where more visitors were—the more I started to notice it. A glance here, a second look there. A few people lingered a little longer than others.
But even then, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t confrontational. No one stepped in. No one made a point of it.
It was just ... absorbed into everything else.
“You okay?” Sophie asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “These heels aren’t fun, but they don’t hurt.”
“Okay,” she said chuckling that I had focused on the heels. “If they start hurting, tell me. They’re supposed to be restrictive—not painful.”
She glanced at me with a small smile. “The restraints,” she added.
I smiled back.
“They’re there for control—keeping your movement limited, preventing sudden reactions, making everything predictable. They’re not supposed to hurt,” she continued. “Just to make it clear what you can and can’t do. That’s the whole point.”
She paused, then added dryly, “Again ... talking about the restraints.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, they work really well. No escaping from these.”
Sophie chuckled. “See? You get it. Control, predictability, safety. Not punishment ... though it can feel like it if you’re the one in them.”
I glanced down at the cuffs, heels, and chains, twisting my wrists slightly.
“Not punishment?” I asked softly. “Because right now ... it feels like I did something really bad. Like I’m dangerous—or guilty of something so bad I need to be chained like this.” I chuckled, but it came out hollow.
“Derrick sometimes talks about how women have to be transported. Usually, it’s when they’re arrested in another state and have to be ... what’s that word he uses ... extradited. So, they use female Marshals to move them instead of the FBI—I guess it’s a jurisdiction thing? Or maybe there just aren’t enough people? I don’t know. It’s all too complicated for me,” I said, shaking my head.