Black. Sharp.
At least five inches.
My stomach flips.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
But there’s no one to hear it. Or care.
Next to the outfit sits a choker. Silver.
No—
Not silver.
It’s diamonds.
Tiny stones embedded all the way around, catching the light with every movement.
It looks expensive.
Too expensive.
Like something meant to be seen. Displayed.
My throat tightens.
I don’t have a choice.
I know that by now.
So I move.
Stripping off my clothes and pulling the new ones on.
The fabric slides over my skin like water.
The top clings to my chest, my waist, outlining every inch of me like it was tailored specifically for my body.
The pants leave nothing to the imagination. And because I have no other choice but to go commando, silk feels smoother against my skin. And I can’t say I hate the feeling.
And the heels—
I wobble slightly when I step into them, gripping the edge of the chair for balance.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
The choker is the last thing.
I hesitate for a second before fastening it around my neck.
It sits snug against my skin.
Like a collar.
A few minutes later—
“Done,” I say quietly.
