Page 28 of Shy Girl

This is it. There’s no turning back now.

YEAR ONE

THIRTEEN

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I step outof the car, the cool air folding over me like a second skin. The lock clicks softly, the sound almost reassuring. I press the button again, needing the confirmation beep, the small punctuation that says everything is secure, everything is in its place. My purse hangs lightly at my side, and I think about leaving it behind, but the thought won’t stick.What if I need something?The question loops, nonsensical but insistent, its weight heavier than the bag itself. The walk to the front door stretches, each step feels choreographed, my body carrying me forward while my mind stalls in place. The faint glow from inside frames the door like an invitation, and I pause, my hand hovering just shy of the wood. The knock feels heavy in my chest before it even lands.

Nathan opens the door almost instantly, as if he’s been waiting just beyond it, his silhouette etched in the frame like it’s part of the architecture. He’s casual in a way that feels practiced—dark jeans, a grey sweater with its sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “You’re on

time,” he says, his voice low, edged with faint amusement, as

though my punctuality surprises him. He steps aside, and the

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space opens behind him. “Come.”

I nod, the words caught somewhere between my chest and my mouth. I step inside, and the scent hits me first: polished wood, faint cologne, and something colder, sterile, like an echo of something recently scrubbed away. The house is immaculate, each object curated, the kind of cleanliness that feels untouchable. The air is still, oppressive in its order.

“Follow me,” Nathan says, his voice a steady current that pulls me along. I obey without hesitation, my feet moving automatically, my purse swaying lightly at my side. His gaze flickers to it, a quick tilt of his head that sharpens the weight of it against my arm. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel the disapproval settle in the quiet between us.

He leads me down the hallway, the shadows pooling in the corners, softening the edges of the pristine walls. The room at the end is just as I remember. The cage sits waiting, its metal bars gleaming faintly in the soft light, unapologetic in its presence. My chest tightens, my breath shallow as the reality of this night presses down on me.

Nathan turns to me, his face unreadable, his expression carefully calibrated. “Give me the purse,” he says, the command laced with a calm finality that leaves no room for argument.

I hesitate, my fingers gripping the strap like it’s the only thing tethering me to my real life. Slowly, I hand it over. He takes it. “You’ll get this back in eight hours,” he says, and then lifts it up and down as if he is weighing it. “Is your phone in here?”

I nod, the motion small.

“Good,” he replies, a faint nod of acknowledgment. Then, his gaze sharpens, cutting through the air between us. “Now undress down to your underwear.”

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The words land like a weight. My hands move before my mind catches up, trembling as they pull off my jacket, and then pull at the hem of my shirt, and then my pants. I fold them into a neat pile, an attempt to impose control on a situation where I have none. When I’m left in just my bra and underwear, I cross my arms, my body folding in on itself like it’s trying to disappear.

Nathan watches me with a detached focus, his movements like liquid as he pulls the collar from his pocket. Black leather, silver studs, a piece of art in its own right. He steps closer, and I hold still, my breath catching as he wraps it around my neck. The buckle snaps shut in a way that feels intimate, his fingers lingering just long enough to make the air between us feel too full.

“Kneel,” he says, the word cutting through the moment like a blade.

I drop, my knees meeting the floor with a dull thud, my palms resting flat against my thighs. He circles me, his steps soft, the floor creaking faintly beneath his weight.

“No standing, no speaking, no human behavior,” he begins, his tone steady, authoritative. “You are to remain in character unless I say otherwise. Understood?”

I nod.

“Speak,” he commands, his voice sharper now.

“Woof,” I reply.

“Good,” he says, a flicker of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “You’ll get better.”

He gestures toward the cage, the door swinging open with a faint groan. “Inside,” he says simply, stepping back to watch.

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