Page 28 of Their Arrangement
Made my thighs press together.
Made shame tighten across my chest like a corset.
I hated myself for it.
And then I noticed the box.
It hadn’t been there before.
It sat at the far corner of my desk.
Black. Matte. Perfect.
There was no label.
No note.
No courier slip.
I looked around.
No one watched me.
No one looked.
The hallway buzzed with normalcy—clicking heels, low murmurs, soft hums of technology.
But not here.
Not in my corner of the building.
I reached for the box with slow fingers.
Lifted the lid.
Inside:
Lipstick.
Deep red. Bold. Almost sinful.
The casing was gold. Heavy. Etched with a single word:
Obedience.
My breath caught.
The letters weren’t cheap. They weren’t laser-printed. They were carved.
Like a brand.
I turned the tube in my palm.
There was no price tag.
No logo.
Just that one word.
