“Maybe I am happy to be off my legs and carried to the car.” I snort.

I won’t let him see how much he gets to me. His thug can jog along and deposit me in the car; my feet are glad of the respite, and when I get to wherever we are going, I am burning all the shoes that Carrero makes a point of insisting I wear. Not dressing for his club anymore will be empowering. I will shred all my formal attire and sexy tailoring and make him eat them. I give no actual fucking shits anymore. ...