Cecilia

As I opened the door to our apartment, I recalled my father saying that it would be up to my husband if I kept my apartment or pursued my career. The word terrified me.

Husband.

In the picture my father painted, that word represented a dictator, a controller, or an owner. I supposed that was the case when bids were made and I was reduced to a commodity. I hadn’t thought of it before, but as Greyson backed me against the hallway wall, his erection prodding my ...