POV: Clara

I didn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, his voice came back through the tether, filthy and certain: Next time you don’t get to choose.

The words carved themselves into my bones. They pulsed in my chest with every beat of my heart. They seared down my spine whenever I shifted in bed, the ache between my thighs mocking me with its persistence.

I’d changed the sheets. I’d scrubbed my hands until they stung. I’d buried my face in the pillow and ...