The world tilted.
A full year. Three hundred sixty-five days. Twelve entire months belonging to someone who would see him as an object, as a thing to take out their frustrations on, something to do with as they pleased. Ren had endured nights—long, humiliating hours, yes—but never more than that. Never a contract. Never actual ownership.
“I can’t…”
“You can.” Malachi had already started walking again. “And you will.”
Ren’s legs moved by themselves. He didn’t remember giving them the order, but he was following those measured steps, walking through the door, entering a part of the casino that seemed to exist outside of time. The lights were dimmer here. Everything smelled of antiseptic mixed with expensive perfume, a nauseating combination that turned his stomach.
Malachi stopped in front of another door, this one marked only with a number: 7.
“Go in.”
Ren hesitated. A second. Two. Then he pushed the handle and went inside.
The room was clinical in its efficiency. White tiles on the walls, halogen lights that left no room for shadows. A padded stretcher occupied the center, flanked by metal tables laden with products that Ren preferred not to examine. Two beta women waited by the corner shower, dressed in immaculate uniforms, their faces neutral.
Neither looked him in the eye.
“Undress.” The one closest to him spoke with no inflection, as if reciting instructions from a manual. “Leave your clothes in the basket.”
Ren didn’t move.
“Excuse me?”
“Undress.”
The second woman had already turned on the shower. The water ran with a steady hiss that filled the silence.
“I can do it myself.”
“No.” The first one stepped closer, and though her tone remained flat, there was something definitive about it. “We have protocols. We’ll waste less time if you cooperate.”
Ren looked for Malachi, but the man had already disappeared. The door was closed. There was no lock on the inside.
Ren’s hands trembled as he brought his fingers to the top button of his shirt. He forced himself to keep them steady. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you broke. Not yet. He unbuttoned them one by one with mechanical movements, letting the fabric fall to the floor. His pants followed. His underwear.
The women didn’t react. Not a single extra glance, not a single comment. They waited until he was naked before gesturing toward the shower. When they finished washing him, they handed him a towel without ceremony and motioned for him to dry off.
“Sit down.”
Ren hesitated. For a second. Then he sat down. Not because he wanted to, but because, for the moment, he saw no other way out. The stretcher was cold beneath his bare thighs. One womanpulled a hair removal machine from the side table and turned it on. The hum filled the room.
“Spread your legs.”
Something snapped inside him, something small but essential. Ren spread his legs. Then they presented him with the suit. Ren stared at it. Black. Latex. A one-piece with an extra-long zipper in the back that would hug every curve of his body like a second skin.
“No.”
The word sounded weak. Even he found it unbelievable.
“Put it on, or we’ll do it for you.”
Ren snatched the outfit from their hands and slipped it on himself. It was a small piece of his dignity, but he was going to hold on to it. The latex clung to his damp skin with an obscene sound, hugging his hips, his waist, his chest. It covered everything but hid nothing. Every line of his body was exposed, on display.
One woman approached with a collar, soft leather with a silver ring in the center.
“Tilt your head.”