("When I give you something, you don't ask questions. You obey.")
The next morning, Janelle walked into the office still trying to calm her racing thoughts.
Her first real job. A dream position. A penthouse-level floor. Clean white lights and air so cold her skin prickled. But all she could think about was the way her boss's voice lingered low, deep, teasing.
She barely sat down at her desk before the receptionist handed her a white velvet box.
"No name," the woman said, wide-eyed. "Just said it's for you."
Janelle blinked. "Me?"
She opened it.
Inside was the softest pair of silk panties she had ever seen. Blood red. Delicate. Expensive. And tucked into the fold was a card.
"Wear this under nothing.
Or don't wear anything at all.
That's your real uniform now."
– M
Janelle's knees actually buckled. She clutched the box to her chest like it might explode.
She looked around the room. Nobody seemed to notice.
But she knew.
Mirabel was watching. Somewhere. Everywhere.
The office suddenly felt different. Like every move she made was being studied. Every breath she took might be too loud. Every inch of fabric on her body wrong.
Later that day, she got a text.
Mirabel
"Did you put them on?"
"Don't lie. I'll know."
Janelle's fingers shook as she replied:
"No…"
The typing bubble appeared.
Then stopped.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
"Bold of you to test me.
Let's see how long that confidence lasts."
No more messages came.
Just silence.
And a slow, thrilling terror curling inside her.
---
To be continued