Are you done my one?

“Where am I?”

Alison Fairchild’s head throbbed as she pressed her fingers to her temples, slowly blinking awake. The room felt utterly foreign. Nothing matched her memory, and panic surged in her chest.

She sat up, spotting a photo placed in the center of the bed.

Alison froze.

The woman in the photo… was her.

Confusion and terror collided as she realized the image showed her completely nude, every intimate detail exposed.

This can’t be real, she told herself. That’s not me.

She’d never posed for anything like this. Not even her boyfriend, Colton Mills, had seen her naked.

She couldn’t accept what she was seeing.

The woman in the photo had a tiny crimson mole at the corner of her lip—her mole. It was unmistakeable.

Something had happened last night. Alison tried to remember, but her memory was in a haze.

She remembered Colton taking her to a nightclub for a singing audition.

Colton?

Why had she here alone?

Through the fog of memory, her memory slowly came back -- Colton had gone to the restroom, leaving her waiting alone, jittery about the audition.

Yes—the water. She’d sipped a glass while waiting. That’s when it must have started.

After that… nothing.

Her backpack sat on the bed with her clothes arranged neatly by the bed.

A glance at the photo confirmed it – everything had been staged..

Who’d taken it? Why strip her and photograph her like that? And what else had been done to her?

She checked her body—relief flooded her. No visible injuries.

Yet she could not shake off the feeling that the photo wasn’t the end of it.

Flipping the photo over, a line read “Turn on the computer. Check your email.”

A sleek, new laptop sat on the desk. She turned it on, then checked her bag—nothing was missing. Her phone, however had been turned off. Why?

When she powered it on, she was instantly bombarded with missed calls.

All from Colton.

Her inbox revealed a nightmare: photo after photo of herself, naked and vulnerable.

She squeezed her eyes shut, nauseated.

Each image felt like a violation.

The final email contained a chilling command:

Alison,

Be at the apartment below by 10 tonight.

The key is under the flowerpot by the door.

After you shower, lie on the bed. A man will visit your room.

If you refuse, these photos go public in T City.

After three months, you may leave, and the photos will be destroyed.

The address followed. No name. No compassion. No hint of mercy.

She wanted to rebel, but the threat of expose left her trembling.

Staying with a stranger for ninety nights or lose everything.

Outside the window, the sun spilled across a bustling city, but no light could reach the cold dread in her chest.

What if he doesn’t keep his word?

Clutching her hair, Alison faced the impossible choice: surrender her body to a stranger or be destroyed.

A sudden knock at the door jolted her.

“Cleaning service, miss”

“No, thanks,” she replied hollowly.

She stuffed the laptop and photo into her bag, fleeing the hotel as though running from a nightmare she hadn’t yet woken from.

On the street, she wandered aimlessly until her phone rang.

Colton’s voice burst through, urgent yet warm, “Alison! where were you last night? Your phone was off—I’ve been calling all night!”

Before she could speak, he continued, “I went to your place and you weren’t there. Alison, just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you right now!”

His tenderness pierced the fog in her mind. If she had to lose her virginity, she wanted it to be to him.

“Colton, go to my place. I’ll meet you there,” she blurted, hanging up before she could second-guess herself.

Once she decided, her hands stopped shaking. She got on a bus, pressed her palm against the cold glass, and let the wind clear her racing thoughts.

Today would mark the beginning—and the end—of something sacred.

Outside her apartment, a small cactus with pink flowers cactus sat in a planter.

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the door—her safe haven, for now.

Tonight, it would no longer be hers.

Inside, Alison hid the laptop; Colton must never find it.

She undressed, and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water crash down over her near-perfect figure.

Mabye it could prepare her. Maybe it wouldn’t.

Thankfully, there were no marks, no bruises—only shame smoldering beneath her skin, as she imagined the poses she couldn’t remember holding.

The doorbell rang.

Surely, Colton had arrived.