She kissed the man willingly—even initiated it. Through the grainy footage, her voice was faintly audible: "Do you like it?"

The video was short. Celine nearly choked on her own rage.

Her foot slammed into my chest. "This is the daughter you raised."

I crashed to the floor.

The pain cut through the fog in my head—just for a moment.

I stared at the screen, something like grief stirring beneath the haze. "Sophie... how could she? Did I fail to protect her after all?"

Then the drugs pulled me back under.

I lay on the cold floor, giggling like an idiot.

The clip was only a few seconds long, dated three days ago. It told us nothing about where my daughter was now.

Instructor Knox had suggested I might know Sophie's whereabouts.

Celine's fists came down on me again and again. Even when I started coughing up blood, she didn't stop.

"Tell me." She grabbed my ear and twisted, wrenching it until I felt the cartilage start to tear. "Where is she?"

"I don't know!" The words came out as a sob.

I really didn't.

I hadn't seen my daughter in so long.

The people at the Men's Virtue Program told me I had too many negative reviews. They said I needed five thousand satisfied clients to give me positive ratings before they'd let me see her.

So I kept taking the pills. Kept seeing the clients.

The drugs did something to my brain. Even in the gaps between doses, everything stayed blurry. My thoughts scattered like startled birds. Sometimes I saw things that weren't there.

Celine kicked me again, disgusted. She turned to Instructor Knox. "Where would the girl most likely go? Search everywhere. Every inch."

She wrenched my arms behind my back and shoved me forward. "Find her."

I stumbled along, not knowing where I was going.

Instinct carried me to my quarters.

This was where I slept. Where I'd been caged for six months.

The moment I stepped inside, the memories flooded back—none of them good.

My eyes darted around the room, wild with fear. Then I crept toward the closet and pressed a finger to my lips.

"Shh," I whispered. "Stay hidden, sweetheart. Don't come out. Don't make a sound."

Celine shoved me into the corner.

"Sophie!" she barked. "Are you hiding in there?"

She yanked the closet door open so hard it nearly toppled over.

Then she froze.

The closet was empty.

Completely empty—except for a single two-inch photograph taped to the back wall.

Sophie's face smiled out at us. Sweet. Innocent.

Like a memorial portrait.

Celine's eyes went bloodshot. She grabbed my collar and hauled me up until we were nose to nose. "Are you playing games with me, Timothy? Do you think I'm a joke?"

I shook my head frantically, trembling, begging without words.

One of Celine's friends frowned. "Celine... does Timothy seem off to you?"

"He looks like he's suffered some kind of psychological trauma. He's not all there."

Celine let out a cold laugh. "He's just a good actor. What trauma could he possibly have?"

"This facility is reputable. Excellent reviews."

"And even if something had happened, he could have called me anytime. I would have come immediately."

The others nodded in agreement.

I stared at Celine, the bitterness rising in my throat like bile.

One phone call, and you would have come?

Really?

The day I arrived at the Men's Virtue Program, Instructor Knox confiscated my phone. Then she sent me to my first client.

I was terrified. Furious. I screamed and cursed at them.

That night, they beat me until I couldn't stand.

When Sophie and I tried to escape, she created a distraction so I could slip into Instructor Knox's office. I managed to steal her phone.

Instructor Knox spotted us and came charging over with a whole group of people to snatch the phone away.

My daughter clung to her legs with everything she had, blocking her path, screaming at me to call Celine.

Knox's fists hammered into my daughter's back, blow after blow. Sophie coughed up blood—again and again—but she never let go.

I finally got through to Celine.

I begged her through my tears to come get us. I told her the people here were abusing me and our daughter.

But she never came. She was at the beach with Brent and his son, enjoying a vacation.

All she did was make a phone call to the Men's Virtue Program to ask what was going on.

Knox sent Celine a video of me screaming at them.

They'd edited it—cut out the beginning and the end, spliced it together to tell whatever story they wanted.

They said I had a violent temper. That I was impossible to discipline. That I cursed at people over nothing.

Celine was furious. She told them to punish me properly. Told them not to hold back on account of my status.

That night, they stripped me and my daughter naked and made us kneel in the freezing courtyard. We kowtowed over a thousand times.

The memories are seared into me. Every time they surface, I shake with terror.

Just then, Celine carelessly ripped a photo down from inside the wardrobe.

I scrambled across the floor and snatched it back.

I clutched it to my chest, pressing it against my heart. "Don't touch my daughter. Don't touch my daughter."

"I'll be good. I'll do anything you want. Just don't touch my daughter."

I lay flat on the ground, curling my body around the photograph. "Sophie... Sophie, Daddy will protect you. Daddy will always protect you."

Ever since they took my daughter away, this photo has been all I have left to hold onto.

Most of the time now, I can't tell the difference between her and the picture anymore.

Celine grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head into the wall. "Still playing crazy, are you? Addicted to acting pathetic? Addicted to lying?"

"The people at the Program were too soft on you. I won't make that mistake."

A chunk of my hair tore free, ripping at my scalp.

My head cracked against the wall, splitting open. Blood ran down my face.

Through the haze, a thought drifted through my mind: I've been so good. Why are they still hitting me?

Then it clicked.

Some clients have... particular tastes.

They simply enjoy hurting people. They get pleasure from degradation.

The moment I understood, I dropped to my knees.

I swayed my body back and forth, like I was wagging a tail that wasn't there.

I had debased myself as completely as a person could—but Celine only grew angrier.

She spoke through clenched teeth. "You want to degrade yourself? Fine."

"Let's see how long you can keep up the act."

She barked at Knox: "Bring me your guard dog."

The wolfdog was vicious, straining against a heavy iron chain, lunging and snarling at me.

Celine slapped my face. "You wanted to humiliate yourself, didn't you? You wanted to play crazy? You wanted to grovel?"

"Why'd you stop? Can't keep it up anymore?"

A client's demands must always be met.

I looked at the wolfdog. Slowly, I knelt before it.

Its snarling grew more frenzied.

Perhaps it was hungry.

I bit down on the back of my hand and tore off a chunk of flesh. I spat it into the food bowl and held it out to the dog.

"Madam, please eat."

Celine snapped.

She grabbed a chair and brought it crashing down on me.

I screamed. My body slammed into the wardrobe.

The heavy wardrobe swayed once, twice—then toppled to the ground with a thunderous crash.

With the wardrobe down, the wall behind it was exposed.

Celine glanced over.

The color drained from her face.

"Sophie? Is that you?" Celine's scream tore through the room, raw with horror.