The sun filtered through my bedroom window, throwing gold across the sheets like it had no idea what kind of darkness lay curled inside me. The necklace gleamed at my throat, a gift or a leash still cold against my skin.
Last night, he’d told me I wasn’t a pawn. That I was the queen.
But queens don’t get to rest. They get watched Tracked Tested.
The pendant was a simple silver chain with a small, intricate key dangling from it, cool against my skin. It felt like a promise, or maybe a warning. I hadn’t taken it off since that fateful night at the club, when the world had tilted on its axis and I’d stumbled into his orbit. Something about it made me feel protected, watched, maybe even owned. In the quiet moments, I’d trace its edges with my fingers, wondering what door it might unlock or
