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There’s also a fleeting part of me that wonders if Harper would like it here, or if she’d want to change anything to make it feel more like home to her.

I push those thoughts away and focus on the part of me that should be much more prominent than it currently is. Nevermind thinking about how she feels, or if she’s safe…I need to concentrate on how I’m going to punish her so that nothing like this ever happens again.

I might be feeling all kinds of weird things that I can’t name or explain, but none of that changes the fact she’s my Prize…she’s mine to control as I see fit. And I demand her obedience…which she fucking clearly didn’t give me.

So now, I need to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget. I just have to wait for the drugs to leave her system, and the doc to give her the all-clear, then she’s all mine.

My eyes flutter open and closed a few times, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief that they don’t feel as heavy as the last few times I woke up. I can barely remember anything about those times, except that I quickly let sleep take me again soon after opening them.

This time, the heaviness from before is almost completely gone, and it’s not a mammoth task to keep my eyes open. Though I’m grateful for the dimmed light in the room, as I think anything brighter would most likely hurt.

There’s an intense throbbing in my head, and though it’s more painful than I would like, there’s no brain fog like before that prevents me from piecing together where I am, but there are other worrying memory blanks.

I remember everything that happened with Lawson in my room, when he placed the love egg inside me—bloody hell, I hope that’s not still inside me. How long can you keep a love egg in before it causes damage? That sounds like a question for Google, rather than my pounding head.

Since I can’t feel the sex toy, I’m hoping Lawson had the good sense to remove it. Particularly since I have no idea how long I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness. But I have to admit, I’m a little let down that I never got to explore its potential.

I push that thought away and try to focus my frazzled brain enough to do an inventory of my body. The gaps in my memory are scaring me, and I’m worried the scenarios my overactive imagination is creating are so much worse than reality.

As I take stock of my body, panic sets in. When I try to move my arms and legs, I realise I can’t. There’s something cold and heavy wrapped around my wrists and ankles, tying me to the soft, comfortable bed beneath me.

My arms are stretched above my head, almost as if they’re attached to each side of the headboard. While my legs are being pulled wide apart, connected to the bottom edges of the bed. It’s like I’m in a starfish position, and whatever is binding me is so unforgiving that I can’t move, not even an inch.

As I try to lift my head to get a better look at my situation, a sharp pressure applies to my neck, cutting off my air supply and restricting my movements. I quickly drop my head back down, pulling in some much-needed air as my heart races, my nerves prickling with anxiety.

Since I can’t move my hands, I have to get creative to try to work out what the hell is going on with me. So, this time, when I lift my head up, I do it incredibly slowly, stopping when I feel something touching my neck. It’s cold and hard, almost like metal, and it’s similar to whatever is tying down my limbs.

I can’t see enough to work it out completely, but from what I can feel, I can hazard a guess what it is. I’m wearing some kind of collar, and the more I move, the more it restricts my movements and breathing.

Since I’m not able to move enough to see, I have to focus on all of my other senses, but the throbbing in my head and the buzzing of anxiety make it incredibly difficult.

While I can feel the warm, comfy, silky fabric of a duvet covering me, I’m almost certain I’m naked beneath. When I try to move, the softness of the material glides over my exposed nipples, creating a tingling sensation that is more than pleasurable.

As I try wiggling my hips, just to see what else I can feel, a rough burn-like sensation spreads over my lower abdomen and the area just below my breasts. Rope secures me to the bed in two places, making it well and truly impossible for me to move.

Despite only having fractured memories, when I first woke up, I was one hundred percent certain that I was with Lawson. I remember him finding me after Nigel kidnapped me, and he pulled me out of the car and into his arms. He held me as we drove home. He then carried me into his bedroom, laying me down to sleep in his arms.

From the brief parts of the room that I can see, I’m almost certain this isn’t Lawson’s room in Crowhurst House, and it’s not my dorm either. If I am with him, we’d have to be at one of those locations, and this room doesn’t seem familiar, which only makes my breathing pick up.

Are all the memories I have of Lawson looking after me each time I woke up in a daze nothing more than my brain playing tricks on me? Was Nigel really able to kidnap me?

I remember very little from the times I woke up before, but I’m sure Lawson was here each and every time, stroking my hair, kissing my cheeks, whispering reassuring words that soothed the balm of my soul.

I can’t possibly have made him up to help me get through whatever situation I’m in, but it’s looking like a possibility. And if Lawson didn’t find me, that means Nigel kidnapped me.

Tears well up in my eyes as fear gets the better of me, and despite it doing nothing but make the situation worse, I thrash against my bindings, trying my best to get free, even though I know it’s hopeless.

I scream through my sobs, my voice hoarse from the collar choking me as I push against it, but the crippling fear prevents me from thinking logically.

Within seconds, soft hands are pressing me into the bed, stopping me from pulling against my bindings, allowing me to breathe, even if each inhale is jagged and sharp against my burning lungs. It’s not until Lawson’s head appears, hovering over me, that I finally breathe easy once more.

The bed dips beside me as he takes a seat on it, sitting right beside me as he reaches over and wipes away my tears with his thumb. His movements are soft and gentle, a complete contradiction to the man I’m struggling to even begin to understand.

After holding a bottle of water to my lips, giving me a few much-needed sips, he lets out a long sigh as he finally breaks the silence. “Welcome back, sweetheart,” he tells me, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

I try to form words, but have to push hard against my sore, hoarse throat. “Lawson, where… What…?”

He presses his finger to my lips, shaking his head as his sparkling silver gaze locks with mine. Although there’s a softness to his face, with his small smile, there’s fierceness in his eyes that seems to contradict everything else I’m seeing.