Belle Unbound Pt. 10

If you're just joining Belle's story, here's what you need to know:

Somewhere out past the dusty roads of 1990s Mississippi, far from curious neighbors or the safety of town, Billy's life was quietly stolen and replaced with someone new--Belle.

The change wasn't his choice, but over time, resistance gave way to survival, and survival began to feel a lot like desire. Now, Belle isn't just a pawn in her twisted neighbor Mr. Carver's game. She's learning to play along, using his obsession to carve out small freedoms wherever she can.

Through Carver, she was drawn into the Circle--a secretive criminal network of powerful men who collect and control girls like her. That's where she met Red: bold, sharp-tongued, and owned by the local police chief.

Red is more than just another trapped girl. She's vibrant, rebellious--someone who makes Belle feel seen. In just one day together, they found something Belle thought she'd lost: friendship, understanding, and maybe even something more. The deeper she sinks into this world, the blurrier the line becomes between pretending and becoming. But if there's any way out, Belle knows one thing for sure--she won't take it alone.

But escape won't be easy. Carver still holds the reins, and if Belle wants to survive, she'll have to keep playing his game. The difference now? She's done being his helpless doll. She's learning how to win.

And maybe her old friend from school Tyler can help her? But how will he feel about her transformation?

At the lodge, where the girls are trained and tested, Belle has learned more than she ever wanted to know. Behind a locked door, she discovered the truth: every room, every hallway, every moment is being watched. Recorded. A wall of monitors and a library of tapes catalog years of seductions, secrets, and sins--enough dirt to ruin lives and bend the world to the Circle's will. Blackmail isn't just a possibility. It's the foundation of their dark empire.

And now, Belle's reward for surviving her week at the lodge? She's been named head girl. Her final test: seduce a powerful guest and prove her loyalty.

Only, it's not just any guest. It's Senator Hargrove. Tyler's father. Tyler, the boy from Belle's childhood. The one person who saw her when she was still Billy.

What happened that night with Red and the senator will haunt Belle. But something inside her shifted. Shame gave way to fury. And with Red by her side, Belle made a decision.

They're going to steal the tape. Protect the senator. And use the Circle's own weapon against them.

This is a dark erotic thriller with twisted turns and fierce hearts. Belle may be broken--but she's never beaten.

All characters are over 18 and this is a complete work of fantasy and nothing more.

Stealing the evidence

I woke with Red curled in my arms, her bare skin soft against mine, our bodies tangled in a lazy knot of limbs and warmth. The sheets were kicked halfway down the bed, and the morning air kissed our flushed skin, but I didn't move. I didn't want to disturb the perfect stillness of her breathing against my chest or the gentle rhythm of her heart, beating where our chests touched.

I'd been awake for hours, just watching her. Drinking her in. The delicate arch of her back, the slow rise and fall of her breasts, the way her hair spilled across the pillow like dark silk. She smelled like sleep and sex and something that felt like home. I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in like I could store her inside me.

Tomorrow, I'd be back in Carver's house of lies, wearing the mask again, not knowing when--or if--I'd see her. Touch her. Hear her laugh. I'd have to pretend again, alone and owned.

What Red and I planned to do today was reckless. A betrayal of everything the Circle thought I'd become. If we were caught, I didn't know what they'd do. More punishments, yes. But maybe worse. The kind of worse you can't come back from. They were men without limits. That's why we couldn't just run.

But it was still worth it.

I couldn't go back to being Carver's toy--not now, not ever.

Red sighed in her sleep, her breath tickling my collarbone as she nestled closer. I held her tighter, stroking her hair slowly, memorizing the texture, the weight of her body against mine. If this was our last moment, I wanted to remember everything.

Her softness. Her warmth. The feeling that, for once, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Too soon the alarm buzzed and it was time to prepare ourselves for the last day. We had one more meeting with Matron, then some final time to ourselves before our 'Daddies' came to collect us that afternoon. That free time was our window.

We sat in silence as we made up our faces and hair. Both aware of the sadness of departing from each other, and what we had to do that day.

The meeting with Matron was short and sweet, praise for our efforts, a lecture about the importance of what we do for the Circle, then a warning about our behaviour.

I saw Natalie in the crowd of girls, she looked down, defeated, her eyes not meeting mine. I didn't feel much sorrow for her. Perhaps I should have, who knows how she ended up here, what she had endured at the hands of her owner.

Once we had our free time we had head to our dorm to put a plan into action.

Red adjusted the hem of her jean shorts, the frayed edges riding high over her thighs, her bikini top an electric red that matches her name and her daring. She glanced at me, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Ready to make some magic, Belle?"

I'm ready," I whispered, though my hands trembled. I dressed for my adventure in a fitted cream crop top that clings softly to my skin, paired with high-waisted white shorts that bare just enough to tease but offer freedom to move, and low-heeled strappy sandals. I had to look like a girl out to enjoy the sun, but the clothes needed to be practical for sneaking around where I'm not supposed to be.

The corridors of the lodge feel different in the daylight, brighter but no less dangerous. Footsteps echo distantly as staff and guests move about, their chatter a low hum that reverberates through the halls. Red led the way with a confidence that seemed woven into her very being, every step deliberate, a sway in her hips that draws attention without begging for it.

We reached the service hallway just as the sound of footsteps fades around the bend. Red presses a finger to her lips, then moves ahead, her movements smooth as silk.

Right on cue, I saw the guard round the corner, just like I remembered him from the monitoring room--Hispanic, heavyset, arms full of snacks. His uniform strained over his belly, a slick of sweat glinting at his temples. The crinkle of chip bags merged with his wheezing breath.

"Hey there," Red purred, already leaning in the doorway, hips cocked just so. The cold hallway made her nipple stand taut through the sheer red bikini top, a perfect bead beneath the thin fabric. She smiled like sin.

"Oooh, snacks! You know they don't let us girls have treats like that," she said, eyeing the junk food like it was treasure. "You look like you could use a break. Wanna share a few chips, sugar?"

The guard froze mid-step, eyes glued to her chest as a bag of pretzels slipped from his grip. "I--what are you doing here? You're not supposed to--"

"I got lost," she interrupted sweetly. "Thought maybe you could help me find my way. I get so dizzy sometimes." She bit her lip--soft, careless, perfect.

He swallowed, eyes flicking nervously to the cameras. "You... you really shouldn't be out here. If someone sees--"

"Exactly," she whispered, stepping close enough for him to feel the heat off her body. "That's why we shouldn't stay out here." Her fingers grazed his arm. "Isn't there somewhere we could go that's a little more... private?"

"I--I don't think--"

"Please?" she breathed, low and teasing. "Just a few minutes. Just enough to get to know each other... maybe share a snack or two." She leaned in, her voice honeyed, her chest brushing his. The bikini top barely contained her, each breath drawing him deeper under.

"I'll make it worth your while, sugar..." she added, curling a strand of red hair around her finger.

He hesitated, but the tent in his slacks gave him away. With a twitchy nod, he turned and motioned toward the office.

"Okay. But just a minute. There's a spot with no cameras."

Red flashed a victorious smile and let him lead her away. The door clicked shut behind them--almost. A sliver remained open. Deliberate

.

I slipped through the gap, heart pounding in my throat. The cold air hit my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.

The monitoring room loomed ahead. I tried the handle. Locked.

Panic surged.

Red's giggle drifted through the wall, light and wicked. The guard's voice followed--low, eager.

I glanced down the hallway. Empty. For now.

Exposed. Vulnerable. Nowhere to hide. I muttered, "Where the hell are you, Red?"

Then, like she heard me, her hand snaked out from the office door. Keys dangled from her fingers.

I snatched them, breath caught in my throat. Another laugh from Red covered the sound. I turned the key, the lock clicked, and I slipped inside.

The air stank of stale coffee and electronics. Screens flickered, showing grainy, intimate moments. Secrets. Shame. I pulled the door shut and locked it behind me.

The layout was just like I remembered. I'd been here before--when I learned the Circle's true plan: blackmail, filmed encounters, control. The preacher. The terrified girl on that tape. I still wondered what became of her.

And now... a new name on the shelf. Hargrove. Tyler's father. The tape from last night, with Red and me. I stared at the label, bile rising.

But I had a job to do.

I found the stack of blank tapes I'd clocked earlier, tore the wrapper open with shaking fingers. Swapped his tape for a clean one. The cellophane crinkled loud as thunder.

I froze. Footsteps.

Red and the guard had gone quiet.

The handle rattled.

Fuck.

A shadow passed the window. I held my breath. Pulse roaring in my ears.

The handle twisted. Didn't open.

A pause. Then retreating steps--followed by a burst of static from a walkie-talkie.

"Rodriguez, report."

My stomach flipped. They were checking on him.

A reply crackled back. The footsteps faded. Still, I didn't move.

Silence.

Then Red's voice again, from the office: "Oh! You're such a gentleman."

A soft thump. She knocked something over, kept him focused.

I moved fast, stuffing tapes into my bag with trembling hands. Everything felt like slow motion.

I eased the door open and slipped into the hall, heart hammering. Locked it behind me. Slid the keys under the door. My fingers shook as I let them go.

"You're too sweet," Red cooed from inside. "Help me untie this?"

Every step away was a risk. But I made it back to the main lodge, the service corridor fading behind me.

Back in the dorm, the adrenaline crashed. Victory and guilt tangled tight in my chest. Half an hour later, Red returned. Her smile was sharp and smug.

We didn't speak. Couldn't.

But we'd won something tonight. Something small--but maybe enough to turn the tide.

------------

Too soon, it was time to go.

One by one, the girls were called out--each name a small goodbye. Mine came before Red's. I hugged Tia, Vanessa, Maya. Whispered quick promises. Hoped I'd see them again.

Then Red.

We'd agreed--no tears, no drama. Nothing to draw attention. But when I wrapped my arms around her, I clung too tightly, breathing her in like I'd drown without her. She didn't say a word. Just held me back, fierce and trembling.

I pulled away first. We'd rehearsed this. I didn't look back as I walked beneath the stone archway, the same one I'd passed through just a week earlier. A different girl had arrived. That girl was gone now.

Carver was waiting by the station wagon, sunglasses on, that awful shit-eating grin already on his face.

"Well, well," he drawled. "My baby girl returns. Daddy's missed you, hunny."

I ran to him, smiling wide, throwing my arms around his neck. I hugged him tightly, pressing my body into his, just like he liked. Just like he expected. It was all an act, but it had to be perfect.

He didn't question it. His hands slid down to cup my ass like he owned it--which, in his mind, he did.

"My bags?" I asked lightly.

"All packed up, sweetheart. Matron gave you a glowing report. Said you made head girl. We'll just have to see if that's true."

We climbed in. The car door slammed shut, sealing me back into the world I thought I'd escaped. Carver stretched out in the driver's seat, legs spread wide, crotch thrust forward. He wasn't subtle.

We hadn't even left the compound.

Obediently, I leaned over, undid his belt, and pulled out his cock--thin, veined, still damp with sweat from his long, hot drive. The smell hit me: stale sex, unwashed hours on the road, cheap soap. I didn't flinch. I couldn't.

I let a long thread of spit fall onto the head, smearing it down the shaft with my fingers before easing my lips over him. He exhaled through his teeth, one hand on the wheel, the other curling into my hair.

"That's my special girl," he murmured, stroking my head like I was a pet. "Daddy missed this."

His cock slid deeper into my mouth, but my mind was somewhere else. Red. The plan. Every vile second in this car was a step closer to freedom. I swallowed him down, eyes closed, forcing myself to play the part perfectly.

I hated this life. Hated the way he used me. But I'd do whatever it took to end it--for good.

And with Carver's cock in my throat, my resolve hardened.

We were going to burn the whole fucking thing down.

An old friend

The highway stretched long and empty before us, the white lines blurring into a dull rhythm beneath the tires of Carver's grey station wagon. The car was reliable, sensible and discreet--just like him. Every inch of it plain, unremarkable. A car designed to blend in, driven by a man who preferred to keep his power hidden behind closed doors.

I kept my posture perfect, my hands resting gently in my lap, the picture of composure. The sun glared outside, heat rising in shimmering waves from the pavement, but inside, the air-conditioning chilled my skin.

"You've been quiet," Carver murmured, his eyes never leaving the road.

I turned to him with a practiced smile. "I'm just tired, is all. I'll miss the girls, I'll miss Red."

He nodded slowly. "She's a good influence on you. A loyal girl, that one." His lips curled faintly. "Did you tell Red that it was her Daddy was your first?"

The words were designed to provoke a reaction, make sure I know my place. Break me. I just shake my head.

"But you, Belle... you've made me proud this summer. Very proud."

"Thank you." I injected warmth into the words.

His hand slipped from the steering wheel to rest on mine, the weight heavy, possessive. "You know how special you are to me, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," I replied softly, my stomach twisting into knots.

He gave a satisfied squeeze. "Good girl."

--------

I woke from the long drive as I heard the familiar sound of the gravel crunching as we turned into the drive, the oaks casting long, dappled shadows. Home rose up before us, its chipped shutters and faded paint making it feel like a tomb rather than a refuge.

He killed the engine, but neither of us moved. His hand lingered on mine a beat too long before he pulled away with a knowing look.

"There's something for you," he said, stepping out of the car.

I followed, heart thudding, as he led me to the side of the house. Beneath the sprawling oak tree sat a cream-colored 1988 Toyota Corolla. The paint was peeling, and one of the doors didn't match, but the tires were new, and the keys dangled from a rabbit's foot keychain.

My breath caught. A car.

"For your hard work. And for making head girl at the lodge," Carver said, his voice dripping with approval. "A gift. And a sign of trust. Trust hard earned baby girl."

I ran my fingers over the hood, my smile stretched tight. It was a wreck, but in that moment, it was a welcome sign of freedom. "It's perfect."

His eyes gleamed. "It comes with responsibility."

"Of course," I whispered, dread pooling in my stomach.

We stepped into the kitchen at the back of the house, almost as soon as we were inside Carver pushed me onto the table. I turned to see his expression almost animal like. As if desperately hungry for fresh meat.

Bent over, he started to pull my shorts and panties down in one swift motion, his hand on my back, keeping my chest flat to the table. His hand reached round for the butter, roughly scooping a chunk before massaging it into my ass.

I groaned, my mind trying to switch so I could take another fucking from this creep. The switch which would let me enjoy being degraded, being used as a fuck-toy.

I felt his cock rub around my puckered hole, probing at my bud, then the pressure started.

The blow job in the car hadn't satisfied him. My absence giving him a hunger I'd not seen from him. In no time he pushed into me. I felt the usual pain; I tried my best to relax and accommodate him.

With another hard thrust he was in. I let out all the air in my lungs as his hips slammed into me. I grabbed the tablecloth, my fists in balls, my teeth tight together as I endured him. Soon his hip was slapping against my ass.

I knew how to encourage him to finish faster. "Oh god Daddy, I forgot how big you are. Fuck me Daddy, I need your cum inside me. Your cock is the best."

It was all bullshit to stroke his ego, but it was effective.

He started smacking my ass hard, grunting like a stuck pig. It hurt, but the slut inside of me enjoyed that now, much more than I liked to admit. I could feel my own orgasm building as I focussed on being a whore for Carver. The fact I detested him actually helped to get me hornier, his vileness making it sexier. What the heck had they turned me into?

His ass slapping got harder, as did the thrusts, pushing the breath out of my chest, shaking the table and sending items on the table top crashing to the floor. He was close, he needed a little push.

"Oh god Daddy, it's too big for me. I can't take it now. Oh my, you must stop!" My mock protest seemed to do the trick, there was one final hard slap, and I could feel his cum explode inside of me.

As he collapsed on top of me, I could feel my own cum leaking. I hadn't orgasmed, or 'sissygasmed' as Matron told us, but I was close. My internal switch allowing me some enjoyment from Carver's sleazy use of me. I felt a little dirty knowing how much I enjoyed being a slut now.

Still inside me, Carver leaned in close to my ear, lowering his voice. "There's a man I want you to see. He owns half the waterfront real estate in three parishes, and he's grown... difficult. He needs encouragement to remain loyal."

I blinked, carefully arranging my expression into curiosity rather than horror.

Carver smiled, his hand brushing my cheek with chilling affection. "His name is Maxwell Tierney. You'll like him. Wealthy. Refined. A man of taste. And he's been asking about you. You've become quite well known within the Circle."

A knot tightened in my throat, but I kept my eyes wide, my voice eager. "When do you want me to see him?"

"Soon." He trailed his fingers down my arm. "You know how much I rely on you, Belle. You've never let me down."

"I never would," I said sweetly, holding his gaze as my heart pounded.

He smiled that wolfish smile back at me, before sliding out of my ass. I felt the cum drip down my leg as he did so. He'd dropped quite a load into me. Carver passed me some kitchen towel to clean myself, before I haul up my panties and shorts, ready to carry on as if nothing had just happened.

I'd taken a risk when I took the Tapes. I guessed they wouldn't be watched, just stored away in case they were needed. If anyone tried to view them, I hoped they'd think it was an error--or blame the poor guard for messing up. Whatever the case, it was a ticking clock, and I couldn't forget it.

The first thing I had to do was talk to Tyler without alerting Carver.

--------------

The morning sun poured down thick and golden, though the crisp hint of autumn made me shiver as I stepped outside. I wore a cream sundress with pale green stripes--modest, fitted, swaying just above my knees. Innocence, with just enough suggestion. Exactly the kind of look Carver liked.

My flat sandals tapped softly against the pavement as I slid into the driver's seat. I smoothed the hem of my dress, adjusted the gold locket at my throat, and pulled onto the narrow road. My fingers clutched the wheel. Every pothole jarred the nerves already coiled tight beneath my skin, the stolen blackmail tapes heavy in my bag--and heavier in my conscience.

The battered old car handled better than I'd expected, though the engine's rattle was constant. Wind whipped through the open window, tugging at my short blonde bob as I drove toward Natchez.

Shopping for autumn wear. That was the cover. Harmless, believable. Carver had reminded me to pick out something he'd enjoy. I'd smiled sweetly and said, "Of course, Daddy."

The memory made my stomach tighten.

Main Street buzzed with weekend traffic. Inside the boutique, the air smelled of lavender, polished wood, and a trace of cedar from candles burning near the register.

I moved slowly through the racks, fingers gliding over fabric, searching for armor disguised as femininity. A forest-green sweater that clung just right. A cranberry pleated skirt that hit mid-thigh. Perfect camouflage for the perfect Southern doll Carver liked to parade.

Then I found it--a burgundy silk camisole trimmed in lace. My breath caught. I could already hear Carver's low approval, feel the weight of his hand on the small of my back, the heat of his eyes crawling over my body.

I bought it anyway.

At the back, among cocktail dresses, I paused. Tomorrow night's meeting with Maxwell Tierney loomed--one of Carver's high-society arrangements. Classy, he'd said. No mistakes.

My eyes landed on a little black dress. Elegant. Clean lines. The neckline dipped just enough to whisper danger. The bodice hugged my waist, the hem grazing the top of my thighs. I imagined Carver's reaction--how he'd make me twirl for him first, then bend.

"Perfect," I murmured, fingers grazing the silk.

I added black heels and sheer hold-ups to the pile. At the register, the woman behind the counter gave a knowing smile as she slid the lingerie between the layers of folded cotton and wool.

"Date night?" she teased.

I managed a light laugh, lips curving into a practiced smile.

"Something like that."

-----------

The payphone on the corner looked ancient, the receiver sticky with the grime of a hundred unwashed hands. I cradled it to my ear, pulse thundering as I dialed Tyler's childhood number.

It rang. And rang.

My heart lurched when the line clicked.

"Hargrove residence."

Mrs. Hargrove's voice hadn't changed--warm, refined, with that lilting sweetness I remembered. The voice of a woman who handed out lemonade and cookies with a motherly smile.

For a moment, my tongue froze.

Then I lowered my voice, flattening it, trying to remember who I used to be. Trying to become Billy again. "Hi. I'm calling for Tyler. Is he home?"

A delighted laugh floated through the line. "Oh, sweetie. Tyler's back at university now. He's quite the popular one. You're not the first girl calling for him!"

My stomach clenched. I'd been trying to sound like a guy again but my feminisation had gone so far that Mrs Hargrove thought I was some old girlfriend. I dug my nails into my palm, trying to stay focussed.

"Oh, right," I managed. "Could you give me his number?"

"Of course, dear."

She rattled it off. I scrawled it onto a crumpled bag, my hand shaking, the ink jittery.

She paused. "You're a sweetheart for calling, you know. Tyler needs good people around him."

I bit my lip so hard it hurt. "Thanks, Mrs. Hargrove."

The line went dead, but the weight of her voice stayed with me. I remembered afternoons in that house--her soft encouragement, the way she mothered 'Billy' in ways Delilah never could.

If she knew.

I stared at the number in my palm, breath shallow. Hope and dread warred in my chest.

The dial clicked. The rotary spun slower than my thoughts.

One ring. Two.

"Hello?"

Tyler's voice. Warm, rich, unmistakably him.

My heart stumbled. "Tyler," I whispered. "It's Billy."

Silence stretched--then burst.

"Billy? Well, I'll be damned!" His laugh rang out like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Where the hell've you been? I thought you vanished after Delilah got hauled off. I been thinkin' about you all this time."

Guilt clawed at my throat. I gripped the receiver tighter. "I know. I should've called. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He snorted. "Boy, you got nothin' to be sorry for. I'm just glad you're all right. Where you at?"

I tried to smile. "Staying with some... family." The lie came too easily. I'd had practice.

"Well, aren't you fancy now." He chuckled, playing the backwoods joker to my imagined city slicker. "You sound different, though. Like... smoother. Been hangin' with city folks?"

His teasing stung more than it should.

"Different how?" I asked, too fast.

"Ah, just... softer, I guess. Kinda pretty, if I didn't know better." He laughed again, but it felt like a knife under my ribs. "You okay, Billy? You sure?"

I stiffened. "I'm fine." Too quick. Too sharp. I coughed and tried again, rougher. "I'm fine, Ty. Really."

Another pause. Questions hung between us, unspoken. He was always too perceptive.

"Well," he said finally, softer now. "I stopped by your old place. Boarded up like a haunted house. Gave me the creeps. I guess it's the same with wherever you're at, now Delilah's outta cash and locked up?"

"Yup. I'm still here," I murmured, fingers white-knuckled on the phone.

"Yeah," he said gently. "Yeah, you are."

His voice cracked something open in me--memories of lazy summer afternoons, fireflies, the safety I'd only ever known with him. Tyler had been my anchor. The one person who never tried to see through the cracks.

"I need to see you," I said, the words out before I could stop them.

"Hell yeah, you do! Come up to Oxford. I'm at Ole Miss now--crazy dorm, guys nuts as a sack of cats. You'll fit right in. We'll hit the bars. I got a fake ID and everything. Maybe score you some girls!"

My stomach twisted. It'd take around four hours just to get to Oxford. Carver would never allow me out of his clutches for so long, no matter how much he trusted me. I was his prize after all.

"Could we meet halfway? I'm down real south, near Natchez. How about Jackson?"

"Natchez?" Surprise colored his voice. "What's got you hidin' out in Natchez?"

"Family," I lied again. It tasted worse this time.

"Well, Jackson'll do. Oxford's a hike anyway." A pause. "Billy..."

His voice dropped, warm and steady. "You been through some things, huh? I can hear it. I always could."

My breath hitched. "Yeah."

He sighed. "Whatever it is, I got you. Always. You're my brother. Blood don't matter."

Tears blurred my vision. I held the receiver like it was all keeping me together.

"You too," I whispered.

The road unspooled before me, dappled in shifting light under arching oaks. Leaves rustled in the wind, shadows racing across the pavement. My hands clutched the wheel, knuckles pale.

Tyler.

His name circled in my head like a restless bird. My heart ached with longing--a hunger for his warmth, his smile, the easy comfort of him. I could still hear his voice, gentle and kind in a way that could ruin you.

But the image cracked, splintered into a darker vision: his smile fading, his eyes narrowing with confusion, maybe even disgust. The kindness I craved turning cold.

Freak.

The word echoed, sharp and cruel. I imagined it on his lips. Not shouted--but whispered, like disappointment. That's how I imagined he'd react when he saw I was now Belle. Would he get physical, or just walk away in disgust?

I bit down on my lip, hard. No. Tyler wouldn't hurt me. Not like that. But would he understand? Would he still see me--whoever I was now?

I didn't even know.

I forced the thoughts down. I needed him. Needed his help. And maybe, deep down, he needed me too.

The house came into view as I rounded the last bend. Carver's house. His kingdom. The place where I wore masks like second skin.

I pulled into the drive. Gravel cracked under the tires like bones.

Tyler's voice, his warmth--it all had to be locked away now. Hidden. Carver would sense it, like a wolf sniffing blood.

I adjusted the mirror. The girl looking back was polished: blonde bob, flawless lipstick, lashes curled to perfection.

A lie in silk.

Time to wear the mask.

I grabbed my shopping bags and stepped out. My heart hammered as I approached the door. I could already feel Carver's gaze, whether he was watching or not.

Breathe. Smile. Be what he wants.

I stepped inside, reminding myself of the only truth that mattered anymore.

Survival means performance.

If you are continuing with Belle's story, thank you. Your readership is appreciated.

I particularly want to say thank you and dedicate this chapter to Danny and the lovely message he sent me about Belle's adventures.

Tania x