I stood in the center of the master suite, staring at the dress his assistant had left. It was silk, the color of a bruised plum, and so thin it felt like liquid.

I didn’t want to put it on. I wanted to burn it. I wanted to take the heavy gold anklet he’d branded me with and throw it through his floor-to-ceiling windows.

But then I remembered the way he looked at me in the dark. I remembered the way my body had sung under his hands, betraying every bit of my pride.

I put the dress on. It clung to my curves like a second skin; the hem...