The morning after the boat incident felt unreal.

I woke up wrapped in Daddy’s arms, his hand protectively resting on my belly. The new collar felt heavier than usual against my throat, its cool metal a constant reminder of ownership. Every time I shifted, the faint clink of the lock echoed in my mind alongside the sharp crack of the gunshot, Reynolds’ blood spraying across the weathered deck, and the terrifying calm in Daddy’s eyes when I stepped back from the railing instead of leaping into the dark water.

He had won.

And I had let him.

“You’re awake,” Daddy murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. He pulled me...