When I wake up, he’s gone. That doesn’t surprise me. But what surprises me is that he slept in my bed all night, and only left during the early hours of the morning.

I woke up when he left, but only briefly. He slipped out of the bed and for a second, I thought it was a dream.

But hours later, when I’m fully awake, I know that it wasn’t a dream. He really slept in the bed with me, our bodies intertwined and cuddling. That’s the most intimate thing we’ve done together, and I can hardly describe and explain how happy it makes me feel to know that he was willing to stay with me.

He opened up to me. I stretch, smiling to myself. He really opened up. That story about his father is horrible, and reminds me so much of myself. I didn’t know that we had this much in common, but clearly we grew up in similar circumstances. He knows pain and suffering in the same way that I do, which almost scares me.

But it shouldn’t scare me, I know that. I should be elated, and I am. This is what I want, what I’ve always wanted from a man. This level of intimacy was never something I ever pictured could happen for me. I assumed I was always doomed to push men away and to live my life alone.

Maybe that doesn’t have to be the case. Maybe there’s something more happening here. He finally fucked me, finally held me, finally made me his. Everything should be perfect.

So why do I still feel like there’s something missing?

He still owns me. At the end of the day, that’s the truth. He owns me and there’s nothing either of us can do about it. No matter what happens between us, it’s only happening because he bought me. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t.

Him opening up was real. And the way I’m feeling is real. But I don’t know what any of that means, how long any of it will last, because of our situation. It’s inherently messed up.

I wish I could just tell him that I want him to get his money back. Or that I will donate all my money to a charity or something, if it just means that we can have something beyond this exchange of value. I want him for real, not as some man that bought me and keeps me as his pet. I want something real.

I want whatever happened last night to keep happening. I’m afraid that it was just a moment of weakness for him, and as soon as we wake up, the spell will be over.

It’s impossible to say one way or the other.

The day drags on. Jenkins brings me lunch and I don’t hear from Ethan at all. I keep thinking about him, of course, but I just keep doing what I always do. I’m confused and trying to figure all of this out, but there’s nothing I can do.

I’m still stuck in this room, waiting for him to come to me. I know he will, or at least I feel that he will deep down inside of me. He’ll come and we’ll talk. And we’ll make this real.

I’ll give up the money. Forget about the money. Sure, it’s a life-changing amount, but I’d give it all up for the chance at something real and lasting and good.

It’s a crazy thought, giving up millions, but I can’t help but seriously consider it. Maybe if I told him that, he’d break the contract and we could try this seriously. I don’t know if he’d even want that, though. The whole point of buying me is that it’s temporary and there aren’t any feelings involved.

Feelings are involved now, though. I can’t say what they are or what they mean, but they’re there and I can’t stop them.

The day wears on and soon it’s around five. Normally, Jenkins is very prompt with my dinner, but today something is different. He brings it at five on the dot, which is way too early for me, but I haven’t really complained. Today though, it’s five thirty and there’s still nothing.

I shrug and figure maybe he’s finally figuring out that five is too early for a healthy young lady like myself.

Around five forty-five, Jenkins appears knocking at the door. He hustles the dinner cart inside, looking stressed and worried. I stand up and head toward him.

“Evening,” he says. “Your dinner is served.”

“Wait,” I say as he turns to leave. “Is everything okay?”

He cocks his head at me. “I think you know all about that already,” he says with such vile scorn that it really surprises me.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Your little Syndicate is downstairs talking with Mr. Locks right now. And you pretend like you don’t know. I know you text them every day.” He makes a face like he smells shit.

But my head is spinning too much to pay attention to that. “Wait, The Syndicate is talking with him?” I ask. “Why would that happen?”

He narrows his eyes. “You don’t know?”

“I have no clue.” I step toward him. “You have to let me down there. I have to see Ethan.”

He considers for a moment then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Absolutely not. You’ve been enough trouble already.”

“Jenkins, please,” I plead. “I can’t stay up here. I didn’t know they were coming and that can’t be good. Let me down there.”

“No,” he says, and turns to leave again.

I leap forward and take his hand. He rears back, shocked, his face a mask of disgust and outrage.

“Please,” I say again. “You have to let me go down.”

“No, and kindly never touch me again.” He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I stare at the shut door, shocked and terrified.

The Syndicate said they’d never make contact with Ethan unless they absolutely had to. That was only meant to be a last and worst-case scenario. They’re supposed to discreetly check up on me and act invisible.

But if they’re here, something is wrong, something is very wrong. I can’t just stay in this room. I have to go down there.

I take a deep breath and then open the door, heading out into the hall. I march toward the stairs and head down, not slowing, and not taking no for an answer.

I’ll have a say in this, whatever it is. I can’t let this real thing slip through my fingers, not now, not when it’s so close.