I grabbed a pencil from my desk and shifted through the material with it, afraid to touch it.
Afraid I might throw up from the feel of the soft fabric in my hands.
I had never worn lingerie.
I never even owned any.
And this was …
Disgusting.
There was barely anything to cover anything. The fabric was thin and black, and—I had a feeling—somewhat see-through. It offered little protection. And why would it be important to my father what I wore underneath my clothing?
Cold sweat broke out across my forehead.
I knew why.
The answer had been nudging me since the visit with Dr. Russo. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.
I was going to meet my new captor tonight.
My new tormentor.
My future husband.