A Cage Built for Two Chapter 1

I was raped.

When I woke up, my phone was waiting with photos of my naked body.

The message read: You look better in the shower than you do dressed.

I scrolled frantically through my contacts and called the only person in the world I trusted—Cole Mercer.

He said, "Don't move. I'm on my way."

He checked the security feeds, brought me warm milk, moved me into his place, and pulled me back from the edge of a nervous breakdown.

On the seventh night, I realized he had been standing outside my bedroom door every single night.

And the scar on his wrist matched the exact width of the bruises around my throat.

* * *

I was raped.

When I woke up that morning, the dull, throbbing ache through my joints and the violent constellation of bruises in the bathroom mirror told me the nightmare had been real.

I crouched on the tile under water hot enough to scald, scrubbing until my skin bled. But the marks felt carved into the bone. No amount of soap could wash them away.

Then I picked up my phone.

Two photos had arrived from an unknown number.

They were pictures of me, passed out cold, completely naked.

The lighting was dim, but the purple handprints clamped around my throat were unmistakable.

A third text popped up: Call the cops, and these go straight to your office Slack.

My fingers trembled against the glass.

The fourth message followed immediately: You look better in the shower than you do dressed.

I lunged toward the window, tearing the curtains back.

The courtyard below was quiet. Empty.

Panic took over. I checked every window latch, ran to the front door, and threw both deadbolts. Sliding down the wooden panel until I hit the floor, my palms broke out in a cold, suffocating sweat.

I scrolled through my contacts, looking for a lifeline, and dialed Cole Mercer.

We had grown up together. He was two years older than me, a brilliant programmer who could pull apart any piece of software.

If anyone on earth could trace this monster, it was Cole.