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I tried to ignore the monitor on the far left, which was dedicated to my bedroom. Or, more specifically, to my bed. There was a camera trained on every side, capturing every angle. When I thought about all the times Finn and I had been together there, all the things Skinner had witnessed, I had to choke back the vomit that was working its way up my throat. He’d violated a space I’d thought was sacred, completely private, and I had the unbearable desire to shower – as if I could scrape myself clean of the feeling of his eyes on my skin.

I felt dirty, vulnerable.

He eventually pulled me away, a smug smile on his face. He’d wanted me to see this – to understand just how deeply he was embedded in my life. To know that he’d seen everything, heard everything.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I did it?” he said, his tone anticipatory.

This is what he gets off on, I realized. He’s an egomaniac. He wants – he needs – to impress me. To frighten me. To think he’s the master puppeteer, pulling my strings and controlling every facet of my life.

That’s his weakness, I thought. Pride.

“No,” I said, making my voice uninterested just to goad him.

He fumed silently for a minute, then continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Isn’t it amazing what the Internet can do nowadays? You’ll never guess how easy it was to find your little Facebook page and to track down your apartment address through the university directory. Everything I needed to know about you was right there at the tips of my fingers – not to mention how easy it was for me to order all this helpful electronic equipment. Free, two-day shipping for these babies,” he laughed, gesturing toward his elaborate setup of computer monitors. “No background checks or identification required.”

I stared at the wall, trying to block out his words.

“There are YouTube tutorials for everything; there’s even a how-to guide for bugging someone’s house with cameras, right there online for anyone to watch.” He laughed maniacally, nearly giddy with his own success.

Marching me into the adjacent dining room. The table had been set for two, and I would have laughed if I’d had the stomach for it: a crisp white tablecloth glowed under the warm, ambient light of several tall taper candles. Red cloth napkins, folded into graceful triangles, sat atop gold-filigree plates. Fresh roses – red, this time – were arranged in a gorgeous crystal vase. Several warming platters sat in the center of the table, covered by silver lids.

He’d created the perfect romantic atmosphere for a dinner date for two.

Rather than leading me to my chair at the table, he pushed me toward the small settee in the corner of the room. When I landed on the plush cushions, he threw the green dress onto my lap.

“Change for dinner,” he ordered, setting his knife on the table. He didn’t need to wield like a mad man – its presence alone was an implied threat, and enough to keep me complacent.

I looked down at my bound hands. “I can’t.”

He slapped me across the face so hard my head snapped back. At least he’d hit the other cheek this time; I’ll have matching bruises, I thought, rather dazedly. Blinking away the dark spots dancing in front of my eyes, I looked up at him.

“You’ll do whatever I say without question, bitch,” he said, his voice strained. The thought that I’d disobey was nearly enough to unhinge him.

“Of course,” I agreed, trying to infuse my voice with humility. “I just wondered if you would be kind enough—” I forced out the words. “—to untie my hands first.”

His face was stony, contemplative.

“Just for a minute,” I added hastily. “So I can put on the dress. It’s beautiful.”

The last thing I wanted to do was strip bare in front of him and put on some dress he’d bought for me, like we were playing some sick, twisted game of house. But with my hands bound, I didn’t stand a chance at escaping.

If I can get my hands on that knife…

I tried not to think that far in advance. I was taking this one careful step at a time, feeling out his weaknesses and playing it smart.

“You like the dress?” he asked, skeptically.

“I love it,” I agreed immediately. “Thank you for getting it for me.”

He nodded. “I’ll take off the ropes while you change. But I will stay in the room the entire time, and if you do anything foolish there will be consequences.”

I could pretty easily guess what he meant by ‘consequences,’ watching as he picked up the knife and advanced toward me. He quickly cut my bonds, allowing the rope to fall to the floor beneath the settee, and retreated back across the room. Sitting down on of the chairs at the table, he kept the knife in his hand and his eyes on me.

Trembling, I cast my eyes down to the floor and peeled my sweater up over my head. I stood and shimmied out of my jeans, watching as they hit the floor. I resisted every urge I had to cover myself from his eyes, to put a stop to this depraved and degrading strip tease, knowing he would be angry if I did.

With shaking hands, I pulled the dress fabric over my head and settled it around my body. Smoothing down the skirt with my palms, I did up the side zipper and surreptitiously hiked up the neckline to cover as much cleavage as possible.

When I was done, I looked up and met his dark eyes across the room.

He looked both aroused and empowered by my immodest show, his gaze following my every movement.