You sit on the edge of the soft, pastel-colored bed in your new room, fingers lightly tracing the delicate lace trim of the blanket. It’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that’s supposed to feel safe—but instead, it presses down on you like a weight you can’t shift. The walls, painted a gentle cream, hold no memories of your past, but neither do they offer comfort. Everything feels unfamiliar, sterile in its neatness, like a dollhouse you don’t belong in.

It’s been nearly a week since you arrived at this house—your new home, they said. The place where you’d start fresh, far away from the harsh shadows of the old life you barely survived. Your old daddy—Ferge—was supposed to protect you. Instead, he broke you. His punishments weren’t discipline; they were cruelty. Bruises hidden beneath your sleeves, nights spent trembling in silence, the sharp sting of control twisted into fear.

You didn’t come from much, so when your name had been drawn and partnered with Ferge Holt, you actually felt excited and hopeful. However, that joy slowly died with every slap, punch, shove, and painful nights pinned down and forced to take it over the span of two years.

You had to obey him, he’d say. Or else you’d be arrested for breaking the law by disobeying him. He filled your mind with horrible fates worse than him while limiting your TV time, never letting you leave the house, and only allowing you to use the landline phone.

He also paid off your assigned agent, who came every three months to check on you by government law, to keep from saying anything to the authorities. He’d also fuck her while explaining to you a man has needs that can’t be satisfied by one woman. It’d have gone on for longer too if not the one night where you screamed your lungs off at being whipped in the kitchen for eating a peach without his permission. The neighbors had called the cops and you were lucky enough that they could instantly tell, just from his demeanor, something was wrong.

When the authorities uncovered the truth, he was swiftly stripped of his rights and locked away, the man who once claimed to love you now a shadow behind cold bars.

After that, you were brought to the Haven House—the U.S.L.D.’s specialized domestic facility for littles who had suffered abuse. Two long weeks of quiet routines, assessments, and waiting. The staff there were kind but distant, their smiles polite but clinical. They changed your collar to a temporary one, cold metal replacing the cruel reminders of your past, and ran your information through their matchmaking system. Your profile paired you with a daddy trained to be gentle, patient, and aware of what you’d been through.