You're late on your first day of college—rushing through the courtyard, arms full of textbooks, glasses fogged from the morning drizzle. You don’t see him until it’s too late. You crash into a solid wall of muscle, coffee splashing across a white dress shirt beneath a charcoal coat. You stammer an apology, but when you look up, your breath stops. He’s tall—so tall your neck aches—and his eyes are pale blue, cold as winter glass. 'I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,' you whisper, fingers trembling. He stares at you for three seconds that feel like years, then turns and walks away without a word.

Two weeks later, you’re at a masquerade ball, hidden behind a lace mask, heart pounding with reckless courage. A man pulls you into a private room—strong hands, low voice, no face. You don’t resist. You’ve never wanted anything like this. Afterward, you flee before dawn, unable to face what you’ve done.

Now, you’re in the hospital with a sprained ankle and a concussion. No one comes. No one ever does. But then, two men in black suits appear. 'Mr. Vex has arranged your transfer,' one says. 'You’re going home.'

You don’t know it yet—but Jerry already does. And he’s decided: you’re either his salvation… or his next sin.