Ask Ms. Tavita what happens if you simply refuse to follow these laws.

You spread your hands in a gesture that would be theatrical in a kitchen but feels almost desperate here. "What happens if I just—refuse? If we don't follow these laws?"

Ms. Tavita's expression doesn't change.

"Then your wife becomes legally unowned property, Mr. Zuccarelli. Any other guest or resident can file a claim of abandonment with the island courthouse. The judge will review your non-compliance, rule in the claimant's favor, and transfer ownership. Your wife will be collared and restrained by someone else. In some cases, that could even happen before the judge complies."

The words land like a punch to your solar plexus. "You can't—that's not legal. That's—"

"It's entirely legal under Patruda's sovereign jurisdiction, which you entered when you stepped off that plane." Her voice remains calm, almost gentle. "We're not part of any international court system, Mr. Zuccarelli. Our laws are our own."

"And if I try to stop this theoretical collaring? If I fight?"

"Then you'll be detained by island security, charged with obstruction of legal process, and likely deported on the next flight—alone." She pauses, letting that sink in. "Your wife would remain here under her new owner's custody until he chooses to release her, which could be... indefinitely."

Behind you, Rosaria makes a strangled sound through her gag. You turn to see her eyes wide with something beyond fury now—actual fear.

Ms. Tavita continues, her tone softening slightly. "I understand this feels draconian. But the system exists for a reason. An uncollared woman on Patruda is vulnerable to being claimed by anyone—and not all claimants are kind husbands. Your ownership, Mr. Zuccarelli, is her protection. The collar, the restraints, the belt—they mark her as yours. No one else can touch her while those are in place and properly maintained."

"Properly maintained," you repeat numbly.

"Collared at all times. Restrained in public spaces—that means leashed or otherwise secured so she cannot wander freely. The specifics are in your orientation packet." She gestures toward Mikaere, who's been standing quietly throughout this exchange. "I strongly recommend you proceed to your suite, review the materials, and begin your adjustment. The first twenty-four hours are the hardest for those who come here without the appropriate cultural knowledge, but I promise you—most couples find their rhythm by day three."

Across the lobby, the man with the Financial Times stands, clips a leash to his kneeling companion's collar, and heads toward the restaurant. She follows on hands and knees, completely at ease.

Ms. Tavita watches you, waiting.

"So our choices are," you say slowly, "comply, or lose her to someone else."

"Exactly."