Yes, he does.

The driver studied him another second, then nodded once. “Buckle up.”

He pulled out fast, tires spitting gravel. The drive took fifteen minutes, traffic thinning as they left the more populated areas, roads turning wider, lined with live oaks and high fences. Owen stared out the window the whole way, replaying the whole thing again, her eyes going blank, the hand pressing the strip to her forehead, her voice cutting off mid-sentence. He kept his phone clutched tight, refreshing the Find My app even though the dot hadn’t moved since the dump.

They turned onto a private drive flanked by stone pillars. The cab slowed at the entrance.

The driver killed the engine. “This is it.”

Owen pulled out cash, more than the fare, a thick wad. “Thanks. Really.”

The driver took it without counting. “You need me to wait?”

Owen shook his head. “No. Go ahead.”

“Alright mister, I hope you find her.”

The cab rolled away, taillights fading down the drive. Owen stood alone on the gravel, facing the gate. The wooden doors beyond it, massive, dark, carved, looked like they belonged on a castle, not a Texas mansion. He swallowed, heart thudding loud in his ears.

Paige could be inside. He was hopeful.

Owen walked straight to the massive wooden doors. He raised his fist and knocked, hard, impatient, the sound echoing off the stone facade.

The door opened almost immediately. Just a couple of seconds. No hesitation.

A young woman peeked out, only her head and shoulders visible at first. Black pixie cut, sharp and neat, framing a pale face with light blue eyes that looked almost too bright, too clear. Pretty in a delicate, doll-like way. She tilted her head, studying him.

“Oh!” she said, voice soft and bright. “I thought Master Garrett was back. Who are you, sir?”

Owen’s mind raced. Master Garrett. This could be the dweeb from the call. He **** his face into something calm, friendly.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his tone easy. “I’m a friend of Garrett’s. He told me to come by, make myself at home while I wait for him to get back.”

Her face lit up instantly, genuine and eager, like he’d just handed her the best news of the day. “A friend of the Master’s!” She pulled the door back wider, stepping behind it to let him in. “Please come inside, sir. Any friend of the Master is welcome here.”

Owen stepped over the threshold. Marble floor, cool air, faint scent of lemon polish and something muskier underneath. The door started to swing shut behind him. He turned around to thank her.

His jaw went slack.

She was completely naked.

Petite frame, small high breasts with pale pink nipples already stiff. Narrow hips, small rounded ass. Her wrists were cuffed, metal, padded on the inside, with short chains linking the cuffs to the heavy brass handle on the inside of the door. She had to squeeze her arms to close it, body arching slightly, ass pushing out as she pushed the door shut with a soft click.

Owen’s eyes dropped automatically. There, handwritten in thick black marker across the left cheek of her ass were the words: ‘DOOR OPENER’.

She turned her head over her shoulder, still smiling that bright, empty smile. Light blue eyes locked on his without a trace of shame or discomfort.

“May I ask the purpose of your visit, sir?” he heard a voice from behind him.

Before he could answer, movement caught his eye from deeper in the foyer. When he turned around the sight stopped him in his tracks.

A gorgeous Latina woman stepped forward from the shadows of the hallway. Mid-twenties maybe, long dark hair pulled into a tight braided bun at the nape of her neck. Brown eyes downcast, hands clasped behind her back in perfect submissive posture. She wore a fetish lace maid outfit, black and sheer, the top barely containing her large breasts, nipples dark and visible through the fabric and a skirt so short it didn’t cover the bottom curve of her ass. Stockings, garters, heels that clicked softly on the marble.

But what stopped Owen cold wasn’t the outfit or the cleavage spilling out.

It was the words written dead center on her forehead. Bold black marker letters: ‘MAID #13’.

The door girl spoke up from behind him, cheerful as ever. “He’s one of Master’s friends. He’s here to wait for his return.”

The maid didn’t even glance at the other woman. She kept her eyes lowered, bowed low, deep enough that her tits nearly spilled free, then straightened just enough to speak.

“Welcome to Master’s house, sir,” she said, voice calm, practiced, almost melodic. “I am Maid #13. How can I assist you?”

Owen stood frozen in the middle of the foyer, heart slamming against his ribs. The door girl still chained in place behind him, smiling like this was the most normal afternoon ever. The maid was waiting patiently in front of him. He heard faint sounds from inside the mansion.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out, it was all too absurd.

But he was inside. He had to look for her.

And Paige had to be here somewhere. She had to be. But looking at these two women, he also found himself wishing that she wasn’t.