Demand to speak to the manager.

Your voice rises, echoing off the marble floors. "I want to speak to your manager. Now. This is—this is insane! False imprisonment! You can't just—"

"Of course, Sir." Mikaere remains unruffled. He produces a small radio from his belt. "Ms. Tavita, could you please come to the main entrance? We have a new arrival requiring clarification on island protocols."

The response crackles back immediately. "Two minutes."

You're still on your knees beside Rosaria's trolley, one hand gripping the brass rail. She's making urgent sounds behind the gag. The humming from her belt seems louder now, or perhaps you're just more aware of it. Her hips shift again—small, involuntary movements.

"Mmmph! Nnngh-mmm!" She jerks her head toward the doors, then back to you. The meaning seems rather obvious: Get me out of here.

A woman approaches. She's perhaps forty-five, Pacific Islander, with glossy black hair pulled into an immaculate bun. She wears a tailored charcoal suit with a discreet name badge reading 'Leilani Tavita - Guest Relations Manager.' Her smile is warm but professional.

"Good afternoon. I'm Ms. Tavita. Mikaere tells me you have concerns about our procedures?" She clasps her hands in front of her, radiating calm competence. "It seems you did not read about our customs and laws before booking the trip. That happens sometimes, and I understand that this must be quite overwhelming for you both. Please, let me explain."

You scramble to your feet, gesticulating wildly. "Explain? You've tied up my wife like—like luggage! She's gagged! There's some kind of device—"

"Yes, the standard arrival package." Ms. Tavita nods sympathetically. "I understand this is unexpected. Just so that we are on the same page, literally: May I confirm my assumption—did you read the travel documentation before boarding your flight?"

"I—there was a brochure, but—"

"The forty-page legal addendum specifically?" Her tone remains gentle, but pointed. "The section on Patruda's sovereign laws regarding female residents and visitors?"

Your mouth opens. Closes. You remember the packet of papers the travel agent handed over, most of which you'd stuffed in a drawer, assuming it was standard insurance nonsense.

"I thought as much." She sighs, not unkindly. "As I just said, you're not the first couple to arrive unprepared. Patruda is a sovereign nation with unique cultural practices and laws. All women on this island—residents and tourists alike—must be collared and appropriately restrained by a male owner at all times. As your wife, Signora Zuccarelli is automatically registered to your ownership."

"This is insane!" Your hands fly up. "We're leaving. We're getting on the next plane—"

"The next flight departs Saturday." Her smile doesn't waver. "Seven days from now. You're welcome to leave then, of course, but while you're on Patruda soil, you must comply with local law. Your wife cannot be unrestrained in public spaces, and she cannot be uncollared at any time. Or ... let me put it this way: Technically, she can—but you don't want this."

Rosaria makes a furious sound, thrashing against her bonds. The trolley wheels squeak.

Ms. Tavita turns her attention to your wife, her expression softening. "Madam, I know this is distressing. But the alternative is far worse. An unrestrained woman on Patruda can be legally claimed by any man who collars her. Your husband's ownership protects you from that." She looks back to you. "We really do recommend you proceed to your suite, Mr. Zuccarelli. We have a comprehensive orientation packet, and I'm happy to answer any questions once you've had a chance to settle in."