She tries to take control

"There," Angela said, patting the diapered bulge. "Now you're a proper little baby." She stood back, surveying her handiwork. "A ginger cupcake baby. The rumors will be legendary."

My eyes, still stinging with unshed tears, darted to Raphael. He stood there, watching, a faint flush on his cheeks. He still held the box, his gaze fixed on my now-diapered form. It was his fault. All of it. He had done this.

He had done this. He had seen me, truly seen me. Stripped bare of my illusions, exposed as the fraud I was. And he had laughed.

A new kind of humiliation, one laced with perverse curiosity, surged through me. He had taken everything from me. He had reduced me to this. What else could he take? What else could I give?

My gaze dropped to his trousers again. The same spot I'd mocked moments before. His little… everything.

"Raphael," I whispered, my voice hoarse, "Take them down," I commanded, my voice gaining a strange, new edge. "Your pants. Take them down."

His eyes widened. "Stanna, what are you—"

"Do it!" I snapped, a flicker of my old imperiousness returning, even through the layers of diaper and shame. "You stripped me. Now I want to see you stripped."