Mona P. forever?

CHAPTER 5 - SIGNED AWAY

Emma’s silence behind her grew heavier, so complete that Monika could hear the faint tap of her own anxious heartbeat. She kept staring down at her muddy heels, shoulders curled inward, wishing she could disappear.

“Lift your head,” Emma said quietly.

Monika obeyed before she even realized she was moving. Her chin rose a few inches, exposing the **** line of her throat.

A soft rustle of movement answered her. Suddenly, something cold slid against her skin.

Before she could make sense of it, Emma guided a curved band around her neck. A soft mechanical click sounded, followed by a short electronic buzz that pulsed along her throat. The metal tightened at once, snug enough that Monika felt a faint pressure each time she swallowed, the band hugging her throat with a subtle but unmistakable restriction. Monika gasped. Her hands flew up on instinct, fingers brushing the smooth surface of a locking collar.

“Wha… what is this?” Her voice came out thin and frightened.

“A tracker,” Emma said simply. “Now I’ll know exactly where you are and whether you stay on task.” She stepped in front of Monika now, her expression unreadable. “You ran off earlier. You acted out. That will not happen again.”

Monika’s breath trembled. The collar’s edges pressed lightly into her skin, reminding her of its grip with every movement. “P-please… Emma… I-I can do better. I p-promise.”

“I know you will.” Emma stepped closer, her hand already reaching for the tight ponytail at the back of Monika's head. She hooked a finger under the elastic and tugged sharply. The band snapped free, dragging strands loose. Monika winced as her hair spilled down in limp, messy waves around her face.

Before she could react, Emma picked up a pair of rust-flecked scissors from her desk.

“N-no… wait… w-what are you doing? P-please,” Monika choked out, her voice breaking as she pressed herself back into the chair, fingers digging into the seat.

The blades opened with a rough scrape.. Emma gathered a fistful of hair and began cutting in quick, decisive snips. Thick copper strands slid past Monika's cheeks and dropped in messy clumps around Monika’s feet. Each cut was deliberate and efficient. Monika squeezed her eyes shut as tears spilled over. She could do nothing but stand there, her eyes shut as tears spilling over, breath hitching in helpless little bursts.

When Emma finished, she ran her fingers through the ragged tufted layers, assessing the uneven crop. She seized what remained and drew it together into a short, tight ponytail that tugged painfully at Monika’s scalp.

“There,” Emma murmured. “Cleaner. And more fitting for someone in your position.”

Monika swallowed, feeling the collar’s firm constriction shift against her throat. Tears streaked silently down her cheeks as she sniffled. “W-why are y-you doing this?”

“Because I am giving you one more chance.” Emma came around to face her, hands folded neatly. “One. Do your job properly and there will be no further consequences. Fail again and this will become much worse for you.”

Monika nodded through her tears, her voice barely more than breath. “I… I understand.”

Emma stepped back, satisfied. “Good. Go finish your assigned work.”

Monika rose unsteadily and left the Facilities office, feeling the collar shift with every step. It pressed against her skin like a reminder that she was being watched. Owned. Controlled. The snug pressure never let her forget it. Every step felt slow and humiliating. She made her way back up to the third floor, praying she would not run into anyone else.

The executive bathroom door stood slightly ajar. Inside, the cleaning cart still parked where she'd left it. Except something was wrong.

The mop was missing.

She frowned, stepping inside. Before she could utter a word, a faint static crackled against her throat. Emma’s voice followed, unnervingly close, as if whispered directly into her ear.

“Do the floor by hand. On your knees.”

Monika’s breath hitched, her stomach twisting. “But… I…”

A soft jolt of electricity ran through the collar, sharp enough to startle but not enough to harm.

Her resistance crumbled. She sank to her knees and began scrubbing the tile with a damp cloth. Her palms slipped. Her arms burned. Her knees ached sharply against the hard floor. Time blurred into a slow, punishing rhythm of work and breath and pain.

At last the floor shone.

She rose shakily, wiping her hands on the hem of her uniform. She moved toward the door, **** to leave.

Another short, sharp jolt snapped through the collar. Monika let out a small cry, her hand flying to her throat.

“You are not finished,” Emma’s voice said. “Clean the toilets.”

Monika blinked through fresh tears. She turned back to the stalls and obeyed.

When the last toilet bowl shone and the smell of chemical cleaner clung to her hands, Monika realized it had been over an hour since she started cleaning the bathroom. Gathering what little dignity she had left, she exited the bathroom. She could barely stand upright. Her knees ached in a deep, throbbing way. The collar felt heavier than before,its tight grip a constant reminder sitting just beneath her jaw.

She moved down the hall toward the conference room, knowing what came next.

More to clean. More to endure.

Monika’s steps were slow, weighted by exhaustion, her mind a swirl of dread. As she passed the breakroom, a voice stopped her mid-step. Erin. Relief surged through her chest; hope, for a fraction of a second, that salvation had arrived.

“E-Erin!” she whispered, almost stumbling forward, but before she could reach the door, a stronger, electric jolt pulsed through the collar. Monika gasped, clutching at her throat, stumbling back a step.

“Conference room. Now. And do your job properly,” Emma’s voice snapped through the collar, cold and unyielding.

Monika’s hope crumbled instantly. She bent her neck, trying to calm the sudden sting, tears blurring her vision. There was no escape, no reprieve. Only obedience. Only the collar, tight and unrelenting, reminding her of every misstep.

Hours passed. Her knees burned, her back ached, her arms quivered, each movement unfamiliar and exhausting in ways she had never experienced. She had posed with a rake or shovel before, smiled for the cameras while "helping" for appearances, but never like this, scrubbing, bending, and balancing on five-inch stilettos that bit into her feet with every step. Yet she obeyed the collar’s relentless instructions.

It had been three hours of intense labor. Just as she was about to take a seat, the voice spoke again, firm, unyielding.

“My office, now!”

Monika’s legs felt like lead as she made her way there, each step in her five-inch stilettos were a sharp reminder of her exhaustion. She opened the door and froze. Erin was there. And Sophie.

Her heart leapt with a fragile, naive hope. Relief rushed through her chest, tears threatening again, but this time from anticipation.

“Erin?" she gasped, tears still streaking her cheeks. Her voice trembled, a mix of hope and disbelief. “I-I've never been so happy to see you. I thought… I thought I was done. Th-thank God, I… I’m free now!"

The three women exchanged glances, smiles tugging at their lips in a subtle, cold, knowing look. Sophie’s eyes glittered with a slow amusement, Emma’s expression was calm and deliberate, Erin’s lips curved in a faint, teasing smirk.

Monika’s stomach dropped. Something was wrong.

Emma spoke first. “You’ve done well… Mona,” she said smoothly. “But there’s something you should see.”

Sophie stepped forward, phone in hand, tilting the screen toward Monika. Clips, photos, angles she didn’t want to see. Every humiliating moment, every **** motion, every tear-streaked, trembling gesture had been captured.

Monika’s eyes widened in disbelief, her body quivering. “N-no… n-no, this can’t… you can’t—”

Erin leaned forward, her smile cold and precise. “Oh, but we can, and we did." She paused, lifting Monika's chin up with a finger. "You know what my favourite part is? … The name."

Monika's breath hitched. "W-what?"

"Mona P." Erin said it slowly, savoring each syllable. "We spent weeks deciding on it. What was the phrase you used, Emma?"

Emma's lips curved into a slight smile. "A perfect downgrade."

"That's right." Erin stood, circling behind Monika's chair. "Monika Pritzker. M.P." She leaned down, her voice dropping to a whisper near Monika's ear. "Mona P. Same initials. Same rhythm. Same cadence. But so much less."

Sophie leaned forward, setting down her coffee cup. "Like a knockoff brand," she said thoughtfully. "Looks almost right from a distance, but up close..." She waved her hand dismissively. "Cheap. Common. Forgettable."

"Every time someone calls you that name," Erin said softly, her voice like ice, "you'll remember what you used to be. And what you are now." She tapped the ID badge still clipped to Monika's uniform. "Not Monika Pritzker, influencer. Not Mrs. Richard Pritzker, politician's wife. Just... Mona P. Custodial staff."

Monika sank into herself, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Her throat tightened against the collar, a sob threatening to escape but choked back. The hope she had felt vanished like smoke. She was trapped, utterly exposed.

Sophie’s smile widened. “It’s remarkable, really. Every movement, every instinct… all exactly what Mona P. is supposed to look like. And now everyone who matters can see it too.”

Monika’s knees buckled slightly, her hands gripping the edge of her chair. Her voice barely made it past the tight collar. “P-please… I… I didn’t mean…I-I—”

Emma’s calm voice cut through, precise and final. “Silence! You obey. That’s all that matters now.”

The weight of the photos, the videos, the collar, and their presence pressed down on her. There was no relief. There was only the realization: they had orchestrated every moment, and she had **** but to obey.

Monika’s tears flowed freely now, her body trembling, knowing that this was far from over. Every humiliating step, every degraded motion, had been documented, and she was utterly powerless to stop it.

Emma tapped her finger against the desk, the gesture small but decisive. “You are going to continue working for us, 'Mona'.

Starting tomorrow, you will begin official training as a cleaner. You will report here at seven in the morning and you will work until seven in the evening. Every day for the rest of the week Perhaps longer, depending on your performance. Every instruction will be followed to the letter, understood?”

Monika’s throat tightened, the collar biting slightly with the motion of swallowing. Her knees pressed together, trembling. “B-but I… I have obligations. Meetings. Events. I-I can't just—”

Erin leaned forward, her hands clasped neatly. “All of your appointments for the week, everything scheduled under Monika Pritzker, have been rescheduled. You are free of them, temporarily, so you can focus entirely on your work here. Do not resist or attempt to find a way around it.”

Sophie took a delicate sip from a paper cup, her gaze never leaving Monika. “And after every scheduled visit at BeautyFirst Cosmetics, you will return afterward to complete an additional overnight shift here. That includes every weekly meeting, and there may be more. Do you understand?”

Monika’s stomach turned. She had never imagined her life could contract so suddenly, each familiar responsibility stripped and replaced with an unrelenting schedule she could not refuse. She swallowed again, the collar pressing firmly as if to remind her of the finality of the choice.

A folder slid across the desk toward her. The crisp paper gleamed under the office lights. The top sheet was an official contract, every clause spelling out her role, her obligations, her hours.

Monika’s pulse hammered in her ears. “But… but… that… that's impossible. I-I can't do that. I can't be seen like this.”

Emma walked around the desk and stopped in front of her. “You won't be seen,” she said with perfect calm. “Because you'll follow instructions. And if you don't, every single person with a functioning internet connection will see exactly who you were today.”

Sophie tilted her phone so the screen reflected in Monika’s glassy eyes. “All it takes is one upload,” she said lightly.

Monika shook her head, not in refusal but as if trying to shake loose a nightmare. Her breath came in shallow gasps. “Please… I will lose everything. My reputation, my career, Richard… everyone…”

Erin crouched slightly, bringing her face closer to Monika’s. Her voice softened, almost sympathetic. “Then do as you're told. You're not powerless, Mona. You simply have one path that keeps your world intact and one that burns it down. It's your choice.”

Monika shut her eyes. Her body sagged. The collar pressed hard against her throat, cold, tight, final.

Her hands trembled as she picked up the pen. Ink flowed unevenly across the page as she signed her name: Mona P. Custodial Staff. Every letter felt like a lock clicking shut on the life she had known.

The three women exchanged glances, subtle but satisfied. Erin’s smile was deceptively kind, Sophie’s amusement sharp, Emma’s approval quiet and commanding. Monika’s heart sank further, the weight of her own signature pressing down on her chest harder than the collar ever could.

She looked up briefly, eyes searching theirs for some shred of mercy, some hint that she had a choice. There was none. Only the contract, the collar, and the certainty that the next week—perhaps more—would be hers to endure.

“Good,” Erin said, rising with a composed, almost gentle air. “The charity event has wrapped up outside. Which means we can focus on what comes next.” She gestured toward the door. “We should get moving."

Monika blinked, slow and disoriented. “Wh-what? Moving… where?” Her voice wavered, uncertain, as though she couldn’t quite make sense of the words.

Erin’s smile grew. “Shopping of course. You’ll need proper clothing for your new station in life. We’ll be picking out everything tonight… including underwear.”

Sophie let out a soft chuckle. Emma was already back at her desk, jotting notes for tomorrow’s schedule as if the matter were settled.

Monika sat frozen, the collar tight around her neck, her cropped hair pulling at her scalp, her feet aching inside the ruined stilettos. Outside the office door, the hallway waited, far too bright, far too real.

"Put this on," Erin said as she threw some clothes at Monika.

Monika flinched as the bundle hit her chest. She looked down at the tossed clothes, then back up at Erin, confusion etched across her face.

“Wh-what… is this?” she stammered.

Erin’s smile was calm, deliberate, almost teasing. “Lost and found,” she said lightly. “A few items that will do nicely for your… current situation.” She tilted her head toward the stack, letting her gaze linger on Monika. “The turtleneck should hide your collar—you won’t be removing it until after your week of ‘training’—and a pair of jeans.”

Erin’s eyes never left her as she spoke. “Now, put them on. Right here.”

Monika’s breath hitched, panic prickling the back of her neck. She glanced at Sophie and Emma. Both women were watching silently, the faintest smirk playing on Sophie’s lips, Emma’s posture calm and unyielding.

Swallowing hard, Monika stepped toward a nearby corner of the office that had been cleared for the purpose. Her fingers trembled as she tugged off the damaged stilettos, then peeled away the remaining uniform.

Her stomach knotted. She unfolded the pieces hesitantly. The turtleneck was cropped, the fabric stiff and scratchy against her skin. As she pulled it over her head, the hem hit just above her waistband, leaving a narrow strip of skin exposed that made her feel unnecessarily bare. The fabric hugged the collar beneath with a tight, unyielding pressure. Her arms struggled against the narrow sleeves, the material digging into her shoulders and underarms with every movement.

The jeans were worse. She stepped into them slowly, wincing as the denim clung to her thighs. Buttoning them was a test of patience and muscle, each snap forcing a small groan from her as her stomach pressed against the waistband. The fabric pinched at her hips, creating an unflattering muffin top that she couldn’t hide no matter how she tugged or adjusted. Her stomach spilled slightly over the waistband in defiance. Her legs felt confined, the denim stiff and resistant, reminding her with every step that nothing about this outfit was comfortable… or flattering. By the time she faced the three women, the turtleneck snug against her throat and the jeans tight around her hips, she felt simultaneously exposed and constrained, the clothes amplifying the humiliation etched deep in her chest.

By the time she faced the three women, the turtleneck snug against her throat and the jeans tight around her hips, every movement reminded her of how exposed and constrained she felt, the clothes amplifying the humiliation etched deep in her chest. She pressed her hands to her sides, trying to steady herself, and **** her eyes forward as the three women assessed her like a specimen on display. Monika swallowed hard, cheeks burning, the collar hidden but every ounce of her vulnerability laid bare.

Her body still trembling from the effort of dressing, she took a tentative step toward the door. Erin opened it for her, holding it with a warm, expectant smile.

“Come along, Mona,” she said. “We have a long evening ahead.”