Chapter 1: “The Mistake”
Scene 1 - The Catastrophe
The cursor blinked mockingly at Sarah as she stared at the screen, her blood turning to ice.
“No... no, no, no...”
Her trembling fingers flew across the keyboard, desperately hitting Ctrl+Z, but the damage was done. The presentation file—the one Mr. Hoffmann and Ms. Keller had spent three weeks perfecting for their biggest client—was now a corrupted mess of misaligned slides and deleted graphics.
How could I have been so stupid?
She’d only meant to save her own draft, but somehow she’d overwritten the master file. Five years of design school, and she’d made the kind of mistake a first-day intern would make.
The meeting had been scheduled for 3 PM. It was now 2:47.
Sarah’s hands shook as she tried to restore a previous version, but the auto-save feature she’d relied on had been disabled on this particular folder for security reasons. There was no backup on the server. Nothing.
At 2:55, she heard shouting from the conference room down the hall. The client’s raised voice carried through the walls.
At 3:30, the conference room door slammed open. Sarah watched through her cubicle’s glass partition as Mr. Hoffmann escorted a red-faced man in an expensive suit toward the elevator. His expression was carefully controlled, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the dangerous calm in his movements.
When he returned, he walked directly to her desk. His eyes—usually warm when he’d spoken to her during her first four days—were now cold as winter steel.
“Ms. Fischer. My office. Six o’clock sharp. Ms. Keller will be there as well.” His voice was quiet, measured. Somehow that was worse than yelling. “Don’t leave the building.”
He walked away before she could respond.
Scene 2 - The Confrontation
The rest of the afternoon crawled by with agonizing slowness. Sarah’s coworkers had gradually become aware that something had gone catastrophically wrong. They avoided eye contact, suddenly very interested in their own work.
At 5:30, the office began to empty. By 5:55, she was alone on the floor.
At exactly six o’clock, Sarah stood before the heavy oak door of the executive office, her heart hammering against her ribs. She’d changed out of her cardigan, trying to look as professional as possible in her white blouse and black pencil skirt, though she knew it wouldn’t matter.
She knocked.
“Come in.” Ms. Keller’s voice, crisp and cold.
Sarah entered the spacious corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, now glittering with evening lights. Mr. Hoffmann sat behind the massive desk, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Ms. Keller stood by the window, arms crossed, her tailored gray dress and heels making her look like an ice queen.
“Close the door,” Mr. Hoffmann said.
Sarah did, the click of the lock somehow ominous.
“Do you have any idea,” Ms. Keller began, turning to face her, “what you cost us today?”
“I... I’m so sorry, I—”
“Three hundred thousand euros,” Ms. Keller continued, walking slowly toward her. “That was the contract value. Plus the potential for future business, which would have been triple that. All gone because you can’t manage basic file protocols.”
“I know, I’m so sorry, it was an accident—”
“An accident.” Mr. Hoffmann’s voice cut through her stammering. “You’ve been here four days, Ms. Fischer. Four. Days. And you’ve already caused more damage than most employees do in their entire careers.”
“Please,” Sarah felt tears burning behind her eyes. “Please, I’ll do anything to make this right. I need this job. I’ll work overtime, I’ll redo everything, I’ll—”
“You’re in your probationary period,” Ms. Keller said, now standing directly in front of her. “Do you know what that means? We can terminate you immediately. No severance. No recommendation. Nothing.”
The tears spilled over. “Please. Please give me another chance. I’ll do anything.”
Ms. Keller and Mr. Hoffmann exchanged a long look. Something passed between them, some wordless communication that made Sarah’s stomach tighten with anxiety.
“Anything?” Ms. Keller repeated, her voice taking on a different quality. Softer, but somehow more dangerous.
“Yes. Anything.”
Another glance between the two executives. Mr. Hoffmann leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
“Sit down, Ms. Fischer,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.
Sarah sat, perching on the edge, hands clasped in her lap.
“We believe in second chances,” Ms. Keller said, moving to stand beside Mr. Hoffmann’s desk, presenting a united front. “But traditional disciplinary measures don’t seem appropriate here. The damage is too severe for a simple warning, but we’re willing to consider... alternative arrangements.”
“Alternative?” Sarah’s voice came out small.
“We have unconventional methods for dealing with severe errors,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Methods that are quite effective, but not exactly... standard corporate practice.”
Sarah’s heart was racing. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Ms. Keller’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “But first, we need to establish some ground rules. What we’re proposing stays completely confidential. If you agree to this arrangement, you tell no one. Ever. Do you understand?”
“I... yes?”
“We also need to establish a safe word,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “If at any point this becomes too much, you say that word, and everything stops immediately. You’ll be terminated, of course, but you’ll leave with a basic reference letter and we’ll say nothing about today’s disaster.”
Sarah’s mind was spinning. Safe word? “I don’t—what kind of arrangement are we talking about?”
Ms. Keller walked around the desk, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She stopped directly in front of Sarah’s chair, looking down at her.
“A disciplinary arrangement. One that will teach you the importance of attention to detail, respect for authority, and proper consequences for failure.”
The way she said it made something twist in Sarah’s stomach—part fear, part something else she didn’t want to examine too closely.
“Choose a word,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Something you wouldn’t say in normal conversation.”
“I... ‘Butterfly’?” Sarah whispered.
“Butterfly,” he confirmed, writing it down. “If you say that word, this ends. Otherwise, once we begin, you follow instructions. Completely. Do you understand?”
Sarah’s mouth was dry. “What kind of instructions?”
“The kind that will ensure you never make such a careless mistake again,” Ms. Keller said. “The kind that will remind you that actions have consequences. The kind that will teach you your place.”
Sarah should leave. She knew she should stand up and walk out. But the alternative was unemployment, a gap in her resume she couldn’t explain, moving back to her parents’ house in shame...
“If I do this... whatever this is... I keep my job?”
“You keep your job,” Mr. Hoffmann confirmed. “With a clean slate. As far as the rest of the office is concerned, you worked late to fix your mistake, and we’ve resolved the client situation.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’re terminated, effective immediately.”
Ms. Keller crouched down, bringing herself to eye level with Sarah. This close, Sarah could smell her expensive perfume, see the calculating intelligence in her gray eyes.
“I think you want this, Ms. Fischer,” she said softly. “I think some part of you knows you need to be punished for what you did. Properly punished. Not just a slap on the wrist, but a real lesson that you’ll feel.”
Sarah’s face burned. “I—”
“Yes or no,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “We don’t have all night.”
Sarah closed her eyes. Took a breath.
“Yes.”
Scene 3 - The Rules
“Good girl,” Ms. Keller said, standing up. “First rule: You will address me as ‘Mistress’ and Mr. Hoffmann as ‘Sir’ for the duration of this arrangement. Is that clear?”
“Yes... Mistress.” The word felt strange on her tongue, forbidden.
“And me?” Mr. Hoffmann prompted.
Sarah turned to face him. “Yes, Sir.”
“Second rule,” he continued. “You do exactly as you’re told, when you’re told. No hesitation. No questioning. If we tell you to do something, you do it immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Third rule,” Ms. Keller circled behind Sarah’s chair. “Your body language, your tone, everything should reflect respect and submission. You made a mistake that showed arrogance—assuming you knew what you were doing when you clearly didn’t. Tonight, we’re going to strip that arrogance away.”
Sarah felt hands on her shoulders, Ms. Keller’s fingers pressing firmly.
“Do you understand why you’re being punished?” Ms. Keller asked.
“Because I... because I ruined the presentation, Mistress.”
“Because you were careless,” Ms. Keller corrected. “Because you didn’t pay attention. Because you thought you were too smart to double-check your work. Because you cost us dearly through your incompetence.”
Each word landed like a slap. Sarah’s eyes burned with fresh tears.
“Say it,” Mr. Hoffmann ordered. “Tell us why you deserve to be punished.”
“I... I deserve to be punished because I was careless, Sir. Because I didn’t pay attention. Because I cost you money through my incompetence.”
“Better.” Ms. Keller’s hands left her shoulders. “Stand up.”
Sarah stood, her legs unsteady.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen,” Mr. Hoffmann said, his voice calm, almost conversational. “You’re going to accept your punishment with grace and gratitude. You’re going to learn your lesson. And tomorrow, you’re going to come back to work as if nothing happened, except you’ll be a better employee. More careful. More obedient. More aware of your place here.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your place,” Ms. Keller emphasized, “is at the bottom. You’re the newest employee. The least experienced. The one who just proved she can’t be trusted with important tasks. You have to earn back our trust. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good.” Ms. Keller walked back to stand beside Mr. Hoffmann. “Now, we’re going to test your commitment. If you can’t follow simple instructions, then this arrangement won’t work.”
Sarah waited, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
“Take off your blazer,” Mr. Hoffmann said.
For a moment, Sarah didn’t move. Then, with shaking hands, she shrugged off her black blazer and held it awkwardly.
“Fold it properly,” Ms. Keller said. “And place it on the chair. Everything you do should be done with care and attention. Remember?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Sarah carefully folded the blazer and placed it on the chair she’d been sitting in.
“Your blouse,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Unbutton it.”
Sarah’s hands went to the top button. “I... Sir, I don’t—”
“You said anything, Ms. Fischer,” Ms. Keller reminded her. “Are you already going back on your word? Should we simply terminate you now?”
“No! No, I just—”
“Then do as you’re told.”
Sarah’s fingers fumbled with the buttons. One. Two. Three. She could feel both of them watching her, studying her reaction. Four. Five. Six. The blouse hung open, revealing her simple white bra.
“All the way off,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “And folded.”
She slipped the blouse off her shoulders, folded it with shaking hands, and placed it on top of her blazer.
“Look at you,” Ms. Keller said, her voice dripping with something between contempt and amusement. “So modest. So proper. And yet you agreed to this. What does that say about you, I wonder?”
Sarah stood there in her skirt and bra, arms instinctively crossing over her chest.
“Hands at your sides,” Mr. Hoffmann ordered. “When you’re being disciplined, you don’t hide. You accept it.”
Sarah lowered her arms, forcing herself to stand straight.
“The skirt,” Ms. Keller said. “Take it off.”
“Mistress, please—”
“‘Please’ what? Please let you keep your dignity after you destroyed a six-figure deal? Please treat you with respect when you’ve shown none for our business?” Ms. Keller’s voice grew sharper. “You have five seconds to take off that skirt, or you can pack your desk and leave. One.”
Sarah’s hands went to the zipper.
“Two.”
She pulled it down.
“Three.”
She pushed the skirt down over her hips.
“Four.”
It pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it, wearing only her bra, panties, and heels now.
“Fold it. You know better.”
Sarah picked up the skirt with trembling hands and folded it, placing it with her other clothes.
“Better,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Now, turn around slowly. Let us see what we’re working with.”
The humiliation was almost physical, a heat spreading from her chest to her face. But Sarah turned, feeling their eyes on her body, judging her, assessing her.
“Stop,” Ms. Keller said when she’d completed the turn. “Stay facing away from us.”
Sarah stood with her back to them, staring at the darkened cityscape through the windows.
“Do you know why we’re making you strip?” Mr. Hoffmann asked.
“No, Sir,” Sarah whispered.
“Because you need to be vulnerable,” he said. “You need to understand what it means to have nothing to hide behind. No pretense. No professional veneer. Just you, exposed and awaiting judgment.”
“And because,” Ms. Keller added, “you need to learn that your body, like your work, is subject to our evaluation. We decide if you’re good enough. We decide if you measure up. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I don’t think you do yet,” Ms. Keller said. “But you will. Take off your bra.”
Sarah’s hands went to the clasp, then stopped. “Mistress, I—”
“You’re really testing my patience, Ms. Fischer. Everything. Off. Now.”
With shaking fingers, Sarah unclasped her bra and let it fall forward off her arms. She held it for a moment, then placed it with her other clothes.
“Panties too,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “We want you completely bare. Completely exposed.”
This was too much. This was wrong. Sarah’s hands hovered at her hips, every instinct screaming at her to refuse, to leave, to—
“Butterfly,” Ms. Keller said. “That’s your word. Say it, and this ends. Or stop hesitating and follow instructions.”
Sarah pushed her panties down, stepped out of them, and added them to the pile. She stood naked except for her heels, her back still to them, arms rigid at her sides.
The silence stretched out. She could feel their gazes on her exposed skin like a physical touch.
“Turn around,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “And look at us.”
This was the hardest part yet. Sarah turned slowly, forcing herself to lift her eyes and meet their gazes. Mr. Hoffmann leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. Ms. Keller stood beside him, arms crossed, a slight smile playing at her lips.
“There,” Ms. Keller said. “Now you look like what you are. A girl who made a terrible mistake and will do anything to make it right.”
“Say it,” Mr. Hoffmann ordered. “Tell us what you are.”
“I’m... I’m a girl who made a terrible mistake, Sir. And I’ll do anything to make it right.”
“Anything,” Ms. Keller repeated. “Remember that. Because we’re just getting started.”
She walked toward Sarah with deliberate slowness.
“Get on your knees.”
Sarah hesitated for only a second before sinking to her knees on the hardwood floor. The position made her feel even more exposed, more vulnerable.
“Look up at me,” Ms. Keller commanded.
Sarah tilted her head back, meeting her Mistress’s eyes.
“You’re going to be punished now,” Ms. Keller said. “Properly punished. And you’re going to thank us for it. Because we’re teaching you a lesson you desperately need to learn. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Do you accept your punishment?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Do you deserve it?”
Sarah’s voice cracked. “Yes, Mistress. I deserve it.”
“Good girl.” Ms. Keller ran a hand through Sarah’s hair, almost gently. “Ask for it. Beg us to punish you for your failure.”
Sarah’s face burned with shame, but she forced the words out. “Please, Mistress. Sir. Please punish me for my failure. I need to learn my lesson.”
“More convincing,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Like you mean it.”
Sarah took a shaky breath. “Please, I’m begging you. I failed you both. I cost you so much. Please punish me so I can make it right. I need this. I deserve this. Please.”
“Better,” Ms. Keller said, stepping back. “Stand up and walk to the desk.”
Sarah rose on unsteady legs and walked toward Mr. Hoffmann’s desk. She could feel her nakedness acutely, every step reminding her of her exposure.
“Bend over it,” Mr. Hoffmann said, standing up and moving to the side. “Spread your legs. Arch your back. Present yourself for punishment.”
This couldn’t be happening. But Sarah found herself leaning forward, placing her palms flat on the cool surface of the desk, spreading her legs as ordered, arching her back in a way that pushed her bottom up and out.
“Perfect,” Ms. Keller said from somewhere behind her. “Look at you. So obedient now. So eager to please. Where was this attention to detail this afternoon?”
Sarah didn’t answer, her face pressed against the desk, her entire body trembling.
“We’re going to teach you about consequences,” Mr. Hoffmann said, his voice close to her ear now. “And you’re going to count each one, thank us, and ask for the next. If you lose count, we start over. If you forget to thank us, we start over. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And if at any point you want to stop?” Ms. Keller asked.
“I say ‘butterfly,’ Mistress.”
“Good girl. Now...”
Sarah heard footsteps behind her, felt a hand rest on her lower back, holding her in place.
“Let’s begin your lesson.”
Scene 4 - First Humiliation
Sarah heard Ms. Keller’s heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she circled around behind her. Every muscle in Sarah’s body was tense, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk.
“You know,” Ms. Keller said conversationally, “I’ve fired eleven people during probationary periods. Some for incompetence, some for dishonesty, one for harassment. But you’re the first one who’s cost us quite this much quite this quickly.”
Sarah felt Ms. Keller’s hand on her hip, then sliding slowly across her exposed bottom. The touch was neither gentle nor rough, simply possessive.
“And you’re the first one who’s agreed to this,” Mr. Hoffmann added. He’d moved to where Sarah could see him, leaning against the edge of the desk, watching her face. “That tells me something interesting about you, Ms. Fischer.”
“Sir?” Sarah’s voice was barely a whisper.
“It tells me that some part of you knows this is exactly what you need. Not a written warning you’d file away and forget. Not a stern talking-to that wouldn’t really penetrate. But this. Real consequences. Real punishment. Real submission.”
Sarah wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t find the words.
“Don’t you agree?” Mr. Hoffmann asked, his tone making it clear he expected an answer.
“I... yes, Sir. I need real consequences.”
“Good girl,” Ms. Keller said. “Now, let’s discuss what’s about to happen. You’re going to receive twenty strokes. Ten from me, ten from Mr. Hoffmann. You’ll count each one, thank the person who delivered it, and ask for the next. If you lose count or forget your manners, we start over. Clear?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And what position do you maintain throughout?”
“I... I stay bent over the desk with my legs spread, Mistress.”
“And why are your legs spread?”
Sarah’s face burned. “Because... because I’m being punished, Mistress.”
“Because you’re being punished and evaluated,” Ms. Keller corrected. “We need to see everything. Your reactions, your responses, how your body betrays what you’re really feeling. Nothing hidden. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Let’s begin.”
The first strike came without further warning—Ms. Keller’s palm connecting sharply with Sarah’s right cheek. The sound echoed in the quiet office, followed by a burning sensation that spread across Sarah’s skin.
“Count,” Mr. Hoffmann reminded her.
“One,” Sarah gasped. “Thank you, Mistress.”
“And?” Ms. Keller prompted.
“Please may I have another, Mistress.”
“Better.”
The second strike landed on her left cheek, harder than the first. Sarah’s fingers dug into the desk’s edge.
“Two. Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have another.”
Ms. Keller established a rhythm, alternating cheeks, each strike building on the last. Sarah’s voice grew more strained with each count.
“Five. Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have another.”
“Look at how red you’re getting,” Ms. Keller observed. “Like a schoolgirl being punished for failing an exam.”
“Six. Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have another.”
“Except you’re not a schoolgirl, are you? You’re a grown woman who should know better.”
“Seven. Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have another.”
By the eighth strike, tears were rolling down Sarah’s cheeks, but she forced the words out clearly.
“Eight. Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have another.”
“Two more from me,” Ms. Keller said. “Make them count.”
The ninth strike landed lower, catching the sensitive crease where bottom met thigh. Sarah cried out before remembering to count.
“Nine! Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have another.”
“Good girl. Last one from me.”
The tenth strike was the hardest yet, right across both cheeks. Sarah’s whole body jerked forward against the desk.
“Ten! Thank you, Mistress. Please may I have another.”
“Excellent,” Ms. Keller said, stepping back. “Mr. Hoffmann?”
Sarah heard them change positions. Mr. Hoffmann’s hand replaced Ms. Keller’s on her lower back, holding her in place.
“My turn,” he said. “And Ms. Fischer? I don’t hold back the way Ms. Keller does.”
The first strike from his hand proved he wasn’t exaggerating. The impact was significantly harder, and Sarah barely managed to keep her position.
“Eleven! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another.”
“You’re taking this well,” he observed. “Better than I expected for someone who’s never been properly disciplined before.”
“Twelve! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another.”
“But I notice something interesting,” he continued, delivering the thirteenth strike.
“Thirteen! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another.”
“You’re crying, yes. You’re clearly in pain. But...”
The fourteenth strike was accompanied by his other hand sliding between her spread thighs, making Sarah gasp.
“Fourteen! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another.”
His fingers withdrew, and Sarah heard Ms. Keller laugh softly.
“Oh my,” Ms. Keller said. “Oh, this is interesting.”
“What did I tell you?” Mr. Hoffmann said. “She’s not just tolerating this. She’s...”
“Don’t stop counting,” Ms. Keller warned as Mr. Hoffmann delivered the fifteenth strike.
“Fifteen! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another.”
Sarah’s face burned with humiliation as she realized what they’d discovered. Despite the pain, despite the degradation, despite everything—she was aroused.
“Does it turn you on,” Ms. Keller asked, moving to where Sarah could see her, “being naked in your bosses’ office? Being spanked like a naughty girl who can’t do her job properly?”
The sixteenth strike landed before Sarah could answer.
“Sixteen! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another.”
“Answer her question,” Mr. Hoffmann ordered.
“I... yes, Mistress. I’m sorry, I don’t know why—”
“Don’t apologize for your body’s responses,” Ms. Keller said. “But don’t pretend they’re not happening either. You’re aroused. Say it.”
The seventeenth strike.
“Seventeen! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another. I’m... I’m aroused, Mistress.”
“Aroused by what?” Ms. Keller pressed.
Eighteenth strike.
“Eighteen! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another. I’m aroused by... by being punished, Mistress.”
“By being naked and helpless,” Ms. Keller added.
Nineteenth strike.
“Nineteen! Thank you, Sir. Please may I have another. By being naked and helpless, Mistress.”
“One more,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Make it good, Ms. Fischer. Really thank us for teaching you this lesson.”
The twentieth and final strike was the hardest yet, and Sarah cried out before finding her voice.
“Twenty! Thank you, Sir! Thank you both for punishing me. For teaching me. For giving me another chance. Thank you.”
“Good girl,” Mr. Hoffmann said, his hand gentle now on her burning skin. “You may stand up.”
Sarah pushed herself up from the desk, her legs shaking. She stood before them, naked and marked, tears on her cheeks, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.
“Look at yourself,” Ms. Keller said, gesturing to the darkened window where Sarah’s reflection was faintly visible. “What do you see?”
Sarah looked. She saw a young woman, naked, her bottom visibly red even in the dim reflection, her face tearstained, her body trembling.
“I see... I see someone being punished, Mistress.”
“You see someone learning her place,” Ms. Keller corrected. “Someone discovering something about herself. Don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Come here,” Mr. Hoffmann said, sitting back in his chair. “Kneel in front of me.”
Sarah walked on shaky legs to where he sat and sank to her knees before him.
“Hands behind your back,” he ordered. “Chin up. Look at me.”
She obeyed, and found herself looking up at him from her submissive position, utterly exposed and vulnerable.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “Do you understand now why you’re being punished?”
“Yes, Sir. Because I was careless and cost you money.”
“And?”
“And... and because I need to learn to be better. To pay attention. To respect this opportunity.”
“Good. And do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”
Sarah considered. The pain was fading to a warm throb, but the humiliation, the exposure, the way they’d discovered her shameful arousal...
“I think I’m learning it, Sir.”
“Honest answer,” Ms. Keller said approvingly. She’d moved to stand beside Mr. Hoffmann. “Because we’re not done teaching you yet.”
“Mistress?”
“Tonight was just the beginning,” Ms. Keller said. “Just establishing the parameters of our new arrangement. Making sure you understand your place here. But your real education starts tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, Mistress?”
“Tomorrow you come to work,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “Professional. Competent. But with a new understanding of what happens when you fail us. And with a new... dynamic between us.”
“Do you accept this?” Ms. Keller asked. “This new relationship? Where we’re not just your employers, but your... disciplinarians?”
Sarah knew she should say no. Should stand up, get dressed, walk out. But instead, she heard herself say:
“Yes, Mistress. Yes, Sir. I accept.”
“Good girl,” Mr. Hoffmann said, reaching out to touch her cheek gently. “Now, I think you’ve earned the right to get dressed. We’ll see you tomorrow morning. Eight AM sharp.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Mistress.”
Sarah stood, gathered her clothes with trembling hands, and dressed as they watched. When she was finally clothed again, she felt simultaneously more normal and yet fundamentally changed.
At the door, she paused.
“Sir? Mistress? May I ask something?”
“What?” Ms. Keller asked.
“Why did you... why did you really offer me this option?”
The two exchanged another of those meaningful glances.
“Because we saw something in you,” Mr. Hoffmann said. “During your interview, during your first few days. A certain... potential.”
“Potential for what, Sir?”
“For exactly this,” Ms. Keller said with a slight smile. “Now go home. Rest. Tomorrow is a new day.”
Sarah left, walking through the empty office in a daze. In the elevator, she caught sight of herself in the mirrored walls. She looked the same as when she’d arrived this morning. Professional. Put-together. Young designer ready to make her mark.
But everything had changed.
Tomorrow would prove just how much.
