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I took the worst-paid, worst-idea job on the island to pay off the debt my ex left me — and accidentally found the best life I've ever had. 🔥 The listing said "caretaker for exotic creatures." It didn't mention that behind seven sealed doors live seven monsters — and not one of them is interested in my heart, only in ruining me for anything human. 😳 The one who breathes underwater keeps me under till I forget my own name. The one with tentacles never runs out of hands. No strings. No feelings. No man asking how I feel in the morning. Just the best s*x of my life, on repeat, each one wilder than the last. 🐙 I came here broken, swearing off love forever. I never said anything about monsters. 💋 The only problem? What I signed up for goes far deeper than I ever read — and the price is one I never agreed to pay. 🤫 ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What happens when she stops wanting to leave? 🫣 Read Monstrously Yours Now! 🐙🔥

I took the worst-paid, worst-idea job on the island to pay off the debt my ex left me — and accidentally found the best life I've ever had. 🔥 The listing said "caretaker for exotic creatures." It didn't mention that behind seven sealed doors live seven monsters — and not one of them is interested in my heart, only in ruining me for anything human. 😳 The one who breathes underwater keeps me under till I forget my own name. The one with tentacles never runs out of hands. No strings. No feelings. No man asking how I feel in the morning. Just the best s*x of my life, on repeat, each one wilder than the last. 🐙 I came here broken, swearing off love forever. I never said anything about monsters. 💋 The only problem? What I signed up for goes far deeper than I ever read — and the price is one I never agreed to pay. 🤫 ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What happens when she stops wanting to leave? 🫣 Read Monstrously Yours Now! 🐙🔥

"What if he doesn't fit?" I asked it like a scientist reading off a clipboard. He answered it like a promise: "Then we find out how much you can learn to take." 😳 Four tentacles in the water — one at my wrist, one at my waist, one sliding slow up my thigh — learning the exact shape of me, inch by impossible inch. 🐙 "Tell me when it's too much," he said. I never did. 🔥 I walked into that chamber so sure of the limits of my own body. He spent the whole night proving every single one of them wrong — and by morning I was the one asking for more. 💋 Turns out I wasn't broken. I was just waiting for something that was never going to be human. 🤫 ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— How far past her limits will she go? 🫣 Read Monstrously Yours Now! 🐙🔥

I signed a 14-page contract without reading the fine print. I should have read the fine print. The listing promised great pay for "working with exotic creatures." What it didn't say was that I wasn't hired to care for the monsters behind those seven doors I was hired to breed with one. On day four they strapped me to a table and the man who hired me pressed a needle to my stomach. "You agreed to all of it when you signed," he smiled. "And I need your womb." They've spent years collecting from every species in this building, preparing for the one part they couldn't manufacture. Me. Every girl before me died, broke, or vanished. The only one trying to keep me alive is the very monster I'm meant to survive. ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What did she really sign? Read Monstrously Yours Now!

I'm a doctor. But when my daughter had colic, I left the pediatrician's office furious. It was 5 years ago. I had just become a new mom and learned that my daughter had colic. Colic is when a healthy baby cries for hours a day for no clear reason. And she did just that: everyday she cried, and cried, and cried. Being a physician myself, the first thing I did was take her to the pediatrician. I remember distinctly leaving that pediatrician's office furious because the first thing they told me was: “It's a baby, let ‘em cry." That wasn't good enough for me. Not at all. My baby was suffering, and I wasn't going to just "let her cry." I needed answers. Real answers. So I took it upon myself to track everything: when she was calm, when she screamed, and what was different. That’s when I started to notice that the only time she would stop crying was when I was holding her in my arms while I was barefoot in my backyard. Walking barefoot in grass was just something I always enjoyed doing ever since I was a child. At first, I didn’t think much of it. I thought, “You’re just like your mommy. You love our backyard too!” But this is where things got even weirder. I noticed that even when I took her to the backyard, if she was in her stroller or if I was wearing my sneakers, she would still cry nonstop. That’s when it became clear to me that it wasn’t just simply being outside, and that it had to be something else. At the time, I couldn’t quite figure out what it was — all I knew was that holding her barefoot in my backyard was working better than anything else. So I kept doing it. Then one day, it all began to click. I was texting my best friend Kathy and she suddenly said to me: “You need some downtime in your life. You should go ground yourself.” I didn’t know exactly what she meant by “ground yourself”, so I did a quick internet search. That’s when I found that grounding — connecting your bare skin to the surface of the Earth — was actually a healing method that’s been documented in scientific journals. It had been shown to reduce anxiety, lower stress levels, improve sleep quality — and even help relieve chronic pain. I gasped. It all started to make sense — My daughter wasn't calming down because of fresh air or because we were outside. She was calming down because when I was barefoot on the earth, my body was grounded. And when I held her skin-to-skin, she was grounding through me. This wasn't a placebo. She had no idea if I was wearing shoes or not. She was a newborn baby. She couldn't possibly know the difference. But her body knew. So I started testing it. I'd hold her in my arms, barefoot in the grass. She was more peaceful, and comfortable. Then I'd step inside the house and take my feet off the ground. Within a few minutes, she'd begin frowning and crying. Every. Single. Time. I kept going back outside barefoot, and every time, she'd calm down and even fall asleep in my arms. It was undeniable. As a physician, I had so many questions: Why didn’t they teach this in medical school? Why isn’t anyone talking about this? Why do none of my colleagues know about this? So I started diving into the research. I learned that grounding reduces inflammation in the body. Colic is caused by inflammation in a baby's digestive system. It all made sense now. But I quickly ran into another problem: I couldn't spend every night standing barefoot in my backyard holding her. I needed sleep. She needed sleep. We both did. That's when I found a company called GroundingWell. They make grounding bedsheets that plug into the grounding port of your wall outlet — the part of your outlet that’s connected with the earth, and the same system that grounds your electronics and protects them from dangerous surges. No live electricity ever flows into the sheet. It only carries the earth's natural charge, which is why it's safe to use right in a baby's crib. I was skeptical at first, but I had to give it a shot. I ordered one for her crib immediately. The first night we used it, she slept for four hours straight. Four hours. She'd never done that before. The next few nights, five hours. Then, after a couple of weeks, she started to cry less frequently throughout the day, even when she wasn’t sleeping on the bedsheets. The colic symptoms started disappearing. The constant crying stopped. She was finally comfortable in her own body. And best of all, I finally started to get some sleep! For the first time since she was born, she was a happy, peaceful baby. And I'm going to tell you this straight: GroundingWell is the only brand I trust and recommend. I've tried other grounding products since then. Most of them don't work. Some are uncomfortable. Others fall apart after a few washes. GroundingWell's sheets are different. They're soft, comfortable, and easy to use. They stand the test of time — and most importantly, they actually work. After seeing what it did for my daughter, I ended up getting one for my husband and I, and another one for my niece who has insomnia since they include a free grounding mat when you order more than one. It was an easy call. And we all sleep better now. And GroundingWell stands behind their products with a 90-day money back guarantee. That's three full months to try it. If it doesn't work for you, you get every penny back. Right now, they're offering 50% off their grounding bedsheets. If you have a baby with colic, or if your baby fights sleep and wakes every hour — I encourage you to just give it a shot. You have 90 days to test if it actually works, so you have nothing to lose. As for myself, when conventional medicine — the field I dedicated my entire career to — told me to just "let her cry," grounding gave me a real solution. Because it worked when nothing else did. And it could work for you too. 👇 https://www.groundingwell.com/products/groundingwell-bedsheet-mom

He hadn't slept in three hundred years. Three centuries of pacing, of cracked concrete where his tentacles hit the walls, of being the one creature in this facility everyone is terrified of. And then one ordinary girl with a feeding tray walked the corridor and the pacing stopped. He's cruel to everyone. Cold to the others, vicious to the boss, the "weak link" no one can control. But the nights I sleep on the other side of his wall, he goes quiet. He sleeps. Because of me. He won't say what I am to him. His kind has a word for it and he refuses to use it. But every night he moves closer to the wall between us and every night I let him. The deadliest thing they ever caged is gentle with exactly one person in the world. ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What happens when the wall between them finally comes down? Read Monstrously Yours Now!

It was supposed to be just an experiment. Touch the subject, measure the response, write it down. 🔬 Then I stopped dreaming about escaping — and started dreaming about him. 😳 Now every night it's the same: dark water, the weight of him, tentacles sliding over my hips and holding me exactly where he wants me while I beg in a language I don't speak. I wake up soaked, furious, reaching for something that isn't there. 🔥 I tell myself it's whatever they keep injecting into my arm. It isn't. The truth is worse — every morning I wake up disappointed it stopped, and every night I go back hoping it won't. 💋 I came here to feel nothing. He's the first thing in years to make me feel everything — and he hasn't even properly touched me yet. 🤫 ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What happens the night the dream stops being a dream? 🫣 Read Monstrously Yours Now! 🐙🔥

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