Chapter 1: The Skirt and the Secret Doorway

Wearing the short skirt Uncle Mark had given me, I slipped it on and started a video chat with my boyfriend—at least, that was the plan. Instead, Uncle Mark himself showed up at my door and came to get me. The whole thing happened so fast I barely had time to process it. One second, I was waiting for Tyler’s familiar grin, and the next, Uncle Mark was right there, his presence filling the doorway. Did he actually pick me up, like, scoop me into his arms? Yeah. He did, and I was so thrown I didn’t even protest.

The skirt was a deep navy, just flirty enough to make me feel exposed, the fabric shimmering every time I moved. I couldn’t help but twirl, just to see it catch the light. It was the kind of skirt that made me a little self-conscious, but honestly, I was weirdly excited, too. My phone was propped up on the edge of my desk, the video call screen throwing a soft glow across my face in the afternoon shadows. I was expecting Tyler’s goofy grin to pop up, but when Uncle Mark’s face filled the screen instead, my heart jumped straight into my throat. He was right there in my doorway, giving me this sly, almost mischievous smile.

Whatever Uncle Mark stirred up inside me made my stomach twist—fear, anxiety, the whole messy cocktail. He just let out a low chuckle, and then, before I could even think, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I froze, my mind short-circuiting. Was this really happening?

His laugh rumbled, low and teasing, and it sent a chill racing down my back. I just stopped moving. I didn’t know if I should pull away or just let myself fall into the moment. His cologne hung in the air—woodsy, expensive, and so distinctly him. My heart was pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. I balled up the soft skirt in my fists, knuckles aching from the grip. He leaned closer, his lips brushing mine with a kind of intensity that was both comforting and terrifying. There was this strange tenderness, but it felt like I was his, and the thought left me breathless.

"You know this skirt’s just for me, right? Only wear it for me. Got it?" His voice was soft but there was an edge there, like velvet hiding steel. His breath was warm against my cheek, way too close. The words echoed in my head, making me feel totally claimed and weirdly exposed. For a split second, I wondered—could anyone else ever make me feel so tiny and so completely seen at the same time?

I blinked up at him, my eyes wide and stinging with tears, my whole body trembling. I could barely breathe.

My lips parted, ready to protest, but nothing came out. I felt like a deer in headlights, frozen, mind racing a million miles a minute. Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes. My chest heaved with these shallow, shaky breaths. The heater kicked on in the background, its hum weirdly normal as my world tilted sideways.

Uncle Mark reached out and clasped my hands, his grip steady and warm. His touch grounded me, his half-smile almost boyish, but his eyes were deadly serious. He watched me, patient and unhurried, which only made me feel more vulnerable. The silence between us was so thick it felt like we were sharing a secret no one else could ever know. My pulse thudded in my ears.

He leaned in closer, voice dropping, "Then let me punish you in front of him, okay?"

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut—my stomach dropped. My heart hammered in my chest. I didn’t even know what he meant, but the way he said it, all soft and almost playful, made my knees go weak. I couldn’t look at him. My gaze darted away, my thoughts spinning in every direction, fear and confusion tangling together.

Back at Thanksgiving, Uncle Mark had sent me a box of little skirts I’d been eyeing for months, and they showed up right on my doorstep. I remember standing on the porch, shivering in the chilly November air, leaves swirling around my feet. The box was wrapped up in brown paper, my name written in his neat, familiar handwriting. My hands shook as I tore it open, excitement buzzing through me. Inside were the exact skirts I’d wanted—cute, trendy, and just daring enough to feel like a secret. For a second, it felt like the world had handed me a private gift, just for me.

They were short, sexy, and honestly, totally irresistible. Each one was soft and stretchy, hugging my hips in a way that made me want to strut. There was a classic plaid, a solid black, and that deep navy I was wearing now. I held them up in front of my mirror, twirled, and actually laughed at how cute I looked. For a moment, I felt powerful, a little bit dangerous. Wearing something that bold was its own kind of thrill.

I shot Uncle Mark a text right away—full of exclamation points and a million smiley faces—thanking him for the surprise. He messaged back instantly: "You deserve it, kiddo. Save the best one for me." My cheeks went hot reading that, and I couldn’t stop grinning. It felt amazing to be noticed, especially by someone as put-together as Uncle Mark.

He told me not to wear it until he was back, wanted to see it himself. I remember rolling my eyes at that, half-laughing and half-exasperated. Classic Uncle Mark, always wanting to be the star of the show. Still, I promised I’d wait. At the time, I figured he just wanted to brag about his good taste or something. No big deal.

I shrugged off the whole thing, tossing the skirts on my bed and going about my day. Part of me liked the idea of showing off, of having someone actually care how I looked. Maybe it was silly, but it made me feel special. I thought I’d wear the skirt at the next family dinner or something—maybe Thanksgiving, maybe Christmas brunch. It felt like a secret I got to keep for a while.

But I couldn’t help myself. I put on the short skirt he’d given me and called my long-distance boyfriend right away. The skirt was just too cute, and I wanted to see Tyler’s reaction. I pulled it on, paired it with a plain white tee, and spun around in the mirror. My heart fluttered as I dialed his number, eager to share the moment. As the call connected, I felt this weird, jittery excitement. I couldn’t wait to see his face.

As soon as Tyler Mason picked up, he looked totally flustered. His hair was a mess, eyes wide like I’d caught him off guard. He fumbled with his phone, almost dropping it as he tried to sit up straighter. I laughed at his clumsy scramble, but something about his face felt off. He looked like he’d just gotten busted for something.

The second he saw me, he looked guilty as hell. His eyes darted everywhere but the camera, cheeks going bright red. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, refusing to meet my gaze. A little suspicion crept in, but I tried to brush it away. Maybe he was just tired, or not expecting my call. Still, the look on his face was hard to ignore.

"Why’d you call me out of the blue, Brianna?" Tyler’s voice was shaky, his smile all wrong. He sounded nervous, almost like he was trying too hard to sound normal. I raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. There was something in his voice that set my teeth on edge, a tension that didn’t belong.

He hadn’t even buttoned his shirt right. It hung crooked, one shoulder bare, like he’d just rolled out of bed even though it was way past noon. I frowned, my suspicion growing. Tyler never let himself look this sloppy, not even on lazy Sundays. Something wasn’t adding up, and I could feel it.

I stared at him, not even trying to hide my doubt. "Tyler, what are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed?" My voice came out sharper than I meant, edged with suspicion. I tried to keep my face neutral, but I could feel my eyebrows pulling together. Tyler looked away, fiddling with his collar. The silence stretched out, heavy and awkward.

He scrambled for an excuse, looking embarrassed. "I just woke up. If you don’t believe me, look." He swung the camera around his disaster of a room—clothes everywhere, my framed photo on the nightstand. He tried to play it cool, but his hands were shaking. I wanted to believe him, but the pit in my stomach wouldn’t go away.

Before I could say anything else, Tyler jumped in, zooming in on the pile of my stuff on his bedside table and showing off his messy state. He made sure I saw my favorite scarf, the one I’d left behind last visit. Seeing it made my stomach drop. There was something bittersweet about it—like he wanted to prove I mattered, but it just made me more uneasy. The room looked lived-in, but somehow fake, like he was putting on a show.

My face went bright red. Embarrassment washed over me, hot and prickly. I hadn’t meant to accuse him, but now I felt exposed. Standing there in a skirt meant for someone else’s eyes, I shifted my weight, wishing I could just disappear.

He just smirked, giving me a look and staying silent. He leaned back, arms behind his head, that smug grin spreading across his face. The silence felt loaded, like he was daring me to call him out. I bit my lip, suddenly doubting myself. His confidence unsettled me, made me question my gut.

Desperate to change the subject, I forced a smile and tugged up the edge of my skirt. "Tyler, look—do you think my new skirt is pretty?" My voice sounded lighter than I felt, almost playful, but my heart was pounding. I did a quick spin for the camera, hoping to distract both of us from the awkward tension.

I tried to keep my tone breezy, but I could hear my voice shake. The question just hung there, waiting for his answer. I glanced at the screen, searching his face for some kind of real reaction. For a second, I just wanted to feel wanted.

Tyler always acted like a gentleman—never pushed, never crossed the line. In the six months we’d been together, he’d barely even tried to sneak a kiss. He’d open doors, walk me home, keep his hands to himself. It was sweet, but sometimes I wondered if he really saw me, or just liked the idea of me. We’d been careful, maybe even a little old-fashioned. Our relationship was built on trust, but lately, that trust felt like it was on shaky ground.

Then, all of a sudden, his whole vibe changed. He leaned in, eyes wide, and blurted out, "Can you stand up? Just a little higher, let me see." His voice was eager, almost breathless. I blinked, caught totally off guard by how bold he sounded.