Trapped in Cuffs, Saved by My Ex
Lily · Completed · 6.4k Words
Introduction
"I'm... handcuffed to a towel rack." Humiliation nearly swallowed me whole.
Fifteen minutes later, LAFD kicked down my door—and the man standing in the wreckage was the last person on earth I wanted to see me like this.
Leon Crawford. My ex. The one I broke up with three years ago.
He didn't cut me loose. He circled my apartment like a predator, his jaw tightening with every wine glass, every stray jacket he found.
"Where's the guy who did this to you?" he growled.
There was no guy. But how do I explain the lie I told him three years ago—that I'd fallen for someone else?
Chapter 1
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I'm... handcuffed to a towel rack." Humiliation nearly swallowed me whole.
Fifteen minutes later, LAFD kicked down my door—and the man standing in the wreckage was the last person on earth I wanted to see me like this.
Leon Crawford. My ex. The one I broke up with three years ago.
He didn't cut me loose. He circled my apartment like a predator, his jaw tightening with every wine glass, every stray jacket he found.
"Where's the guy who did this to you?" he growled.
There was no guy. But how do I explain the lie I told him three years ago—that I'd fallen for someone else?
——
Last night was my birthday. Amy had dragged a few friends over to my apartment and thrown together a small Halloween-themed party.
I was so exhausted I collapsed into bed the second everyone left, leaving the whole place a wreck—wine glasses, jackets, chaos everywhere.
The next evening, I woke up and was heading to the bathroom to shower when I spotted it on the counter: the "single girl's consolation gift" Amy had shoved into my hands.
"You are so going to need this, Vi."
I picked up the black-and-gold box. Tore it open.
A pair of pink handcuffs.
Maybe it was the leftover alcohol, or maybe I just wasn't thinking straight, but I slid my left hand through the bar of the heated towel rack on the wall—and then, for some godforsaken reason, locked my right hand in too.
I struck an exaggerated "help me" pose, ready to snap a photo.
I was reaching for my phone on the counter, angling for a shot in the mirror to send to the group chat and roast Amy's terrible taste in gifts, when my elbow knocked against the handcuff key.
The tiny silver key went flying and dropped, with pinpoint precision, straight into the drain.
It vanished with the water in an instant.
I stayed frozen there, hands cuffed to the towel rack, staring at that drain for a solid ten seconds.
At first, I wasn't even worried.
I hooked a bobby pin off the bathroom shelf with my toes and tried to pick the lock like some kind of movie spy.
Failed.
I tried to bend the towel rack's bar by brute force.
Didn't budge an inch.
Two hours later, my wrists were rubbed raw, an angry red ring burning into the skin.
And to make things worse, this thing had some kind of sadistic anti-escape mechanism—the more I struggled, the tighter the gears clicked shut.
The bathroom window wasn't shut all the way, and the night wind kept gusting in. I was standing there in nothing but a thin black lace slip, shivering.
Out of options, I called Siri for help.
Thank god, I got through to 911.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I—I'm stuck." I bit my lip, my face burning.
"Ma'am, please state your location and describe the situation. Is there any danger to life?"
"No danger to life. But... I'm handcuffed to something in my bathroom. In my apartment."
There was a two-second silence on the other end.
"Alright, ma'am, we've dispatched the nearest LAFD rescue unit. Please stay calm, they'll be there shortly."
Fifteen minutes later.
Sirens screamed from the street below.
Then came the heavy sound of combat boots pounding up the hallway.
"LAFD! Anyone in there?"
"I'm in the bathroom!" I shouted back, my voice shaking with pure humiliation.
"Ma'am, the door's locked, we're going to have to break it down! Stand clear!"
A loud crash. Splinters of wood flew from the doorframe.
Then a second hit.
The front door burst open.
I heard footsteps flood into the living room, then a brief pause.
"I'm in the bathroom!" I called out again.
A young firefighter rushed to the half-closed bathroom door and shoved it open.
A flashlight beam hit me square in the face.
I squeezed my eyes shut instinctively, turning my head away.
"Clear. No fire," a young voice announced.
Then the beam of light dropped, sweeping slowly down my body.
The room went dead silent.
I could feel several people standing in the doorway.
Their breathing seemed to stop the instant they took in the sight of me.
"Jesus Christ..."
I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, wishing I could just disappear on the spot.
"Please... just cut me loose." My voice came out barely above a whisper.
No response.
Just the sound of heavy boots on the floor.
One step. Then another. Slow. But heavy with a kind of pressure that filled the whole room.
The footsteps stopped right in front of me.
I forced my eyes open, terrified.
Leon Crawford.
He was in full LAFD navy turnout gear, helmet tucked under one thick forearm.
His gaze traveled from my tangled hair, down to my bare shoulder where the slip's strap had slipped, and finally locked onto the handcuffs.
"Captain..." the rookie behind him, Luke, stammered. "This—this is..."
Leon didn't turn around. His throat worked in a hard, visible swallow.
"Violet."
His voice came out rough, thick with something fiercely restrained.
"That guy from last night's party. Where is he?"
My mind went completely blank.
"...What?"
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