Socialite Alba Zevon had been minding her own business when she was abruptly snatched off the street. Dressed in a sleek, form-fitting top, paired with short shorts, pantyhose, and high heels, Alba now finds herself entangled in a troubling predicament. She is firmly bound to a cold, wooden chair with coarse rope, a cleave gag pressing uncomfortably into her mouth, and a rough bag over her head. The stale scent of motor oil and gasoline mingles with the chill of the hard concrete floor, confirming her suspicion that she is trapped in a garage. As she sobs into the gag, the oppressive heat becomes unbearable until her captor, in a moment of mercy, removes the stifling bag from her head. Alba's worst fears are realized as she takes in her surroundings: a dimly lit, dank garage, where she sits utterly helpless. She has no idea what this man desires, but she is certain it cannot be anything good. Desperately aware that she must escape, she wriggles and twists against the unyielding ropes, but her efforts are in vain. Alba clings to the fragile hope that this is all a misunderstanding, and that she will soon be set free.