The thought of them softened something in me, but the clock on the corner of my monitor reminded me that softness had its limits—therapy day.
I had a list of things I needed to say to my family, and none of them were easy.
Especiallynot my latest run-in with Sr.
He’d come to my office unannounced, entitled, all charm and poison, trying to force me to sabotage my brother, to help him crawl his way back into a company he nearly destroyed. And when I refused, he’d pulled out the photos of me entering and leaving Provocateur. His smirk had said it all: I’ll make sure the world knows what you are.
What he didn’t understand was that the threat no longer held power.
He hadn’t created The Black Dahlia; his cruelty had.
And today, my family would hear my truth directly from me.
Therapy sessions always felt like a strange mix of battlefield and confessional booth. The room was soft, neutral tones, a couch that could’ve been in a catalog, but it never failed to churn up the most complex parts of us.
Mom sat across from me, legs crossed neatly, pearls and tension both in place. Caleb and Calil sat beside each other, relaxed in that way men get when they know they can make the room laugh if it gets too heavy.
Our therapist, Dr. Morgan, looked between us. “Calla, you said you had something you wanted to discuss today?”
I exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to me.
“I had a visit from Dad last week,” I started. “He came to my office uninvited and tried to bully me into helping him undermine BlackSphere. When I refused, he pulled out surveillance photos of me coming and going at Provocateur.”
Mom’s hand went to her chest. “He’s been having you followed?”
“Yes,”I said. “And he plans to use it to blackmail me. But it won’t work, because I’m done hiding who I am.”
Caleb frowned. “Hiding what, exactly?”
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then said it. “I’m The Black Dahlia.”
Silence. Then Caleb snorted. “Wait. THEE Black Dahlia? That Black Dahlia? One-half of the execs at the firm whisper about her like she’s an urban legend?”
Calil blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh my God. You mean the dominatrix? Sis, please, tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not,” I said evenly, though their laughter was contagious enough that I had to fight a smile.
Caleb clutched his chest. “Man, I’m glad I never took any of those invites. I’d have been throwing up all over the floor like that episode of Family Guy.”
Calil was wheezing now. “The one where everyone’s just—” He mimed gagging, and even Dr. Morgan cracked a grin.
I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. “You two are insufferable.”
“Traumatized, actually,” Caleb said, still chuckling.
Mom wasn’t laughing, though. She looked more confused than anything. “Calla, sweetheart, I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
I sobered. “It means I’m a dominatrix, Mom. I perform under the name The Black Dahlia. I built that persona from the ground up to reclaim the power that was taken from me.”
Her brow furrowed, but her voice was soft. “Power that your father took.”
I nodded. “And others after him. Men who mistook control for love. The Dahlia was my way back to myself. She isn’t ashamed, she’s survival, she’s freedom.”
The room went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was understanding settling in.
Caleb finally broke the silence. “So our baby sis is both famous and terrifying. Well, I’ll be damned. Calla, I love you, always have and always will. I’ve always seen your strength, your courage, and your power. There was never anyone but you in mind to run Blacksphere, and you’ve proven repeatedly that I made the right choice. More than anything, I’m proud of you for reclaiming a power that men who weren’t worthy tried to take from you.”
