We clink glasses.
Once we finish our scotch, the Founder will exit, and I’ll resume Violet’s training.
The Founder has his own personal desire: unreactive women who see without judgment. On the other hand, I enjoy their reactions: the transition from a woman to a permanently degraded and docile object.
Furthermore, I find it fascinating to experiment on my descendants. I’ve given my life to the study of perversion: is depravity nurtured, or is it inherent? There is never a clear answer, and yet I continually venture forward, always willing to search for the truth in the name of science.
I enjoy nurturing those conflicting urges within a woman as much as I love observing from a distance as they blossom naturally. I have many possible biological descendants who will reach maturation—twenty-five years of age—in the coming years. Violet isn’t the first descendant I’ve experimented on, but she is the first to truly capture my attention. Now, with her as my patient, I’ll kindle the sick flames inside of her and prepare her for the next phase of her existence.
She will be my most prized possession.
Chapter 14
Violet
I lay in the bathtub, scanning the handwritten words on my mother’s file over and over again. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but it’s like my mind won’t process the meaning. It’s a new note, one I don’t recognize from the file we stole.
The daughter will be governed by the Smiths.
Year twenty-two, the daughter will be expelled from the Smith’s care.
Year twenty-five, the daughter will reach maturation and return to me.
Expelled.
Twenty-five.
Maturation.
Return to whom?
I recognize Dr. Ambrose’s handwriting from other sections of the file, and he’s the only one who worked with my mother.
I’m twenty-five right now.
My brain scrambles, my head filled with fuzzy dots darting on a static screen. If this note is real, then Dr. Ambrose planned this. He gave me away with the full intention of taking me back once I was twenty-five, as if he always knew this day would come.
Has he been watching me this entire time then?
From a distance? Or closely?
And why do I feel safer now?
Pleasure rolls between my thighs, and my hips thrust forward. I glance down; I’m rubbing my clamped clit. I dig my fingers into my flesh and groan. I don’t know why I keep rubbing myself. I start concentrating on the file to figure out why this note is there, and I end up playing with myself.
I finally remove the clamp. Hot-blooded relief washes through me. I could’ve taken it off a while ago, but for some reason, I wanted to keep it on.
I steel myself. I have to focus.
Logically, I know the new note is creepy and messed up. Dr. Ambrose rejected me, giving me—his probable daughter—to strangers. He abandoned me.
But if he always planned to scoop me up again, then did he really abandon me?
What if he didn’t write the note? What if someone else did?
What if my father is another staff member, and I can still find him?
What if my father is the assistant, Oliver?
