"He'll come," I whispered one more time. Not to her. To myself. To the universe. To the possibility that somewhere, Gabriel was watching. That this was another test. That rescue waited just beyond this nightmare.
But as she parked, as doors opened, as hands reached in to pull me out, I knew the truth.
He wasn't coming.
He'd never been coming.
And I'd been rebuilt specifically to be unable to save myself.
The perfect victim, delivered directly to the wolves.
All according to plan.
Just not the plan I'd believed in.
"Welcome to your new home," she said, guiding me toward a house that looked normal from the outside. Looked safe. Looked like the kind of lie I'd been swallowing for weeks.
My legs obeyed, carrying me forward. My body complied, following commands. My conditioning held, keeping me docile despite the screaming in my head.
He'd built me too well.
And now someone else would benefit from his careful work.
The door closed behind us with the finality of a coffin lid, and I understood with perfect clarity what I'd become:
Not a cherished possession.
Not a transformed woman.
Not a loved submissive.
Just product. Successfully manufactured. Functioning as designed.
Ready for market.
The Fire Remains
The house smelled like leather and old smoke, nothing like the clean scent of Gabriel's domain. She led me through a foyer decorated with the kind of aggressive masculinity that screamed insecurity—dead animals on walls, weapons displayed like trophies, furniture designed to intimidate rather than comfort.
"He'll be down in a moment," she said, pushing me toward a leather couch. "Sit. Wait. Be good."
The commands hit my conditioning, but as I moved to obey, something else stirred. A whisper in my mind, so clear it stopped me mid-motion.
"What caught my attention was your rage."
Gabriel's voice. Not real, not present, but carved so deeply into memory it might as well have been. I froze, caught between the order to sit and the phantom sound of the man who'd rebuilt me.
"Problem?" The woman—I still didn't know her name—watched with predatory interest. "Struggling with simple commands already?"
"You fought beautifully. Even drugged, even restrained, you fought."
The memory hit with physical force. That first day, strapped to his table, spitting curses through chemical calm. I'd been magnificent in my fury. Feral. Unbroken despite every attempt to shatter me.
"I said sit." Sharper now, edged with threat.
But more memories flooded in. Gabriel's eyes when I'd raged against him. The approval hidden beneath clinical distance. How he'd touched the marks my struggles left, traced them like art.
"I don't want to remove your fire. I want to refine it."
