"That doesn't give you the right to—"
"To what? To acknowledge what's happening between us? To be human enough to want you beyond research parameters?" His control was fraying, voice roughening. "You're right. I broke my own rules. Shattered them. Because you're not just a subject anymore and we both know it."
"Then let me go!"
"No."
"You just admitted—"
"I admitted to being compromised. To wanting you in ways that violate professional ethics." He caught my chin, forcingme to meet his eyes. "But that doesn't mean I'll let you run. Doesn't mean I'll watch you go back to that grey half-life where you were drowning."
"That's not your choice!"
"Isn't it?" His thumb traced my lower lip. "You had choices. Every day, every session, every moment. You could have fought harder. Could have shut down. Could have walked through that unlocked door. But you didn't. Because this—us—is the most real thing you've ever felt."
"You're delusional."
"Am I? Then why are your pupils dilated? Why is your breath catching? Why are you pressing your thighs together like you're already aching for what comes next?"
I slapped his hand away. "Because you've programmed me to respond! Because you've—"
"Because you want this." He straightened, and I saw the moment his last thread of control snapped. "You want the structure and the punishment and the way I make you feel everything you've been numb to for years. But more than that—you want me to want you. Need me to need you. That's why this little manipulation attempt, isn't it? To see if I care enough to break?"
"I don't—"
"Stand up."
"No."
"Stand. Up." Each word came out carved from ice.
I remained seated, chin raised in defiance. "Make me."
His smile was all predator. "Oh, baby. You really should be careful what you ask for."
He moved faster than thought, hauling me to my feet and spinning me to face the bed. Before I could process, cold metal clicked around my ankles—a spreader bar, forcing my legs wide. My hands were pulled forward, secured to the headboard with quick efficiency.
"You want to discuss contract violations?" His voice came from behind me, controlled fury making it darker. "Let's discuss them. Article seven—the subject agrees to submit to all prescribed protocols. You've fought every single one."
"That's not—"
"Article twelve—the subject will not attempt manipulation or coercion. Yet here you are, trying to use my feelings against me."
"Your feelings?" I pulled against the restraints. "You don't have feelings! You have obsessions! Control issues! A god complex that—"
"Article fifteen." He cut through my rant. "The subject acknowledges that resistance may result in escalated conditioning methods."
I heard him moving, retrieving something from his case. The spreader bar kept me vulnerable, dress riding up, unable to close my legs or protect myself.
"What are you doing?"
"Providing escalated conditioning." Something heavy was positioned behind me. "Since traditional methods haven't curbed your manipulative tendencies, we'll try something more...intensive."
"Gabriel—"
"Doctor," he corrected coldly. "During sessions, I'm Doctor. Since you're so concerned with rules."
I felt something pressing against me—solid, unyielding, mechanical. Not him. Something else. Something that made my blood run cold and hot simultaneously.
