"You're the strongest person I know. What you've survived, what you're overcoming... It's incredible."
"Nathan—"
"And watching you take control, practice consent, trust yourself... It's the hottest thing I've ever experienced."
I kissed him to stop the words that threatened to break me open. When we finally came together, it was face to face, me above him, setting the pace. His hands on my hips not guiding but following, letting me chase what I needed.
"Tell me what you want," he urged.
"This. You. The choice to have you." I moved faster, chasing sensation. "I want to feel powerful. I want to know I affect you as much as you affect me."
"You destroy me," he said simply. "Every time you choose to trust me, you destroy and rebuild me."
I came with a cry that might have been his name, might have been wordless sound. He followed seconds later, my name definitely on his lips. We collapsed together, sweat-cooling and breathless.
"So," he said eventually. "How was practice?"
I laughed, surprising myself. "Educational. Terrifying. Necessary." I traced patterns on his chest. "I said no to you. Multiple times. And nothing bad happened."
"That's how it's supposed to work."
"I know that intellectually. But knowing and feeling are different things." I propped myself up to see his face. "Thank you. For letting me tie you up. For giving me that trust."
"Thank you for taking it. For using it well."
We lay in comfortable silence as dawn crept across the ceiling. I thought about the nightmare, about drowning in evidence of my supposed failure. But here in the growing light, with Nathan's heartbeat under my hand and the memory of power in my palms, failure felt like the wrong word entirely.
I'd survived. I'd learned to say no. I'd called abuse by its name. I'd taken control and wielded it responsibly. If that was failure, then I'd fail every day for the rest of my life.
"What are you thinking?" Nathan asked.
"That Gabriel's metrics were wrong. Success isn't dying for someone. It's learning to live despite them."
"That's very profound for—" he checked the clock, "—6:23 in the morning."
"I'm a very profound person," I said with mock seriousness. "Failed experiment, successful philosopher."
"C'mere, Socrates."
I curled into him, feeling safer than I'd ever thought possible. Tomorrow there would be more files to review, more evidence to process, more nightmares to navigate. But right now, in this moment, I had everything I needed.
Choice. Voice. The power to say no and the freedom to say yes.
If that wasn't success, I didn't know what was.
18
Hunt Continues
The warehouse smelled like fear and industrial cleaner—a combination that had become too familiar these past weeks. Seven operations down, each one carving away another piece of whoever I used to be. Nathan said we were making progress. All I could see was how many were still out there.
This cell was bigger. Meaner. The intelligence that had gathered suggested they specialized in "breaking" difficult products. The kind of girls who fought back.
Girls like I should have been.
"Six targets inside," Nathan murmured, checking his tablet one last time. "You sure you're ready for this?"
"Stop asking me that." The words came out sharper than intended. Everything came out sharp these days, like I was made of broken glass held together by rage. "I'm always ready."
