"Semantics."
"Truth." He leaned back, giving me space but not leaving. "You came to us already extraordinary. All I did was help you realize that potential."
"Through torture. Conditioning. Making me need—" I couldn't finish. Couldn't name the hungers he'd built into my bones.
"Through training," he corrected gently. "Though I understand why you can't see the distinction right now. Nathan's done excellent work muddying those waters."
Always back to Nathan. Like a wound he kept prodding.
"Tell me what you remember about the first time he touched you."
"Stop."
"Was it comfort after nightmares? Careful, respectful, letting you set boundaries?" Gabriel's voice stayed clinically neutral. "Classic trauma bonding technique. Create the problem,provide the solution. Make the asset dependent on your presence for emotional regulation."
"You're describing yourself." The realization hit like cold water. "Everything you're saying he did, you did first. You're just angry someone else used your own methods."
"Not angry." But something flickered in his eyes. "Concerned. My methods were designed to build strength. His were designed to create weakness. Can you really not feel the difference?"
I wanted to say no. Wanted to throw his manipulation back in his face. But my body was already betraying me, responding to his proximity in ways that made thought difficult. The neural pathways were carved too deep, associations too strong.
He noticed, of course. Gabriel always noticed everything.
"Your pulse is elevated."
"Fuck you."
"Skin flushing. Pupil dilation. Breathing pattern shifting." He listed my responses like reading grocery items. "Your body remembers even if your mind resists."
"That's not—" But I couldn't lie when the evidence was painted across my skin. "That's just conditioning. Chemical responses. It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't it?" He moved closer, slow enough I could have protested. Should have protested. "Tell me, did Nathan make you feel like this? Did your body recognize him the way it recognizes me?"
Yes. No. Differently. Nathan made me feel human. Gabriel made me feel owned. The distinction mattered and didn't, everything clouded by chemicals and conditioning and the terrible truth that I didn't know which responses were real anymore.
"You're in my head." The words came out small, defeated. "Both of you. I can't tell what's mine anymore."
"Then let me help you remember."
His hand cupped my face, thumb tracing cheekbone with terrible familiarity. My body lit up instantly—every trained nerve recognizing home. I hated it. Craved it. Wanted to lean into his touch and bite his fingers bloody.
"Don't." But I didn't pull away. Couldn't, when every cell remembered this specific warmth.
"Your body knows the truth even when your mind's confused." His other hand found my throat, not squeezing, just resting. Claiming. "Every response lovingly crafted. You think a few months of chemical manipulation could overwrite that?"
"He didn't manipulate—"
"Didn't he?" Gabriel's thumb pressed against my pulse point, feeling how it raced. "Tell me something, sweetheart. Did he ever touch you without permission? Even once?"
The answer should have been no. Nathan always asked, always waited, always let me lead. But memories were shifting now, details emerging from fog. The first time in the shower—had I really initiated? The way he always seemed to know exactly when I was most vulnerable, most receptive. How convenient his comfort always was.
"You're confusing me."
"I'm clarifying things." His hand slid lower, tracing collar bones through thin fabric. "Your body's responses are honest. It's your mind that's been tampered with."
"Stop." But the word came out breathy, undermined by how I arched slightly into his touch.
"Do you really want me to?" He paused, hand stilling. "I will, if that's what you actually need. But I think what you need is to remember. To feel the difference between real and lies."
