The cage is the illusion of choice.
And she's already inside it, walking deeper with every step, believing she's choosing freedom when really she's choosing exactly what I designed her to choose.
I check my watch. Eight-thirty.
Three days starts now.
Three days of giving her space.
Of letting the curiosity build.
Of watching on the cameras—because I will watch, I can't help myself—to see if she touches herself, if she uses that vibrator, if she thinks about what I showed her.
Three days before I start subtly reminding her what she's missing.
Three days until she asks.
Because shewillask.
I can see it in her eyes already.
The curiosity burning there.
The hunger she doesn't want to acknowledge.
The need to know if it would feel that good again, if pleasure is really possible, if her body can be trusted.
She doesn't want to ask. Doesn't want to admit she wants more. Doesn't want to give me the satisfaction.
But she will.
It's just a matter of time.
And patience has always been my greatest weapon.
Three days.
I can wait three days.
Even if it kills me.
Even with Victor's deadline looming three weeks away.
Even knowing that eventually I'll have to choose between the Consortium and whatever this is becoming with Eden.
But that's a problem for future Vaughn.
Right now, I just need to make it through three days.
Three days of patience.
Three days of control.
Three days until she asks for more.
And then I'll show her everything.
CHAPTER SEVEN
