LOGINGwen
I could not sleep after watching the gala footage. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Camilla standing at the edge of that ballroom watching Adrian like a woman starving outside a locked house.Hers was not admiration or attraction but utterly disgusting entitlement. And somehow that realization unsettled me more than the hypnosis ever had. Because hypnosis required planning, money and networks. But obsession? Obsession endured and it adapted.<Author's POV Sebastian began noticing the gaps everywhere once he allowed himself to look.That was the frightening part. Not discovering one inconsistency but discovering hundreds. That included tiny things, dismissed things as well as conveniently forgotten things.The human brain loved continuity. Most people would rather force broken pieces together than admit someone had quietly rearranged the puzzle while they were grieving.Sebastian stood alone in his office at Cruize Global Headquarters long after most employees had gone home. He watched the city lights sprawling beneath the towering windows in fractured ribbons of gold. It was raining again. Lately it felt like the entire city had become trapped beneath storms.His laptop glowed across the darkened desk, several recovered archival files spread across the screen. They were of old event schedules, financial transfers, family calendars and visitor logs. What his sister, Gwen, called patterns.Gwen had inherited that instinct f
GwenI could not sleep after watching the gala footage. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Camilla standing at the edge of that ballroom watching Adrian like a woman starving outside a locked house.Hers was not admiration or attraction but utterly disgusting entitlement. And somehow that realization unsettled me more than the hypnosis ever had. Because hypnosis required planning, money and networks. But obsession? Obsession endured and it adapted.The villa remained quiet long after midnight. I sat curled beneath the window seat in my room wearing one of the oversized sweaters Sebastian had found packed away in storage boxes untouched for years. Adrian’s sweater. The scent was long gone now. Only memory remained. Still… My chest tightened the moment I pulled it over my head.I remembered stealing it during university winters. Remembered Adrian pretending annoyance while secretly loving it every time.
Author's POV Mrs. Cruz cried easily now and Camilla noticed the change weeks ago. Not dramatic crying or breakdowns. Just increased emotional fragility. A trembling voice here. Anxiety there. Restlessness during silence. Perfect conditions.The private wellness clinic sat hidden behind manicured gardens and tinted glass on the northern edge of the city, discreet enough for wealthy clients who preferred their vulnerabilities concealed beneath polished professionalism. Camilla arrived first, as always because control began with timing.She sat elegantly in Dr. Weston’s office while soft instrumental music drifted quietly through hidden speakers. Everything about the room had been designed to lower resistance. Warm lighting, neutral colors and gentle scents. Psychological architecture fascinated Camilla. Most people never realized how easily environments shaped thought.A soft knock sounded. Then Mrs. Cr
GwenYou were never erasable. And neither was what we had. I read Adrian’s message three times. Then a fourth, for good measure. The room around me faded gradually into silence while those words settled somewhere deep beneath the damage Kai and Mason had carved into me over the years. Not because they were romantic but because they were certain.Adrian never overwhelmed me with pressure. Never cornered me emotionally. Never demanded I heal faster. He simply… remained, steady, patient and absolutely certain. As though he had decided long ago that loving me was not conditional on whether I returned whole. The realization hurt. Albeit not painfully. Rather, quite tenderly.I sat alone at my desk while rain moved softly against the windows. The glow from my bedside lamp spilled across the open notebook where I had begun documenting everything involving Camilla. Dates, patterns, conversations and ehavioral
Author's POV Rain hammered against the windows of the Salvador estate long after midnight. The city beyond the glass glittered cold and sleepless, all steel and electric haze, but Adrian barely noticed it anymore. His attention remained fixed on the photographs spread across the conference table before him. Photographs. Shipping manifests. Financial transfers. Names. Patterns.Miguel leaned against the far end of the room, arms folded tightly across his chest while one of Adrian’s security analysts worked silently at the monitors nearby. No one joked tonight. The atmosphere had sharpened days ago. Right around the time Gwen stopped sounding afraid during their calls.Adrian noticed things like that immediately. Tiny changes. Breathing patterns. Word choice. Pauses. The first time Gwen interrupted him instead of quietly agreeing, he nearly closed his eyes from relief. Because anger meant life. And Gwen was finally beginning to live again. But that awakening came with consequences.Cam
GwenThe house did not recover after that conversation. It pretended to and that was different.Staff still moved quietly through polished corridors. Meals still appeared precisely on time. My father still left for work every morning in tailored suits that smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne. But beneath the surface, tension moved through the villa like a hidden fracture spreading beneath ice. No one trusted the silence anymore. Especially not me.I sat in the library late the following evening with one of the old Cruize financial ledgers open across my lap, though I had not actually read a single page in almost twenty minutes. My thoughts kept circling the same thing.Three years ago. Something had frightened Camilla badly enough to make her erase traces of Adrian and me from the family archives. Why? The question clung to me relentlessly. A soft creak interrupted my thoughts. I looked up. My father stood near the doorway.For a second neither of us spoke. Then he entered
Gwen’s POVThe next session with Dr. Weston began the same way the first one had....quietly, sweetly and deceptively. She had a soft smile, soft voice, soft eyes. Everything about her was muted, like the sound of rain against thick curtains. Safe, if you were not paying attention. Dangerous, if you
Gwen’s POVAfter that session, they loosened the leash. Not enough to call it freedom, but enough to reward compliance.The lock on my door remained, but the guards outside the west wing stopped hovering so closely. Meals were no longer brought strictly at fixed hours.
Gwen’s POVDr. Weston arrived precisely at ten. The door opened with a faint click, and she glided in as if she owned not just the room but the thoughts it contained. Her smile was gentle, professional, and just slightly too polished. The kind of smile that could soothe or slice, dependi
Gwen’s POVDoctor Weston began our sessions three days after the banquet. By then, I had learned the rules of my confinement well enough to pretend compliance. I wore soft clothes. I kept my voice even. I answered questions without emotion, a performance honed over five years of survival.She arriv







