LOGINIt was never part of my plan to get attached. I was just a freelance model, newly signed under a rising modeling agency in town. Everything was supposed to be simple; work, exposure, growth. Then came Dr. Aria Williams — dermatologist, surgeon, and the woman who was supposed to fix me. Chaos started the moment I met her. The way she talked, the way she looked at me felt like she was studying every inch of who I was. Every word I said, every silence I made, she read me like I was her favorite patient. It made me uncomfortably hot, and yet... I kept coming back. I told myself it was part of the therapy, the strange pull I felt toward her was part of it. But the way she looked at me; cold, curious, almost hungry, said otherwise. I hated her for it. I felt it every time her voice softened, every time her fingers lingered on my skin longer than they should. She called it treatment. I called it control. What started as therapy turned into something dark and deeper. I wanted to be beautiful, to be ready for the public, but what we craved became something private, something only between us. And the more sessions I had with her, the stronger the connection grew. Until one day, her eyes focused on someone else. And every time their eyes met, it burned through me. When she saw it, she offered something that challenged me. To be her slave and she'll be mine— alone. Soon, I found myself following her every order, fulfilling her desires without question. Along the way, I realized her obsession had become mine too. And before I could stop, the hate I once felt for her turned into something else.
View MoreAria woke up slowly. Not all at once—no sudden gasp or sharp intake of breath—but in fragments. A slight shift of her fingers against mine. A faint crease between her brows. The smallest sound in her throat, like she was testing whether the world was still there. I didn’t move. I was afraid that if I did, she’d disappear again. Her eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy, before finally finding me. The moment she registered my presence, something in her face changed. Relief came first. Then confusion. Then something darker—something defensive. “How long have you been here?” she asked quietly. “Long enough,” I replied. She winced slightly, as if the answer hurt more than she expected. “You shouldn’t have come.” “You already said that.” “And I still mean it.” I leaned back slightly, giving her space without leaving. “Do you?” She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted past me, taking in the empty bottles lined up neatly on the counter, the glass of water I’d p
I tried calling her but Aria didn’t answer. Xavier is confused but he refused to ask and I’m grateful that he didn’t.My mind is too loud and I couldn’t help but overthink about us until I fell asleep. The next morning, there’s still no calls from her. No preplies.At first, I told myself she was busy. Consultations ran long. Emergencies happened. Silence didn’t always mean avoidance.But I know better. Or at least, my mind wouldn’t let me not do anything.I sent one message again. Just one.Me:Are you okay? It stayed unread.I stared at the screen longer than I should have, thumb hovering uselessly before I locked the phone. I closed my eyes, my mind filled the silence for her—imagining reasons, explanations, worst-case scenarios I tried not to linger on.I skipped breakfast. Skipped checking emails. Instead, I called Martha.She answered on the third ring. “Ena? You’re early.”“I can’t make it to the fitting today,” I said without preamble.There was a pause. “Excuse me?”“I won’t
When its my turn, the clinic felt colder than it usually did. Not in temperature but in atmosphere. In the way my shoulders stayed tense as I sat on the edge of the chair, hands folded neatly on my lap. In the way I avoided looking at Aria directly when she stepped into the room. She noticed. Of course she did. “Good afternoon, Ena,” she said, closing the door behind her. Professional. Neutral. But her eyes lingered on me a second longer than necessary. “How are you feeling today?” “Fine,” I answered quickly. Too quick. She paused, just barely. Then nodded and moved toward her desk, picking up my file. “Any new symptoms? Fatigue? Sleep issues?” “No.” She glanced up. “Stress?” I hesitated. “Nothing unusual.” The silence stretched. Aria pulled her chair closer, her movements careful, controlled. She asked the right questions. Did the right checks. Spoke in the same calm tone she always used. But something was off. Or at least, to me. I kept my answers short. Flat. I didn’t
Reality doesn’t arrive all at once.It comes in pieces. In reminders. In the dull weight of routine slowly pressing its way back into places that were warm and reckless just days ago.The morning after Aria’s birthday didn’t feel dramatic. No grand declarations. No lingering sweetness wrapped in fantasy. Just sunlight filtering through curtains, the low hum of the air conditioner, and the quiet understanding that we were returning to our usual lives.I watched Aria get dressed while pretending not to.She moved with the same calm efficiency she always had—hair tied neatly, expression composed, the version of herself the world knew and trusted sliding back into place. The version that wasn’t just mine.“You’re staring,” she said without looking.“I’m not,” I replied immediately.She smiled faintly, catching my reflection in the mirror. “You are.”I shrugged, sitting up. “Just… memorizing.”That made her pause.She turned to me then, softer than before, and leaned down to press a brief
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