Chapter 3: Control

The honesty was worse than a lie.

“There are conditions,” Dexter continued. “You will live under my roof. Your schedule, your education, your public behavior cleared through my office. You will not speak about my work. You will not ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Charlie’s hands curled into fists.

He felt like throwing up, so he wanted to make him his puppet. The words left a bitter taste in Charlie’s mouth.

“And if I say no?” he asked, barely audible.

Dexter tapped the tablet once more.

The hospital feed returned. A nurse adjusted his mother’s IV. The doctor shook his head, speaking words Charlie couldn’t hear but understood anyway. Panic immediately settled into Charlie’s chest.

Dexter didn’t look at the screen. He watched Charlie.

“If you say no,” he said, “nothing changes.”

That was the cruelest part.

Charlie bowed his head. His thoughts fractured memories of his mother humming softly while she cooked, her hands smoothing his hair when nightmares woke him, her breaking slowly after his father died.

He had promised to take care of her. His vision blurred but he refused to let the tears flow.

“I don’t want to lie,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t want to be…”

“An asset?” Dexter supplied.

Charlie flinched.

Dexter’s voice softened, just a fraction. “You already are,” he said. “You just don’t get paid for it yet.”

Silence pressed in from all sides.

The room felt smaller. The walls closer. Charlie’s breath came shallow, uneven. He tasted salt and metal and fear. He hadn’t noticed how his body was shaking.

“What if I fail?” he asked. “What if I do something wrong?”

Dexter considered him.

“Then I correct you,” he said. “Privately.”

Something in that answer made Charlie’s skin prickle.

A document slid across the table toward him. Physical paper. Heavy. Real.

The contract.

Charlie stared at it as if it might bite.

His phone buzzed again.

This time, he answered it without looking, fingers numb.

“Yes?” he whispered.

A nurse’s voice spilled out urgent, apologetic, helpless. Words like critical and authorization and we need approval now.

Charlie closed his eyes.

“I’ll sign,” he said.

Dominic didn’t smile.

He simply handed him a pen.

Watching Charlie Vale sign his name was like watching something fragile fold itself to survive the wind.

Dexter had expected resistance. Anger. Bargaining.

He hadn’t expected relief. Which was weird.

He frowned.

The moment the pen touched paper, Charlie’s shoulders sagged not in defeat, but in surrender so complete it bordered on gratitude.

As if the decision itself had been the burden, and now that it was over, he could finally breathe.

That unsettled Dexter more than defiance would have. He was suspicious now more than before.

He cataloged the reaction anyway. Filed it away.

Charlie signed carefully, as if afraid of tearing the page. His handwriting was neat, precise. Architectural. A mind trained to think in lines and load bearing points.

Not a liar’s hand. Dexter thought.

Interesting.

When it was done, Dexter collected the contract and stood.

“We’ll move you tonight,” he said.

“What?” Charlie looked at him shocked.

“Your things will be retrieved. Your employer will receive notice of resignation effective immediately.” He stared at Charlie watching and studying his reaction, then he proceeded to leave.

How could the little of what’s left of his life that he was holding on to take a 360 turn just like that in minutes. He laughed inside bitterly at himself. He had handed over the control of his life, what he had left completely to Dexter to do with as he pleased. He was willing to make such a sacrifice if meant he could protect and provide his mum with the best care she deserved. He would do anything for her, she was all he had left.

Charlie nodded. Obedient already.

Dexter paused at the door.

“One more thing,” he added. “From this point on, your name is Charlie Vale only in private. Publicly, you are Charlie Ashcroft.”

Charlie looked up, startled. “But I’m not…”

“You are,” Dexter said flatly. “For as long as this contract stands.”

The door opened.

Security waited.

As they led Charlie out, Dominic watched the way he folded in on himself, making space even in captivity. A soft thing placed inside a hard system.

The car windows were tinted dark enough to turn the city into a blur of lights and shadows. Charlie watched it all pass as if from underwater streets he knew by heart rendered unfamiliar by silence and speed. The Ministry building fell behind them, its brutal geometry receding into the distance like a sealed wound.

No one spoke.

Jonah Reed. Dexter’s personal driver sat in the front passenger seat, broad shoulders filling the space, posture alert but not aggressive. He hadn’t introduced himself. He hadn’t needed to. His presence said enough, nothing would touch Dexter or Charlie unless it went through him first.

Dexter sat beside Charlie in the back.

Not close. Never close. There was a careful gap between them, measured and intentional, as if Dexter were demonstrating restraint rather than practicing it. He scrolled through messages on his phone, attention divided among a dozen crises Charlie couldn’t see.

Charlie clasped his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking.

His phone buzzed.

This time, it wasn’t panic it was confirmation.

“Authorization approved. Patient transferred to private care.”