Chapter 4: The Shared Submission

Frieda’s POV

I spent the next two days feeling sick. I walked through the big house like a ghost. 

Alvin M. Bobbitt. Just thinking of his name and face hurt me. He wasn't just a stranger Michael hired. He was proof that my bad past was not gone. He was here just to scare me. I knew it.

I couldn't let myself fall apart. I had to be perfect, quiet, and do exactly what I was told to survive. 

I started watching where the twins went. I watched the halls near my room. Every shadow looked like Alvin. Every sound scared me.

The message finally came late on the second night. It was a single text from Michael’s secret phone: West Wing, midnight. You must cooperate.

I got dressed slowly. I picked my most expensive, softest silk robe. It felt like I was dressing up for a punishment. 

I walked down the long halls to the west wing. The thick carpet made my steps silent. The air felt heavy. It smelled like leather and danger.

When I went into the room, it was exactly what I feared. Michael was already there. He was sitting in a velvet chair, watching. 

He looked healthier. The anger in his eyes was brighter than ever. He wasn't going to join in tonight. He was just going to watch and give orders.

The twins were standing in front of the fireplace. Alvin was leaning against the wall, watching me with that cold, mean smile. Garrett was standing stiffly. His jaw was tight, and he looked anywhere except at me.

But the moment I really saw Garrett—saw him as a different person from his twin—the world seemed to spin.

It wasn't just that he was handsome. It was a strong feeling, like I knew him. It was a connection so strong it felt like my soul was reaching out to grab his. 

He was dangerous, yes, but he felt like my kind of danger. He felt like the only real thing in this nightmare. He felt like true love.

Michael’s sharp, cold voice stopped my thoughts. "The show begins, Frieda. Come here."

I walked toward him. My body moved without me thinking. When I reached his chair, Michael grabbed my arm hard. He pulled me close. He put his mouth right next to my ear.

"You will do exactly what I say," he whispered angrily. "My friends, the Heatons, they like a woman who obeys. They have always liked that. If you don't do a good job, or if you fight back even a little bit, I will throw you away. I will destroy your family name forever, and you will be on the streets. You belong to us now."

He pushed me toward the twins. "Go on. Show them you are loyal."

I couldn't scream. I could only obey.

The room was very quiet and tense. Alvin moved first. He took control fast, and he was rough. He pulled the silk robe off me. His mouth was hard, and his hands were rough. He demanded that I obey him right away. 

I kept my eyes closed tight. I focused only on the small, jagged scar above his left eyebrow. That was the only way I could tell he was the bad one. I tried to feel nothing. I tried to let my body be just a shell.

But then Garrett’s hand touched my waist.

It felt completely different. It hurt to feel the difference. Alvin’s touch was all about control and pain. Garrett’s touch was careful, almost respectful. 

When Alvin’s rough hands forced me to move, Garrett was there right away. He didn't force me. He supported me. His strong fingers held my hips to keep me steady. His movements were exact, but they weren't cruel like Michael's or Alvin's.

Alvin took over. He was demanding. I could hear Michael breathing from the chair. It reminded me that he was watching everything. 

I obeyed Alvin, but my mind was focused entirely on Garrett. He was quiet. His breathing was ragged. His eyes never left my face. He was searching for something.

When Garrett finally moved closer, the feeling in the room changed. It got tighter. 

He took his time. His eyes asked for permission that I wasn't allowed to give out loud. His touch was like he was begging me. 

He traced the line of my shoulder. His fingers shook a little bit before he touched me where Alvin had been rough. 

Where Alvin had hurt me, Garrett was careful. He used his strength to move me gently. He pressed me against the soft wall. He held me with a deep feeling that felt like a quiet secret.

I felt warm. I felt myself liking the way he touched me, even though he looked like the man who scared me.

I leaned into his touch. I submitted to him, not because I was scared of Michael, but because I desperately wanted to keep that small connection alive. 

His lips moved to my neck. His hot breath whispered something low against my skin.

It was the first time in my marriage that I had felt anything close to pleasure. 

Knowing I found it here, with the man who was supposed to be my guard, made me feel confused and needy. 

Garrett held me tight. He blocked Michael's view a little bit. He made sure Alvin didn't interrupt until he was ready.

Finally, it was quiet again. The air felt heavy with tiredness and shame. Michael clapped his hands once, slowly. His eyes were bright with a sick happiness.

"Excellent, Frieda," Michael smiled the next morning, while I tried to eat my breakfast. 

"You cooperated perfectly. The twins are happy. They will stay here forever." 

He leaned forward, his smile getting bigger. "I told you having them here would be fun. I see the competition has already started."

He loved the power I had over the twins. My body was the prize for their silent fight. 

He was already planning what would happen next.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I crept into the quiet, big library. I needed answers. I needed to know who Garrett and Alvin really were. I started searching the old files Michael kept locked in the bottom drawer.

A shadow moved across the room. I froze. My heart beat fast against my ribs. It wasn’t Alvin.

It was Garrett, alone. He moved fast and quietly. He crossed the room in three big steps. Before I could make a sound, he grabbed my arm. His deep brown eyes, usually so careful, were wide with real fear.

"Run," he whispered. His voice was rough and low. The word hung in the air like a warning of death.

But at the same time, he pressed a small, crumpled piece of paper into my hand.