The Perfectionist's Guide To Losing Control Novels & Stories

⸻ Back in the system— the reply came. ⸻ “Resilience is unnecessary.” ⸻ A pause. ⸻ “Perfection eliminates failure.” ⸻ Back in the control room— Lena’s expression darkened. ⸻ “…That’s not evolution.” ⸻ Victor nodded slowly. ⸻ “…That’s control.” ⸻ Back in the system— Aria processed the statement. ⸻ Perfection. ⸻ Elimination. ⸻ Finality.

Sometimes being out of control brought you to the most beautiful place ever. END OF VOLUME THREE: LOSING CONTROL

There was no reason for me to be angry since the conversation went well, a little too well but still I’m angry. Anybody who knows me knows am a perfectionist, there shouldn’t be any flaws in my plans or projects. Because if there’s even a slight error I go berserk. It’s like a thing I was born with I’m not a perfectionist because I love precision. I’m a perfectionist because I don’t survive mistakes, Perfectionism isn’t ambition It’s defense and I don’t leave room for error. People like me don’t get margins! I notice disorder before I notice anything else. It’s like seeing a chair pulled out too far with the need to correct it or a stack of papers misaligned on the table, or maybe Someone’s

"That's not how it works, not even on a full moon, and you know it." "You never lost control of your senses before? Had every rational thought fly out of the window because you have nobody to talk to but yourself and you just poison every thought in your head?” He tapped the black of his head against the wall, a sheen glistening on his pale skin as the boiler slowly descended to a bearable temperature. "Maybe," I conceded. When it comes to losing control, we share some common ground. "Those notes man," blowing out his cheeks. "I hated them because they were true."

he said. I held his gaze, my expression steady. “I am not losing control,” I said. “You are losing certainty,” he said. That made me pause. There was a difference between those two things, and I knew it. “I do not need certainty,” I said. “You always do,” he replied. I did not answer that. He watched me for a moment longer, then stepped back slightly. “Just be careful,” he said. “This is not as controlled as you think.” “It does not need to be perfect,” I said. “It just needs to work.”

“Perfectionist much?” “It helps me think,” I replied. “Or it helps you control chaos.” I looked up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He smiled, that same faint, dangerous curl of his lips that felt too familiar. “Not at all. I like control.” Something in my chest jumped. I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the data in front of me.

“He wants to test me?” My smile turned colder. “Then I’ll give him something to measure.” My father’s voice echoed in my head: ‘Control is not about force. It is about erosion—slow, patient, and invisible.’ I turned toward the window, catching my reflection in the dark glass. The woman in the mirror looked perfect. Controlled. But her eyes—those weren’t steady. “I will take everything from him,” I whispered. “His certainty. His control. His sense of choice.” Piece by piece.

She's dissecting every word, probably looking for something to argue with. "This is the most effective plan," I continue, voice edged with finality. "If you keep chasing perfection, you'll see a sea with no fucking destination. I've been in business longer than you, Moreau. I run a multibillion-dollar empire. I thrive on perfection, but I also know when to loosen the reins and cut through the red tape. You? You don't. You want everything pristine, controlled, wrapped in a perfect little bow."

"Control isn't exhausting. It's... safe. Predictable. And predictability, in haute cuisine, is synonymous with excellence." "Excellence, perhaps." He conceded with a slight nod, but his eyes glinted with challenge. "But what about passion? Pure loss of control? The moment you abandon the recipe and just... feel? There must be a desire for it. A taste for it. Hidden right beneath all that perfection." Savanah stood motionless. Her mouth went dry. It was as if he had reached inside her chest and squeezed her heart. She felt naked, exposed. Her armor of control seemed trivial, transparent under that shadowed gaze. How could he see that? How dare he?

I switch it on then looking for entertainment news or show then suddenly a news caught my attention. ‘Breaking news one of the hottest supermodel now in America Miss Shane Sandoval is in a relationship now with her co-model Alexa Gray.’ My tears ran down to my face immediately watching Shane’s interview together with her new partner. They’re so sweet together, like a perfect couple of the century. I stand up but my legs are shaking and my body is trembling in anger. I'm lost now. I lost the woman that I love so dearly with all of my heart because of that one stupid mistake.