Page 57 of The Secretary Volume II

I crumple it in my fist.

And I don’t throw it away.

Because part of me knows—he’s not wrong.

But I’m still here.

And that?

That’s starting to feel like a threat.

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Helper 99

She doesn’t cry.

That’s the first thing I notice.

She doesn’t cry when he tells her she doesn’t deserve the bed.Doesn’t cry when she folds herself to the floor like it was her idea.When he takes her hard and fast with her knees scraping against polished wood, she doesn’t cry then either.

She never does.

It used to make her admirable.

Now it makes her insufferable.

I watch it on loop.Not because I need to.Because I want to see if she ever flinches for the right reason.If she ever once looks like she regrets letting it get this far.

She doesn’t.

She moans.She obeys.She says his name when told.

And then—she lies there.Like wreckage.Like art.

The camera overhead catches everything.One of the wall units flickers from low lighting to full spectrum, which means someone logged in before me.Probably Ellis.He likes to review his own work.

I wonder what he sees when he watches her.

What he thinks she’s for.

She’s not his.She just forgets that sometimes.

My hands hover over the keyboard.I should flag the footage.Log the file.Compress the timestamp.But I don’t move.I rewind instead.Thirty seconds.Then again.

This time, I watch her face.

She’s on her back now, breathing through her teeth.There’s blood near her mouth—she bit her lip again.The robe someone left for her is still untouched.

She hasn’t reached for it.

Like maybe she thinks she hasn’t earned it yet.

The thought makes something sharp settle in my chest.

She’s good at this.Too good.

It would be easier if she broke wrong.If she cried at the wrong moment.Screamed.Made it ugly.But she never does.She makes it look like poetry.Like devotion.

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