Page 58 of The Secretary Volume II

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

That’s what makes people want to save her.

She does this thing with her hands after—fingers curled, palms flat to the floor like she’s grounding herself.Some muscle memory from a life she doesn’t get to live anymore.

I want to break that habit.

She should’ve broken already.

I pause the video.Zoom in.

Her pupils are dilated.But not from fear.

Excitement, maybe.Or submission.Or that awful middle place where the body confuses survival with need.

I wonder if she even knows the difference anymore.

I’ve been watching her for months.Longer, maybe.I’ve seen every file, every interview, every time she reset and said “thank you” like it was a gift to be hollowed out and rebuilt.

But this?This was different.

He said her name.Then he said mine.

Not aloud, of course.Not directly.

But it was there.In the way he said she’snot ready yet.In the way he kept looking at the camera like he knew I was logged in.

I almost smiled.

Because Gillian is mine to manage.Mine to monitor.He gets to ruin her, but I get to clean up after.

And I know her better than he ever will.

He doesn’t know how she wakes up sometimes still smiling, like a reflex she forgot to kill.Doesn’t know how she whispers someone’s name in her sleep—but it’s never his.

He doesn’t know she’s still trying to fight.

She is.Even now.There’s a look in her eyes when she thinks no one’s watching.I’ve studied it.It’s not resistance.

It’s hope.

It’s pathetic.

I press play again.Fast-forward.

The robe gets draped.The clothes folded.The routine completed like clockwork.Her wrists flex slightly as she reaches for the doorframe, like they ache from being used.

When she leaves, she doesn’t look back.

And I hate her for that.

For how cleanly she carries her damage.

For how he keeps calling her back, like he can’t find anything that bleeds the same way.

For how close she’s come to mattering.

The log flashes.Another viewer is waiting.

---