Page 95 of The Secretary Volume II

I want to say it works both ways, she’ll find out what he is too.But I know better.

I sit up slowly.My whole body is sore, but not from what he thinks.

I don’t feel sorry for myself.

I don’t feel anything.Not until I picture her in this room.Then I feel something else—something I can’t ignore.

I imagine her sitting in the chair he dragged me from.Pouring his drink.Speaking like she still thinks language has power.Standing in the same spot I stood, her back straight, but her hands shaking just like mine.

And that’s when I realize.He’s not done.

But neither am I.

54

Gillian

He tells me to put my clothes on.I don’t respond.There’s nothing left to say.

This time, though, it’s different.

The blouse clings to me like a cage.His breath still lingers in the space I just stepped out of.But I’m not caught in it anymore.I’m watching myself from the outside, and I already know how this plays out.

Ellis doesn’t speak while I dress.I can feel his eyes on me—measuring, weighing, waiting for the part of me that still flinches.When I’m done, he says it like we’re discussing the weather.

“There’s something I want you to see.”

I don’t ask what.I already know I won’t like the answer.

We drive in silence.The car is quiet, sealed off.The kind of quiet that feels padded.Contained.My mind isn’t on the road.

It’s on her.

I know where this is going and I also know I won’t just stand by and watch.

When we pull up to the facility, the air changes.That too-clean, sterile air.That whisper behind the walls like something pulsing just out of view.

“Wait here,” Ellis says.

I don’t.I ask the receptionist for a pen and paper.She hesitates but eventually hands it over.It’s small, but it’s something.

A helper comes for me.I’m led down a corridor into a waiting room, then locked inside.Alone.For a long time.The silence presses in.The floor feels too smooth under my shoes, like it’s waiting for me to slip.

The footsteps outside are soft, irregular.I can’t tell if they’re real or just another part of the game.But I know what comes next.I know what they’re about to do to her.

It always starts with a choice.A note.“Do you have what it takes to be in my world?”

It feels like a dare.Like freedom.

But it isn’t.It’s the beginning of erasure.

The door opens.Cold air rushes in, clinical and sharp.Then comes the voice—low, calm, final.

“It’s time to meet your replacement.”

I freeze.Then turn.And there she is.

You.

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