The Don's Dangerous Addiction

"You're afraid of me."

He moved closer as he spoke. Close enough that she could smell the cedar on him.

Dominic reached out and pinched her chin, tilting it up. Her head was forced back. Her throat exposed.

His thumb pressed down on her lower lip.

"All talk."

She raised her hand to slap his away. He caught her wrist.

"You're shaking."

She tried to pull free. He held on tighter.

"I hate you."

"Lots of people hate me. One more doesn't make a difference."

He let go suddenly. Avery stumbled back a step and hit the door.

He stood there watching her, like a cat watching a mouse run two steps and stop.

"Your heart is racing. You'd better make sure you can still aim straight."

He turned, picked up a pair of medical gloves from the tray on the desk, and tossed them to her.

Avery caught them. She had no idea what was happening.

"You-"

"What did you think?" He looked back at her, smirking. "You thought I called you here to sleep with you?"

Dominic gave her a slow once over, then turned away with a soft snort.

"I'm not interested in stiff women."

Before Avery could react, he turned back and pushed open the metal box on the desk.

A syringe sat inside. Pale yellow liquid.

This drug... it was the same one she had injected him with yesterday.

The drug was still in trial phase. High risk. Highly addictive.

It couldn't be given this frequently.

He was the underground ruler of Obsidian City. Of course he could get his hands on this drug. But she wasn't about to risk losing her medical license by injecting him again.

"This drug hasn't finished clinical trials. You can inject it yourself. You don't need me."

"But I need someone who can read my heart rate and knows how much to push."

Dominic turned his face toward her. His gaze cut like a knife. "You know my case. You're good at this. And you did fine yesterday, didn't you?"

He slid the syringe to the edge of the desk. The metallic scrape cut through the dead silence.

"This drug is addictive, Dominic. You're playing with your life."

"Then don't inject me. If-" He walked toward her. His shadow pressed in with every step. "You can fix my chronic insomnia first."

Avery didn't respond. She kept breathing. Deep breaths. Her fingers clenched tight.

Dominic stopped in front of her. He looked down.

"Your brother's medication runs out tomorrow at ten in the morning."

Avery's blood turned to ice.

"Inject me or give me a plan. Your choice."

Dominic reached out. His rough fingertips brushed along the side of her face, barely there. A shiver ran through her.

Avery's palms were clenched. Between the threat of losing the medication and the risk of an uncontrolled drug, she didn't step back. Instead, she stepped forward.

Her fingertip drove into the nerve depression just below his collarbone. She pushed with all her strength.

Dominic's tall frame went rigid.

The blunt pain and numbness from the compressed deep nerve swept through half his body in an instant. His grip on her hand weakened.

"This dosage will build your tolerance. When that happens, no one can save you."

Avery looked up at him.

"I'm taking the drug. You'll get your plan tomorrow. As for whether you sleep tonight? That's up to you."

Before he could recover from the physiological numbness, Avery snatched the syringe off the desk, turned, and pushed out the door.

It wasn't until cold air from the hallway hit her collar that she realized even her fingertips were burning.

When she walked into her room, Dorothea was still awake.

The little girl sat on the floor, hugging her rabbit. A piece of drawing paper lay in front of her. When she heard the door, she looked up at Avery, then looked back down and flipped the paper over.

"Mommy, the people inside the walls are still walking."

Avery walked over and sat down next to her. She looked at her daughter's fingers. Small. Pressed against the floor, like she was listening. Avery reached out and took the little hand in hers.

"Dorothea, Mommy needs to tell you something."

The little girl looked at her. Her big eyes sparkled.

"Some of the people here are helping us. Some aren't. Mommy has to make a lot of decisions every day. Some are right. Some are wrong. But no matter what, Mommy has to make them."

Dorothea blinked. She nodded slowly, like she sort of understood.

"What you hear, you tell only Mommy. I'll decide what to do with it. Okay?"

"What about that uncle? Is he helping us?"

Avery knew exactly who her daughter meant. She was quiet for a moment.

"He's helping Mommy. But that doesn't mean he's helping you."

"Why?"

"Because what he wants isn't the same as what Mommy wants."

Dorothea hugged her rabbit a little tighter. She rested her chin on its head. She looked at Avery for a long time.

"Is his head still a mess?" The little girl pointed at her own.

Avery didn't answer. She reached out and tucked Dorothea's hair behind her ear. "Mommy will handle it."

Dorothea didn't ask more. She buried her face in the rabbit's fur. After a while, her breathing slowed.

Avery picked her up, put her in bed, and pulled up the blanket. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her daughter's face. So small. So quiet. Her eyelashes were long, like two little fans.

She hadn't injected Dominic like he asked. Instead, she used the vagus nerve anchoring technique. Fingertip pressure on the nerve point below his collarbone. Stable tactile guidance to regulate his breathing.

Within moments, his overstressed autonomic nervous system had shifted from extreme agitation into sleep. She knew that for his severe PTSD-related insomnia, it was only a temporary fix. But at least, before he did something desperate and destroyed himself, she could keep him steady.

She pulled the USB drive from her pocket. The one she had gotten from Wenger. She plugged it into her computer.

Inside were seven full years of Dominic's treatment records.

The screen lit up. Files arranged by year. The earliest entry was from seven years ago. Dominic was twenty-two.

The first document was an admission record. No name. Just a number. The medical history column read: Stress response disorder. Sleep deprivation. Somatic symptoms. The treatment column had two words: Micro electric shock.

Her fingers stopped on the mouse.

She scrolled down.

Next page. Then the next. Wenger's notes, dense. Medications, reactions, dosage adjustments. Some pages had yellowed edges, like they had been turned many times.

She turned to one page. A diagram of a human body. Front and back. Red dots marked the wrists, the chest, the inner knees. A line of small handwriting beside it: Vagal nerve sensitivity test. Used for forced sedation and emotional blocking.

Avery's breath caught.

The spot on the wrist. The star-shaped scar. She recognized it.

So it wasn't an ordinary scar.

She looked down at her hand. The same fingers that had pressed below his collarbone. His skin's warmth still lingered. Her stomach turned. Bile rose in her throat. She covered her mouth and gagged. Nothing came out.

She closed the laptop. The room went dark.

The next morning, Avery went to his room as usual.

When she pushed the door open, Dominic was already awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, hair still messy. When he heard the door, he looked up.

"Morning," she said.

He didn't answer.

Avery walked over and stood in front of him. She reached out and pressed her fingers to his wrist. His pulse was better than yesterday.

She let go and stepped back.

"No anchoring today. You slept enough last night, so you won't need a nap during the day. Let's adjust the plan. We'll start with-"

"What did you look at last night?" Dominic cut her off.

Her fingers paused. "The files on the USB."

"What was in them?"

Avery looked at him. His expression hadn't changed. He was just waiting.

"Treatment records. Medications, dosages. Wenger's notes." Her voice was flat.

"And?"

"Nothing else. The later files were locked. I didn't have access."

He didn't push. He stood up and walked to the window, his back to her.

"Tell me today's plan."

Avery nodded. She explained the plan she had written the night before. Breathing exercises. Daytime nap rhythm. No drugs. No needles.

While she talked, he kept his back to her. He didn't turn around. When she finished, she waited.

"Dominic."

"Mm."

"You need rest today. No work. No meetings."

"I know."

She stood there, looking at his back. His shoulders were broad. A crease ran down his shirt from his shoulder blade to his waist. She thought of the red dots on the diagram. Something clogged in her chest.

The next two days, Avery continued his treatment as usual. The eighth session. In her opinion, it was neither good nor bad.

On the third day, after treatment ended, Avery went back to her room. Dorothea grabbed her leg.

"Mommy, you're different today."

Avery's fingers tightened. She closed the door, sat down, and pulled Dorothea into her lap. "Different how?"

Dorothea tilted her head and looked at her. She didn't explain. Then she stopped suddenly and turned to look at the door. She held her breath and didn't move.

Avery followed her gaze. The door was closed. The hallway was quiet.

"Dorothea?"

The little girl didn't answer. She hugged her rabbit tighter, then lowered her head and buried her face in its fur.

Three seconds later, a knock came at the door. Light. Two taps.

Avery opened it. Dominic stood in the doorway. He didn't come in. His eyes went to Dorothea first, then moved to Avery's face.

"What is it?"

Dominic studied her. "You changed the plan today."

It wasn't a question.

Avery's heart slowed by a beat. "Just an adjustment."

"Did you." He smiled slightly. "You avoided the collarbone. Why?"

The air went quiet.

She stared at him. She didn't speak.

He walked inside. He picked up the USB drive from the desk and held it in his palm.

"Do you think," he said, "that you 'got' this from Wenger?"

He stepped closer. The distance collapsed.

"Do you really think I would let a variable control me for seven years?"

Avery's pupils contracted.

"Then tell me," he said slowly, "why wasn't the first layer of that USB encrypted?"

Last night, she had thought it was strange. Such sensitive files, and they opened right away. She had assumed Wenger hadn't had time to secure them.

"Because I made it accessible," he said.

She finally understood. She hadn't been investigating him. He had let her investigate him.

"What did you want me to see?" Her voice tightened.

Dominic looked at her. He didn't answer right away. He reached out and touched the spot below her collarbone. The spot she had avoided.

"I wanted to see," he said, "if you would use Wenger's method."

Her breathing broke.

He paused. His voice dropped lower.

"To kill me."

Avery stood there. She didn't move. Her fingers were still pressed to the spot his fingertips had just touched.