Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

12. Ava

AVA

I woke up to a hollow, gnawing ache in my stomach and my pussy.

Frustration simmered as I remembered last night—the disastrous dinner, the knife I’d tried to swipe, and Ty’s smug, unbothered gaze as if he knew all along before he knocked me out.

And now this.

I was starving and desperately needy. And I knew Ty had left me like this on purpose.

This was his silent punishment, his way of reminding me who held all the cards.

I rolled over, groaning, my body twisting with hunger .

I could feel how he’d punished me, my throat, my pussy, and my asshole deliciously sore.

And still, despite how much I hated him, how much it killed me to know that he’d taken advantage of me when I was passed out, I burned for him.

Burned for more.

Ached to be sated, filled… punished some more .

Without windows, the passage of time felt like a distant memory, swallowed by the same four walls.

I had no idea how much time had passed since the dinner.

Two days, maybe? I based it on the number of meals Ty had shoved into my room, a vast difference to the elaborate dinner he’d planned.

More punishment.

My heart betrayed me every time I heard the door creak open, anticipation rising like a tidal wave.

Every time, I hoped it would be Scáth, his eyes soft with apology, his lips finding mine with that same fire I’d grown to crave.

But it was never the persona I longed for.

It was always Ty.

His rigid posture, his cold, expressionless face. It seemed he was totally in control.

He’d step inside with a tray, perfectly balanced, the scent of rich food filling the air, and place it in front of me like I was a prisoner being fed by a warden.

Roast pork with vegetables and thick gravy, rib-eye steak seared to perfection, chicken and leek pie with buttery peas. Meals that belonged to another life, one I barely remembered.

Then he’d sit in an armchair and watch me eat, refusing to let me leave a single crumb on my plate.

“Eat. You need your strength.” His voice was flat, devoid of warmth, as if the very idea of kindness had been drained from him.

I bit my tongue, fighting back the urge to snap, to remind him it was his fault I was this weak in the first place. But what would be the point?

I had to play Ty’s game, at least for now.

Until I found a way to bring Scáth back.

Or to escape.

But for now, I had to suffer through therapy .

And I had no idea what was about to happen—what I would remember—but the fear that had been gnawing at me all day surged, threatening to swallow me whole.

I was close to backing out. So close.

The sound of the locks on my bedroom door sliding open before my first “session” sent a jolt of dread through my entire body.

My heart started hammering in my chest.

It got worse as the door creaked open, and Ty, dressed in his usual button-up black shirt and black slacks, stepped into my room with that same unreadable expression on his face, the one I’d grown to dread.

He didn’t bother shutting the door behind him. It’s not like there was anywhere for me to run even if I tried to.

He walked toward me, slow and deliberate, his black boots heavy on the wooden floor. He was wearing all black so that the folded white material that he was carrying in his hands looked stark.

Ty stopped just before me, too close.

My heart pounded harder, and my breath hitched as his nearness sent a conflicting wave of heat through me.

It was the kind of closeness that made my body react instinctively, pulling me toward him even as my mind screamed at me to keep my distance .

The soft fabric in his hands brushed against my arm, making my skin prickle with nervous energy.

My pulse quickened, and a knot twisted tighter in my stomach, the apprehension mixing with something I didn’t want to admit—something dangerous, something that made me want to get closer, even though I knew I should be pulling away.

His intense gaze locked on mine, reading me too easily, like he always did.

“Are you ready?” he asked, the question soft, almost coaxing, but laced with something darker underneath.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, the weight of his presence suffocating me. I nodded, even though my body was trembling, my legs weak beneath me.

He stayed quiet, watching me, waiting.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound braver than I felt.

“What… what is that?” I gestured at the fabric in his hands, my voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved slightly, but there was no warmth in it, only a shadow of satisfaction.

“It’s for you,” he said softly, his eyes flicking down to the material and back up to meet mine. “Part of your therapy.”

He moved with eerie precision, laying the soft and delicate fabric out on the bed.

A nightgown.

He fussed over it, smoothing it out, making sure it was laid out just right.

I watched, frozen, my breath caught in my throat as a terrible sense of recognition washed over me.

No .

My blood ran cold as the memory hit me like a slap .

That nightgown…

The lacy nightgown the professor used to make me wear when I was younger. The one that had clung to my skin like a prison, trapping me in his sick games.

And now here it was, in an adult-sized version. The same delicate lace, the same soft white material.

A sickening wave of nausea rolled through me as I realized what this meant.

Ty had brought this for me to wear. This was part of his so-called “therapy.”

What had I agreed to? What the hell had I signed myself up for?

My fingers curled into fists, my nails biting into my palms as I stared at the nightgown, willing myself not to break down.

But inside, I was crumbling, the walls I had tried so hard to keep up collapsing all around me.

I couldn’t do this. Not again.

I felt numb as Ty reached for me, his fingers grazing the hem of my dress.

The tension thickened in the air, wrapping around us as he pulled the dress over my head, leaving me exposed, standing in only a pair of white lace panties. Cool air rushed over my skin, tightening my nipples to points.

My skin prickled, a shiver running down my spine, but I was too numb to react. Too distant from the part of me that should have resisted.

The world around me dulled, fading into the background. His nearness, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the quiet authority in his eyes took up all the space in my mind .

I didn’t protest. I couldn’t.

Ty dropped my dress to the floor and for a moment he just stood there, inches away, just staring at me, at my half-naked body.

I should have felt more embarrassed, should have moved to cover myself up, but I couldn’t move. Like my brain wasn’t attached to my body.

For a fleeting moment, his cold mask slipped, and a flicker of awe crossed his face, so brief I almost questioned if I’d imagined it. But just as quickly, it vanished, swallowed up by the cold mask he now wore.

A familiar heat coiled low in my stomach, my pulse quickening in response to his nearness, his scent of musk and sandalwood, the way he loomed over me.

It was wrong —so wrong. This wasn’t Scáth. This wasn’t the man I loved.

But my body didn’t seem to care.

I tried to force the reaction down, to shove the feeling away. I told myself it was only because Ty and Scáth were the same person.

My body couldn’t tell the difference—but I could.

I just had to ignore these unwanted feelings. I had to push it away.

But as his breath ghosted over my skin, sending shivers down my spine, it was harder to silence that pull than I thought. And I hated myself for it.

I loved Scáth. How could I react this way to the version of him who was keeping me here, forcing me into a twisted form of therapy?

This is wrong. This is a betrayal.

But my body wasn’t listening .

“Arms up,” he commanded.

My body reacted instinctively, lifting my arms.

The tension thickened in the air, wrapping around us as he pulled the nightgown over my head, the familiar fabric brushing against my skin—soft, lacy, and wrong .

He reached up, his fingers grazing my collarbone as he pulled my hair out from the neckline and laid it along my back.

His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if this was all part of some twisted ritual he had perfected in his mind.

As he tied the ribbons closing the front, the faint, warm brush of his fingers against my skin sent a ripple of goosebumps over my arms, and I hated that I felt it. Hated the way my body responded to my captor.

I was lost in the thick fog of his control, moving through the motions, letting him dress me like I was a doll. Because I didn’t know what else to do.

Because soon there’d been nothing left but to start therapy.

My breathing grew unsteady, each inhale shallow and ragged as the fear crept in, threatening to take over. I felt like I was sinking, spiraling into a place where I wouldn’t be able to claw my way out.

Ty’s fingers were firm as they gripped my chin, forcing my gaze to lock on his.

“You won’t be alone,” he said, his voice low, steady. “I’ll be right here, the whole way through.”

There was something about his touch, something grounding in the way his fingers held me in place, as if his very presence was the anchor I so desperately needed .

His words seeped into me, calming the frantic pulse of fear as it beat against my chest.

I wouldn’t be alone.

Ty pulled back slightly, studying me, his eyes searching my face with a strange softness, concern clouding the coldness.

For the first time in years, I saw him . Not the monster he’d become—but the boy who used to be my best friend, buried beneath the layers of pain and scars.

And for some reason, despite everything, I trusted him . Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was reckless, but in that moment, I believed him . I believed the boy who used to be my best friend. Who took care of my wounds. Who used to hold me at night through all my nightmares.

He really was still there deep inside.

I nodded, my breath still shaky. “I’m okay.”

My voice wavered, but I wasn’t lying. At least not entirely.

Ty took a moment to study me, his gaze flickering across my face, as if he was looking for any trace that I wasn’t okay.

Then the tiniest smile curved his lips, barely noticeable, but it was there. “Good girl.”

The praise sparked something inside me, something warm and unsettling. I hated how much it affected me, how that small acknowledgment bolstered my determination.

I straightened my shoulders, trying to push my nerves down.

He held out a glass vial, the clear liquid inside swirling slightly as it caught the dim light .

“Drink it,” he said, his voice soft, but the command unmistakable.

I took the vial, my hands trembling slightly as I popped the cork.

The smell hit me instantly—a familiar medicinal and slightly sweet scent that sent a jolt of recognition through me. My heart lurched.

“This is the same drug,” I whispered, staring at the vial. “The one Liath was drugged with.”

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, confusion swirling in my head. How could two girls—Liath and me—on opposite sides of the country, separated by years, have been drugged with the exact same substance? It didn’t make sense.

Ty’s gaze darkened, his expression turning grim. “My father wasn’t just a botanist; he was a chemist. He created this drug.”

His words sent a chill through me.

The pieces started to fall into place, but it wasn’t a puzzle I wanted to solve. Something bigger, darker, was at play here.

Something that connected my foster father, Liath, Dr. Vale… and me .

I felt the world closing in around me as the realization took hold.

The professor created the drug and the recipe didn’t die with him. It had spread, poisoned lives, mine and Liath’s among them.

Ty continued, his voice growing tight. “I used his recipe, but I adapted it. I took out the scopolamine, the memory suppressor, so… ”

So this time, I’d remember everything .

I held the vial tighter, the weight of what I was about to do sinking in.

Before I could rethink it, I knocked back the entire vial in a single shot.

The liquid slid down easily, almost tasteless, with just the faintest hint of something medicinal.

God, it could have been laced in anything, I realized. No one would ever know they were being drugged.

The thought barely had time to settle before I felt it—the drug moving through me, rushing through my veins and creeping into my muscles.

My body began to betray me, limbs growing heavier by the second. Panic surged in my chest.

Oh God, what had I done?