Chapter 12 Lana
LANA
At his command, I rise from the bed, not even caring that I’m naked. I’m used to it at this point.
“Follow me.”
He crosses the small room and pulls open the door, and I obediently follow him as he walks down a corridor. There are doors at regular intervals, none of them marked, but he stops at one.
“Go on in, baby,” he says, turning the handle and pushing the door open.
I step into the room. The lights are low, but even so, I can make out the few things in the room.
A bench, low to the ground.
A cabinet on one wall.
Aiden steps in behind me, securing the door with a key he slips into a pocket. “Tell me your name, baby.”
I blink at him. “One twenty-seven, Sir.”
He blows out a breath. “No. That’s not your name. That’s a number, baby. Tell me your name. Please.”
His voice is soft, and that’s the clue. I can’t trust this.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, there’s a name. I’ve learned to fear the memory, to ignore it in favor of my given number.
I shake my head. “One twenty-seven.”
“Fuck.” This time his curse is loud enough for me to hear. He doesn’t seem to mind. “Fuck, baby, I don’t want to do it this way.”
I don’t know what to do. He hasn’t given me instructions.
At a loss, I sink to my knees, tucking my arms behind my back and directing my gaze to the floor.
In my peripheral vision, I can see Aiden as he paces back and forth, then finally stops in front of me.
This time, when he speaks, his voice is different. Hard.
“Stand.”
I scramble to my feet, my gaze still on the ground as I wait for his instructions.
“Go to the bench.” He waits for me to take the few steps to place me right next to the equipment. “Bend over it.”
My stomach flips, knowing what comes next, but I follow his instructions. I lower my body until my hips meet the edge of the padded leather, then rest my torso on the bench.
Aiden stands next to me and rests his hand on my back. “Good girl.” He runs his hand down my spine, over my exposed bottom.
When I tense, he chuckles.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he says, his hand caressing my ass. “This isn’t a punishment. As soon as you tell me your name, we’ll be all done. Okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the bench tight.
My body knows what's coming before my mind can fully process it. The familiar weight of dread settles in my stomach as Aiden moves away from the bench. I hear him cross to the cabinet, the soft creak of hinges as he opens it.
"Tell me your name, baby," he says, his voice still gentle but with an edge of steel beneath it.
I press my forehead against the leather padding. The bench smells like cleaning solution and something else. Fear, maybe. How many others have been bent over this same surface?
"One twenty-seven," I whisper into the leather.
A soft whistling sound cuts through the air, followed by a sharp crack across my exposed bottom. Pain blooms across my skin, hot and immediate. I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.
"That's not your name," Aiden says, his voice maddeningly calm. "Try again."
My fingers dig into the edges of the bench. The leather is worn smooth from countless hands gripping it just like this.
The name hovers at the edge of my consciousness, fragile as a soap bubble. If I reach for it, it might pop. If I ignore it, maybe it will float away entirely.
Another whistle through the air. The impact sends fire racing across my skin, and this time I can't hold back the small whimper that escapes my throat. My knuckles are white where I grip the bench.
"I'm waiting," Aiden says. There's patience in his voice that somehow makes this worse.
He's not angry. He's not cruel. He's just... waiting. Like he has all the time in the world to break me down piece by piece.
"One twenty-seven," I repeat, though my voice wavers.
The third strike lands lower, catching the sensitive spot where my thighs meet my bottom. I arch against the bench involuntarily, a sob catching in my chest.
"That's a number they branded you with," Aiden says, and I can hear him moving behind me, probably selecting his next implement. "But underneath all that conditioning, you're still a person. You still have a name."
It floats in the back of my consciousness, in a place I’m almost afraid to acknowledge.
Lana.
The word tastes foreign on my tongue, like speaking a language I've forgotten. Lana. That was... that was me, wasn't it? Before the gray uniforms and the numbers and the endless lessons in obedience.
But saying it feels like betrayal. Not just of my training, but of something deeper. If I'm Lana, then what happened to her? What did they do to the girl who had that name?
"I can see you remembering," Aiden says softly. "Just say it, baby. That's all I need."
Another crack across my burning skin makes me gasp. My vision blurs with tears I refuse to let fall. The pain is manageable—I've endured so much worse—but something about this feels different. More personal.
"One twenty-seven," I whisper again, though the words feel hollow now.
But even as I say it, I can feel the name clawing its way up from the depths where I've buried it. Lana. The syllables burn in my throat like acid.
The next strike is harder, and I cry out despite myself. My body trembles against the bench, every nerve ending on fire.
"I know this is hard, baby," Aiden says, and there's something almost tender in his voice that makes my chest ache. "But you're stronger than what they made you believe. You're not just a number."
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to block out his words.
The leather whistles through the air again. This time the pain cuts deeper, not just across my skin but through every defense I've carefully constructed.
My body jerks forward against the bench, and a broken sound escapes my throat.
"Your name," Aiden says again, his voice steady as stone. "Tell me your name."