Chapter 20 Lana
LANA
His words should comfort me, but they feel like trying to hold water in my cupped palms. The logic slips away as soon as I grasp it.
"I signed the papers," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I filled out the forms. I said I wanted to be a slave for the night."
"For roleplay," Aiden says, his blue eyes intense on mine. "With safewords. With limits. With the expectation that you'd go home at the end of the night."
I shake my head, unable to accept what he's telling me. The guilt has lived in my chest for so long that it feels like part of me now, wrapped around my ribs like barbed wire.
"They showed me the contract," I say, the memory surfacing like a stone thrown into still water. "When I woke up in that van. They said I'd signed away my rights. That I belonged to them now."
Aiden's jaw tightens. "What kind of contract?"
"I don't know. The words were all blurry. I couldn't focus." I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the memory of those first confusing days. "I was so drugged I could barely see straight. They could have made me sign anything."
"Exactly." Aiden's voice cuts through my spiral of self-blame. "A contract signed under duress, while drugged, isn't valid. It's not consent, Lana. It's coercion."
I want to believe him. Some part of me, buried deep beneath months of conditioning, whispers that he might be right. But the larger part—the part that's been trained to accept blame for everything—rejects his words.
"You don't understand what I wanted," I say, my voice barely audible. "The things I fantasized about. Being owned. Being used. Being—"
"Being cared for by someone you trust," Aiden finishes, and the accuracy of his words steals my breath. "Being able to let go of control in a safe space with someone who values your wellbeing above their own pleasure."
My chest tightens at his description. That's exactly what I'd been searching for—that elusive feeling of safety in surrender. The fantasy of being precious enough to someone that they'd take responsibility for my pleasure, my pain, my very breath.
I blink, stunned by how accurately he's described the longing I've carried for years. Not just the desire to submit, but the deeper need beneath it—to be valued enough that someone would want to claim me completely.
"How do you know that?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
A ghost of a smile touches Aiden's lips. "Because I understand the dynamic from both sides, Lana."
His words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I study his face, trying to process what he's telling me. The commanding tone, the ease with which he gives orders, the way he seemed to know exactly how to make me respond—it suddenly makes a different kind of sense.
"You're..." I can't quite finish the sentence.
"A Dominant," he says simply. "Yes."
My breath catches. The revelation shouldn't surprise me, but it does. My mind races with questions I'm afraid to ask.
"What they did to you—what they're doing to women like you—it's a perversion of something that should be built on trust and mutual respect." His voice hardens with disgust. "They're predators using kink as camouflage
I stare at him, this man who claims to understand the very thing that got me into this nightmare. A Dominant. The word rolls through my mind, familiar and terrifying all at once.
"So what is this place? Where are we?”
Aiden's expression hardens. "There’s a lot I can’t tell you. But what I can let you know is that this is about bringing down the people who hurt you and others like you. It's about getting you back to your life."
My life. The words sound hollow, like echoes in an empty room. What life? The one where I taught third graders about fractions and spelling? Where I went home to an empty apartment and a cat who only tolerated me because I fed him? That life feels like it belonged to someone else.
"I don't know if I can go back," I admit, the confession barely audible.
Aiden leans forward, his blue eyes intense. "You don't have to figure that out right now. First, we need to make sure you're safe. Then we need information."
Information. The word makes my stomach clench with fresh anxiety. I've told him more than I ever intended to, more than I should have. The memory of the speculum, of being spread open and vulnerable while he coaxed secrets from me, makes heat rise in my cheeks.
"What kind of information?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
"About the facility where they held you. The people who ran it. How they operated." Aiden's voice is steady, businesslike now. "Anything that could help us find and stop them."
I wrap my arms tighter around myself. The thought of talking about that place, of reliving those months of conditioning and pain, makes my chest tight with panic.
But there's something in his eyes—not just determination, but genuine concern.
As if my wellbeing matters to him beyond whatever information I can provide.
"I don't know if I remember enough to help," I whisper. "They kept us separated most of the time. I didn't see much beyond my cell and the training rooms."
"Whatever you can tell us matters, Lana. Even details that seem small or insignificant could be important."
Aiden's words hang in the air between us. I can see he wants me to help, but my memories of that place are a tangled web of fear and pain that I've spent months trying to forget. The thought of deliberately recalling those moments makes my stomach clench.
"I'll try," I say finally, my voice barely audible. "But I don't know how much I can remember without... without going back there in my head." The prospect terrifies me—the idea of willingly returning to those dark corridors, even if only in memory.
"We'll take it slow," Aiden says, his voice gentler now. "One piece at a time."
I nod, though uncertainty still churns in my gut. Can I really do this? Can I face those memories without losing myself again?
"Can I ask you something?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Aiden tilts his head slightly. "Go ahead."
"You said you're a Dominant." I struggle to meet his eyes as I speak. "So all of this—the way you've been with me—is that real, or is it just... strategy? To get me to talk?"
The question hangs between us, raw and vulnerable. I search his face for any sign of deception, any hint that this has all been an act to get me to open up.
Aiden's expression shifts, his eyes darkening with something I can't quite read. "Both," he says finally, his voice low. "The way I’ve been with you? That's who I am. But using it to get information from you... that's strategy."
His honesty catches me off guard. I expected a lie, a reassurance that would make me feel better but ring hollow. Instead, he's given me a complicated truth.
"So, you're using me," I say, the words bitter on my tongue.
"I'm trying to help you," he corrects, leaning forward. "And yes, I need information from you to do that. But Lana, when I tell you that what happened to you wasn't your fault, that's not strategy. That's the truth."
He looks like he wants to say more, but he presses his lips into a thin line.
I want to believe him. Some small, fragile part of me—the part that remembers being Lana, that remembers my classroom and my cat and my life before—wants desperately to trust him. But trusting men with power is what got me into this nightmare in the first place.
"I need time to think," I say, sliding down from the exam table. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, but I manage to stay upright.
Aiden nods, stepping back to give me space. "Of course. But Lana?"
I pause, looking back at him.
"What you told me today. About the club, about wanting to explore submission? That took courage. Don't let shame steal that from you."
His words follow me as he leads me back to my room. The small space feels different now, less like a cell and more like... I don't know what. A sanctuary, maybe. Or just a place to hide while I figure out what comes next.
After Aiden leaves, locking the door behind him with that soft click that reminds me I'm still a prisoner here, I sink onto the narrow bed.
I sit on the edge, staring at my hands. My palms are still shaking from whatever just happened in that room. The memory of the speculum, of Aiden's voice coaxing secrets from me, makes heat crawl up my neck.
I told him things. Things I've kept buried so deep I almost convinced myself they weren't real. The club. The auction. The way I walked into their trap because some twisted part of me craved exactly what they pretended to offer.
My stomach churns with shame and something else—something I don't want to examine too closely. Because there was a moment, when Aiden's voice went rough and commanding, when his hand pressed against my thigh, that my body responded in ways I can't forgive myself for.
He's a Dominant. The word echoes in my head, carrying weight I'm not ready to unpack.
It explains the way he speaks, the authority that rolls off him like heat from a flame.
But it also terrifies me, because I recognize the pull I feel toward that authority.
Even after everything, even knowing where submission led me before, some part of me still craves it.