Chapter 6 Master and Surrender

# Chapter 6: Master and Surrender

The prescription bottle sat on my desk like a ticking bomb. I'd brought it to the office, not trusting it to remain at my apartment where Evan could find it missing. My uncle Martin's name glared up at me, a connection I couldn't ignore.

I canceled my morning meetings and called the one person who might have answers.

"Celeste," my father answered on the third ring, his voice betraying no surprise. "To what do I owe this call?"

"I want everything you have on Evan," I said without preamble. "Or Alexander. Whatever his real name is."

A pause. "Why the sudden interest in his background? You seemed quite content with him at the board meeting."

"Uncle Martin is his psychiatrist." I kept my voice level. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything to him." My father's tone remained casual, but I detected a new alertness. "Martin simply evaluated him, as he does all key personnel."

"And prescribed him medication."

"If he's taking medication, that's between him and his doctor."

"Stop playing games," I snapped. "You sent him to me. You had him profiled, trained, medicated. For what purpose?"

My father sighed, the sound crackling over the line. "You've always been isolated, Celeste. Brilliant but cold. I thought you needed... companionship."

"So you manufactured someone for me? Like some kind of living doll?"

"I selected someone compatible," he corrected. "Someone who could understand you, challenge you, and yes, care for you. What's wrong with that?"

"Everything," I hissed. "Everything is wrong with manipulating people's lives that way."

"He was a willing participant. Ambitious, adaptable. He saw the opportunity and took it."

"Did he know about the medication? The psychological conditioning?"

A pause. "Alexander had some... issues before we found him. Obsessive tendencies. Attachment disorder. Martin helped stabilize him."

My stomach turned. "You deliberately chose someone vulnerable. Someone you could control."

"I chose someone who would understand your particular needs," he countered. "Someone who wouldn't run at the first sign of your coldness. Someone who could withstand your... intensity."

"You're despicable."

"I'm practical. And it worked, didn't it? You're more focused, more driven since he came into your life. The subsidiary is thriving. You've even managed to expand your power base."

"At what cost?" I asked quietly. "He's unraveling, Father. Whatever conditioning you put him through is breaking down."

"Then perhaps it's time to end the experiment."

The casual cruelty in his voice made my blood run cold. "What does that mean?"

"It means he's served his purpose. If he's becoming unstable, he's no longer useful to either of us."

"He's a person, not a tool to be discarded."

My father's laugh was short and harsh. "Since when do you care about people, Celeste? You've never hesitated to remove obstacles before."

"This is different."

"Is it? Or have you finally developed feelings for your perfect, custom-made companion?"

I didn't answer, which was answer enough.

"Be careful," he warned, voice softening slightly. "Attachment to unstable people rarely ends well. If you want, I can have him reassigned. Quietly, discreetly."

"Stay away from him," I said, suddenly protective. "He's mine now. Whatever you did to him, whatever you planned—it's over. He answers to me."

"As you wish." I could hear the smile in his voice, which unsettled me more than his anger would have. "Just remember, you were warned."

After ending the call, I sat in silence, the prescription bottle still on my desk. My father had all but admitted to psychological manipulation, using my uncle's medical expertise to create the perfect companion for me. The perfect spy, the perfect lover, the perfect... pet.

And it had worked. I had fallen for it completely.

The intercom buzzed. "Ms. Winters? Mr. Mitchell is here with the Henderson files."

"Send him in."

Evan entered, immaculately dressed and composed, no trace of the desperate man from this morning. He placed the files on my desk with practiced efficiency.

"I've highlighted the key points for your review," he said, all business. "The projections look promising."

I studied him, searching for signs of the turmoil I'd glimpsed earlier. There were none—his mask was firmly in place.

"Thank you," I said, making a decision. "Evan, I'd like you to clear my schedule for the rest of the day. And yours as well."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "The Henderson meeting—"

"Reschedule it. This takes priority."

"May I ask what 'this' is?"

I stood, gathering my purse and coat. "We're going away for a few hours. There's something I need to do."

---

The private security firm was housed in a nondescript building downtown, its entrance unmarked except for a small plaque reading "Sentinel Services." I'd used them before for high-level corporate intelligence—they were discreet, thorough, and completely amoral.

"Why are we here?" Evan asked as we rode the elevator to the tenth floor.

"Insurance," I replied simply.

The receptionist recognized me immediately. "Ms. Winters. Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."

Evan followed silently as we were led to a spacious office where a tall, gray-haired man awaited us.

"Celeste," he greeted me warmly. "It's been too long."

"James." I shook his hand. "Thank you for seeing us on short notice."

His eyes shifted to Evan, assessing him professionally. "This is your... colleague?"

"This is Evan Mitchell," I confirmed. "He'll be staying with me during our discussion."

Blackwood gestured to the seats across from his desk. "What can I do for you today?"

"I need all surveillance removed from my properties," I said without preamble. "My home, my office, my vehicles. Everything."

Evan's head turned sharply toward me, but he remained silent.

"A thorough sweep?" Blackwood clarified.

"The most thorough you can provide. And I want new security protocols implemented—biometric access only, for both my residential and office spaces."

"That's a significant upgrade," Blackwood noted, typing notes into his tablet. "Any particular reason for the sudden concern?"

"Let's call it preventative maintenance."

He nodded, understanding my discretion. "And the access list? Who besides yourself should have clearance?"

"Just one person." I gestured to Evan. "Mr. Mitchell will require full access to all my spaces."

Evan's surprise was visible now, his carefully maintained composure slipping.

"We'll need biometric samples," Blackwood said. "Fingerprints, retinal scans, voice patterns."

"Whatever's necessary," I agreed. "How quickly can this be implemented?"

"We can begin the sweep today. The new security systems will take approximately 48 hours to install and calibrate."

"Do it."

As we provided the necessary biometric samples, Evan remained uncharacteristically quiet. It wasn't until we were back in my car that he finally spoke.

"What's going on, Celeste? First you're concerned about my medication, now you're implementing military-grade security protocols?"

"I'm eliminating external influences," I replied, watching the city pass through the tinted windows. "My father, his associates, anyone who might be monitoring us."

"Why now?"

I turned to face him directly. "Because I'm taking control. Completely."

He studied my face, something like hope flickering in his eyes. "What does that mean for us?"

"It means I'm making a choice. My choice, not one engineered by my father or anyone else." I reached for his hand, feeling its slight tremor. "But first, we need to have an honest conversation about your medication and your relationship with Dr. Martin Winters."

His face paled. "How do you—"

"I saw the prescription bottle. I know he's my uncle. I know my father had you psychologically evaluated and possibly conditioned before sending you to me."

For a moment, he looked trapped, cornered. Then his shoulders sagged in what appeared to be relief.

"I wondered when you'd discover that connection," he admitted quietly. "Yes, your uncle treated me. Yes, there was... conditioning involved."

"What kind of conditioning?"

He looked away, shame evident in his profile. "Therapy designed to increase my loyalty and... attachment capabilities. The medication helps control anxiety and obsessive thoughts."

"Obsessive thoughts about what?"

His eyes met mine, naked vulnerability in their depths. "About you. About losing you. About not being enough for you."

The raw honesty in his voice made my chest tighten. "And did it work? The conditioning?"

"Too well." His laugh was hollow. "I was selected because I already had certain... tendencies. The therapy just focused them on a specific target."

"Me."

He nodded. "They showed me your files, your history, your preferences. Taught me how to anticipate your needs, how to make myself indispensable to you."

"And the self-harm?" I asked softly, gesturing to his wrist.

His hand moved to cover the scars automatically. "A coping mechanism from before. When the anxiety gets too intense, when I feel like I'm failing..." He trailed off. "The medication helps control those impulses."

We sat in silence as my driver navigated through afternoon traffic. I processed everything he'd told me, weighing it against what I already knew.

"I'm going to ask you something," I finally said. "And I need complete honesty."

He nodded, tension visible in the line of his jaw.

"If I removed all the external factors—the conditioning, my father's influence, your assignment—what would you want? Who would you be?"

He looked genuinely confused by the question. "I don't know anymore. I've been Evan Mitchell, your perfect match, for so long... I'm not sure Alexander Reid even exists anymore."

"But if you could choose, right now, what would you want?"

"You," he said without hesitation. "In whatever capacity you'd have me. That's the one thing they couldn't engineer—how deeply I've come to care for you, beyond any conditioning."

I made my decision then, one that would sever the final strings my father pulled.

"My father called earlier," I told him. "He suggested it was time to 'end the experiment'—meaning you. He offered to have you reassigned."

Fear flashed across his face. "And what did you say?"

"I told him you were mine now. That he couldn't have you back."

The relief that washed over him was palpable. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." I took his hand, turning it to expose his wrist with its telling scars. "From now on, there are new rules. No more secrets. No more hidden agendas. No more self-harm."

"Celeste—"

"And this." I reached into my purse and removed the prescription bottle. "No more medication without my knowledge and approval. If you need help, we'll find it together, from doctors not connected to my family."

He stared at the bottle in my hand. "I don't know if I can function without it. The anxiety—"

"We'll manage it together," I insisted. "I won't have my father controlling you through chemical means."

The car pulled up to my building as I finished speaking. I stepped out, still holding the bottle, Evan following close behind.

In the privacy of my elevator, I turned to him. "There's one more thing."

From my other pocket, I withdrew a small box. Inside was a sleek metal bracelet—the security token Blackwood had provided, synced to my new security system.

"This connects to all my security protocols," I explained, fastening it around his wrist, covering his scars. "It gives you access to everything I own. My home, my office, my private files. It also tracks your location and vital signs."

He stared at the bracelet, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're binding me to you."

"Yes." I met his gaze steadily. "Not because my father engineered it, but because I choose it. Because despite everything—the manipulation, the lies, the conditioning—you've become essential to me."

"A gilded cage," he murmured, touching the metal band.

"Not a cage," I corrected. "A tether. One that works both ways."

I showed him my own wrist, where an identical bracelet now rested. "I'm as bound to you as you are to me. We'll monitor each other. Protect each other."

The elevator doors opened onto my penthouse. I stepped out first, then turned to face him, still standing inside the elevator.

"Now you have a real choice, not one manufactured by my father or his doctors. You can walk away—I won't stop you. Or you can stay, knowing exactly what you're choosing."

He stepped forward, out of the elevator, determination clear in his eyes. "I told you before. I'm yours."

I moved closer, cupping his face in my hands. "Mine to control. Mine to protect. Mine to keep."

"Yes," he whispered, leaning into my touch.

"The conditioning, the medication—they may have brought you to me, but they don't define what we are now. What we become from here is our choice."

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly. "I've never wanted anything the way I want to be yours."

I pulled back enough to meet his gaze. "You won't leave me? No matter what comes next?"

He smiled, a mixture of devotion and something darker, something that matched the possessiveness I felt growing within me.

"I'll never leave," he promised, the bracelet gleaming on his wrist. "I'm yours for life, Celeste. I'd rather die than walk away from you."

As I kissed him, claiming what was mine, I finally understood what my father had tried to create—not just a companion for me, but someone who would bind me as surely as I bound them. Someone whose obsession would match my own controlling nature.

He had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, but not in the way he intended. Because now Evan and I were united against him, our twisted bond forming a fortress he could never penetrate.

"Mine," I whispered against Evan's lips.

He smiled, something fierce and possessive in his eyes. "Yours," he agreed. "And you're mine. Forever."

In that moment, I couldn't tell which of us was truly the master and which the willing captive. Perhaps, in the end, it didn't matter. We belonged to each other now, for better or worse.

And heaven help anyone who tried to come between us.