Chapter 7
Vanessa – Wanting the Monster
Vanessa lay awake in her apartment, body humming with betrayal. The taste of chocolate and champagne still coated her tongue, sweet and vile.
Negan's words haunted her.
"You're the only stain I want to keep."
He had stared at her like she was the final page in a book he'd spent years reading backwards. With hunger. With reverence. With doom.
And the worst part wasn't the fear. It wasn't even the danger.
It was the ache between her thighs.
She hated herself for it. Her body remembered his voice before her mind could resist it. His eyes had stripped her soul, and her knees still wanted to fold.
She sat up, shaking.
Then her phone buzzed.
A video link. No sender.
She clicked it.
Camille. Crying. In a dim, red-lit room. Talking to someone off screen.
"I tried to fix it… I did everything you asked… I even made her love you… please, Negan, don't make me disappear."
Vanessa's stomach dropped.
Camille was next.
Camille – Redemption Wears Chains
The club was tucked beneath a laundromat in Midtown. A private place. Discreet. Dangerous.
Vanessa found Camille in the back room, curled on the floor in a sequined dress, mascara smeared across her cheeks. Her wrists bore thin red marks like silk had recently bound them.
"You shouldn't be here," Camille whispered. "He'll punish you."
"You're still protecting him?"
"I'm protecting you."
Vanessa crouched beside her, gripping her shoulders. "He's going to kill you."
Camille laughed bitterly. "No, darling. He's going to keep me. As a lesson."
Vanessa saw it then. The bruises on her collarbone. The bite marks trailing down her neck. The manicured chaos of a woman seduced and broken by the same hands now reaching for Vanessa.
"I thought I was special," Camille whispered. "But you… you're his obsession."
"What did you do?" Vanessa asked.
Camille looked up, tears in her eyes.
"I led you to him."
Negan – Feast of Control
She didn't knock. She stormed into his penthouse like a hurricane wrapped in rage.
"Let her go."
Negan looked up from his drink, lounging on a black leather sofa like a sin-slicked god. His shirt was unbuttoned, exposing the long line of his chest. A scar cut down one side—one she didn't know, one she hadn't caused.
"She's already gone," he said softly. "You're here now."
Vanessa approached, fists trembling. "You're a monster."
Negan stood slowly, walking toward her like a predator pretending to be tame.
"And yet," he said, brushing her cheek, "you're shaking for me."
She slapped him.
Hard.
His head turned from the impact. Then he laughed.
"You want pain?" he asked. "Or power?"
He seized her by the waist, pressed her against the wall. His mouth hovered just beside hers, not touching.
"I could make you forget every man who's ever touched you," he said.
His hand trailed between her thighs, heat pulsing through her like a drug.
"I could make you remember what it means to belong."
Vanessa whimpered. "I don't belong to anyone."
His mouth touched her ear. "You do now."
He lifted her, pressed her back against the marble counter, tore the blouse from her body. Every kiss was a promise of destruction. Every bite, a brand.
And she—
—let him.
Because desire was louder than her disgust. And pain… felt like control when he delivered it in silk.
Morning After – Truth and Terror
She woke in his bed. Naked. Bruised. Beautiful.
Alone.
Then she heard it. A soft chime. The closet door ajar.
A small red light blinked from behind the mirror.
A camera.
Recording.
Every moment.
She stumbled back, fury flooding her veins.
Then the mirror blinked to life.
Negan's voice, distorted and intimate:
"Lesson one, Vanessa: what you think is freedom is just a prettier kind of cage. The real question is—how much of yourself are you willing to give… to stay desired?"