Chapter 11
Miles had never thought his sister capable of keeping this kind of secret. But now, standing in the shadows outside Negan Simmons' penthouse, with a flash drive full of raw surveillance footage clenched in his sweaty palm, the world no longer made sense in neat pieces.
Inside, darkness coiled like a living thing.
He'd followed the digital trails himself. The hidden cameras. The bank accounts. The facial recognition matches tying Negan to Vanessa years before they ever met. The time-stamped footage in Camille's apartment. Even Vanessa's shredded engagement photo with someone whose face matched a younger Richard Simmons.
It was too much. Too twisted. Too deliberate.
The penthouse door opened before Miles could knock.
Negan stood barefoot, shirtless, his presence casual as poison. "Come in, Miles."
The teen froze. His throat tightened. How did he—?
"I saw you on the hallway feed. Been waiting." Negan stepped aside. "We should talk."
Camille's world was unraveling.
The moment Vanessa found the surveillance room, Camille knew her window was closing. Her brother had warned her: keep Vanessa contained emotionally, or the balance would tip.
She never thought Vanessa would adapt to Negan.
Never thought she'd learn how to smile while bleeding.
So Camille packed. Quietly. Her heart hammered with every clink of jewelry into velvet bags. She sent a burner message to someone named "R" — the only one who owed her a clean exit.
But when she opened the elevator, the doors revealed Vanessa. Drenched in moonlight. Calm. And smiling.
"Going somewhere, Camille?"
Vanessa's voice was silk laced with steel.
Vanessa had stopped running.
Negan had expected her to be afraid. The way she'd followed him into the candlelit dining room, in that slinky backless dress he'd sent, should've screamed surrender.
But she wasn't afraid.
She was watching him now. Calculating. Her fingers lingered too long on her wine glass. Her laughter carried just a hint too much challenge.
He'd cornered women before. But Vanessa? Vanessa was crawling into his head now. Turning the obsession into a mirrored reflection.
"How long have you known about me?" she whispered as he poured wine into her glass. "Really."
Negan stared at her.
Then smiled.
"Since you were twenty," he replied.
Vanessa sipped.
"No wonder you're such a good liar," she murmured.
The dinner became a game.
Every touch. Every glance. A test.
He fed her figs drizzled with honey, watching the way her lips parted. She let the wine stain her mouth like blood. Her foot touched his under the table. He didn't flinch.
When he took her hand to lead her to the lounge, her fingers tightened.
A predator's grip.
"You're not the only one who's studied someone, Negan," she whispered. "And I don't break easily."
Meanwhile, Miles stood inside the surveillance room—face pale, mouth dry.
Negan had let him in. Sat him in front of the screens. Let him see every angle.
"Why?" Miles asked, voice shaking. "Why Vanessa? Why this?"
Negan's voice was a low thunder.
"Because she's mine."
"That's not love," Miles hissed.
Negan turned. His smile vanished.
"I never said it was."
Miles stood. "You're sick. You need help. And I swear—"
Negan moved too fast. One second of silence. Then Miles was shoved against the wall, air knocked from his lungs.
"Don't threaten me," Negan whispered. "And don't ever think your intellect makes you invincible. That's a mistake my father made. He no longer speaks without permission."
The warning burned.
But Miles still met his gaze.
"She's going to ruin you," he said.
Back in the penthouse suite, Vanessa leaned into the game.
She let Negan undress her slowly, like unveiling a work of art. But this time, she pulled him down when he tried to dominate.
She kissed him first. Bit his lip. Climbed onto his lap like a queen reclaiming her throne.
And when he growled against her skin, she whispered in his ear:
"Who's in control now?"
He flipped her. Fast. Bruising. Breathing hard. But she laughed under him.
Because even now, while he rutted against her like an animal—she held something deeper. She'd found his weakness.
Not her body.
Her mind.
And she was going to use it.
Camille ran.
After Vanessa confronted her in the hallway, Camille lied. Said she needed air. That she was sorry.
Vanessa let her go.
But Camille never made it past the lobby.
A pair of dark-suited men intercepted her.
Negan had anticipated this.
As she was dragged back upstairs, her screams echoed in the marble walls.
Vanessa stood at the glass wall, half-naked, bruised and glowing.
Negan came up behind her, shirtless, his hand resting on her hip. Possessive.
"I could keep you forever," he whispered.
She leaned back into him.
And said nothing.
Because she already knew.
He would.
But first, she would burn him from the inside out.