Page 54 of The Secretary Volume II

There’s no music tonight.No soft piano, no curated mood.Just the hum of hidden systems and the whisper of my own breath.The air smells like bleach and something colder underneath—his cologne, the one he only wears when he’s sharpening something.

I follow the hallway because that’s what I do.Because he doesn’t have to summon me anymore.

The bedroom door is ajar.That’s new.

He’s inside.Sitting.Not standing.Not pacing.

Waiting.

“You know what to do,” he says.

But I don’t.

I have the eerie sense that this is all familiar, that I’ve been here, and done this before.But the details are not clear.

The resets make sure of that.

Ellis lets out a long heavy sigh, like he’s exasperated with my incompetence.He doesn’t look up.In fact, he doesn’t look at me at all.“Undress.”

I don’t move right away.Not because I’m resisting.Because I’m calculating.My journals tell me he only calls me when something doesn’t go his way.I’ve read this all before.Which is how I know,someone—whoever she is—must’ve gone off-script again.

Another annoyed sigh floats across the room.

I remove my clothes.Slow.Clinical.No seduction left in it.

He stands only when I’m naked.Crosses the room like a man inspecting inventory.

His eyes trail over me with the same detachment he reserves for contracts and quarterly reports.A flick of interest here.A glance of judgment there.No reaction that wasn’t curated in advance.

“She said no,” he says, mostly to himself.“But I’m not surprised.They always think they’re different at first.”

He circles me like a problem to solve.His fingers skim my ribs, then my hip.There’s no tenderness.Just a cold assessment of damage already done.

“But you,” he says softly, fingers trailing down my spine, “you can’t stay away.”

I flinch at the lie.He feels it.

He leans in, teeth grazing my neck.

“Your mother asked about you again,” he says suddenly.

The words land before I can brace.

“She misses you.She sent that little package—lavender soap, I think.A note in cursive.She worries you’re not eating enough.”

I close my eyes.

“She thinks you’re in Finland, Gillian.Can you imagine?”he says, like it’s almost funny.“I told them you were doing something important.”

He waits.Watches.

“I told her you didn’t have time to call because you were busy doing groundbreaking research that would save lives.”

A pause.Then, quietly:

“She cried.”

I don’t cry.