Chapter 17
The leash was still in her hand when he left her there.
Naked. Kneeling. In front of the mirror.
The door clicked shut, and Vanessa exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.
She stared at her reflection.
She didn't recognize the woman looking back.
Not the bruises blooming like flowers along her thighs. Not the glazed, hungry eyes. Not the faint, proud smile curling her lips as she whispered into the still air—
"I liked it."
And she did.
Every degradation. Every denial. Every sick, intimate invasion.
But now… she wanted more than submission.
She wanted control.
Miles was getting closer.
He'd broken into Negan's apartment using Camille's stolen keycard. What he found chilled him.
A wall of photographs—Vanessa's face in every one. Sleeping. Laughing. Crying.
Surveillance tapes. Labeled.
VANESSA—FIRST ORGASM
VANESSA—BREAKING POINT
VANESSA—DAY 7: OBEDIENCE
And then: a folder marked "REBIRTH."
Inside was a photo of her, on her knees, collar around her neck.
But her eyes… weren't broken.
They were calculating.
Miles's pulse spiked.
She wasn't just a victim anymore.
She was turning.
Back in the mirror room, Negan returned.
But this time… Vanessa stood.
Not kneeling. Not waiting.
She wore the collar like jewelry. No shame. No fear.
"I missed you," she purred.
Negan's brow lifted. "Did you now?"
She crossed the room to him, slid her arms around his waist, and whispered, "Do you trust me?"
He laughed. "No."
She smiled wider. "Good. Because you shouldn't."
She blindfolded him.
And he let her.
That was the first mistake.
He thought it was a game.
She guided him to the chair in the center of the room and tied his wrists to the arms—just tight enough to remind him of her submission. Just loose enough for him to think he could break free.
She whispered, "Now I get to ask the questions."
Negan smirked. "Interrogation?"
"No," she said, circling him. "Autopsy."
She touched him the way he touched her.
Slow. Dominant. Like possession.
She straddled him, lips brushing his ear.
"When did it start?" she whispered. "The need to own. To break. To warp the women you touched?"
He didn't answer.
She kissed his throat, sucked hard enough to bruise.
"Did it start with your mother?" she taunted. "Or was it some poor girl who didn't say 'please' loud enough?"
Negan's breathing turned ragged. But not from arousal. From threat.
"You're playing with fire, baby," he growled.
She leaned in, biting his lip.
"I am the fire."
And she broke him—just a little.
She rode him tied to that chair, whispering humiliations into his ear.
"You wanted a slave, but I'm your mirror."
He groaned as she clenched around him.
"I'll fuck the monster out of you," she whispered. "And then feed it back to you."
He came with a shudder. Not in dominance.
In surrender.
Camille was bleeding out in an alley.
She had tried to run. She never made it past the city limits. Negan's people were everywhere.
But before she passed out, she whispered something into the air:
"She's not yours anymore."
Vanessa unlocked his cuffs.
Negan stared up at her like he didn't know whether to kiss her or kill her.
She handed him the leash.
"I still want it," she said, breathless. "But now I know… I want it on my terms."
He looked shaken. For the first time, unsure.
"You don't scare me," he said.
She smiled.
"You should."
Later that night, he watched her sleep.
She had curled into his side like she belonged there.
But he didn't touch her.
He stared at the bruises he gave her.
At the slow smile on her sleeping lips.
And for the first time in his life…
Negan wondered if he was the one being hunted now.
The Predator Wakes
Vanessa stood in front of the mirror again.
Same collar. Same bruises. Same eyes.
But she wasn't studying her pain anymore.
She was admiring her evolution.
Her hips were still sore from the night before — the chair, the cuffs, the shiver that ran down Negan's spine when she whispered I own you now.
He hadn't said a word afterward.
Just stared at her like he didn't know whether to kiss her… or destroy her.
And that silence?
It thrilled her.
Because silence was how monsters seethe.
And Vanessa had finally become one.
Negan didn't sleep that night.
He walked the halls of the penthouse barefoot, shirtless, the marks she left on his chest still stinging.
He touched the place where her nails raked him open and smiled faintly.
"You've finally woken up, baby," he whispered into the empty kitchen. "Now let's see how long you can stay awake."
Camille didn't die.
The alley had been her sanctuary once, a place she hid from her own mother. Tonight it became her rebirth.
She woke in a basement — tied, bandaged, and guarded.
But the person who saved her… wasn't who she expected.
It wasn't Miles.
It wasn't Vanessa.
It was Julian.
Negan's brother.
The one everyone thought was dead.
"You were right," he murmured as he sponged blood from her temple. "She's dangerous."
"Which one?" Camille asked weakly.
He smiled.
"All of them."
Vanessa found the second surveillance room.
Behind a false panel in Negan's bedroom, beneath the floorboards.
This one wasn't full of cameras on her.
It was filled with files. Data. Experiments.
Women.
Dozens of them.
All listed with initials, behavioral triggers, emotional breakdown timelines. And one file in red:
Project V: Obedience Through Mutual Obsession.
She opened it.
It was all about her.
Every kiss. Every assault. Every whispered humiliation.
Planned.
Measured.
Engineered.
She slammed the folder shut, chest heaving.
But she didn't cry.
She smiled.
Because now she knew how he played the game.
And she could play it better.
That night, Negan hosted a dinner. Just for the two of them.
She wore red lace. He wore black silk.
The candles were too low. The wine was too strong. The air, too charged.
He carved steak like he was slicing through skin.
"So, did you find the room?" he asked casually.
She tilted her glass, swirling crimson.
"Which one?"
His eyes narrowed. "Don't get cute."
She smiled. "That's not what you said last night when I was riding your mouth."
He slammed his knife down.
She didn't flinch.
He stood. Walked behind her. Leaned down. Whispered against her ear.
"You think you've won something."
Vanessa turned her face to his.
"I don't think, Negan. I know."
He backhanded her.
The wine glass shattered.
She hit the floor, cheek burning, lips bleeding.
He stood over her, chest heaving, rage pulsing.
But she didn't move.
She licked the blood from her lips and looked up at him through wet lashes.
"You had to hit me," she whispered. "Because I'm in your head now."
He didn't fuck her that night.
He chained her instead.
To the bed. Wrists and ankles spread. Gag between her lips.
Then he sat across the room. Watching.
Not touching.
Punishing her with distance.
She could feel his stare burning into her skin.
Her body throbbed. Her mind screamed.
But her soul?
Her soul smiled.
Because he couldn't stop watching her.
She was becoming his religion.
Miles made contact.
A burner phone under her pillow buzzed once.
She reached it in silence, fingers trembling as she read the encrypted message:
Camille alive. Julian with her. We're coming in three days. Hold on.
She didn't smile.
She didn't cry.
She simply turned off the phone and slid it beneath her tongue.
Swallowed it whole.
Negan would search her.
But he would never find that.
Negan came to her at dawn.
Naked. Pale. Quiet.
He unshackled her wrists, then her ankles.
She didn't speak.
He cupped her jaw, forced her to meet his eyes.
"Do you love me yet?" he asked softly.
Vanessa met his stare.
"No," she said. "But you do."
He kissed her so hard she tasted blood again.
Then he whispered—
"Let me show you what love looks like when it breaks."