Because I challenged my wife’s untouchable “white knight,” she sent me to the Crawford Research Institute as an experimental subject. She said I was too consumed by jealousy and needed a small punishment. I was injected with unknown substances, force-fed drugs, given spoiled food, and beaten. After a year of inhuman torment, as she wished, I became obedient. She came as scheduled to pick me up, standing high above, staring at me coldly: “Have you learned your lesson?” A shudder rippled through me as I hastily dropped to my knees, admitting fault: “Master, I’ll be an obedient dog.” But she broke down. ###The harsh sting of slaps yanked me out of unconsciousness, the beeping of monitors a constant background noise. I curled up, my body pulling at the festering wounds, stinking of infection, each movement igniting a pain so intense that even a moan refused to escape my lips. I knew it was time for another injection. Needle marks covered my arms so densely that I couldn’t feel them anymore. I was too weakened by the pain to resist. “Not dead yet? If not, wake up—it’s time for your shot.” The man withdrew his hand, a mocking grin stretching across his face. A pair of sharp pincers dug into one of my open wounds, twisting mercilessly. I screamed, raw and primal. Another set of pincers stabbed into a different gash, silencing me instantly. I choked back the scream that had barely left my mouth. These monsters once told me that the louder I yelled, the more eager they’d be to torment me, pushing until I nearly died. Once, after being injected with an unknown serum, the pain felt like my insides were being torn apart. I screamed uncontrollably. Seeing my frenzied reaction, they grew more excited, injecting me with multiple substances until I passed out from the agony. They’d throw water on me to wake me up and then douse my back repeatedly with boiling water, calling it “artistic expression.” My back would blister, seeping thick, yellow pus. My teeth were knocked out long ago during slaps, and my hearing had been nearly destroyed. After that, I never dared scream again. No matter how excruciating, I swallowed my cries, praying silently, “Pass out soon. If I pass out, I won’t feel the pain.” “Look at you, clinging to life like a pathetic rat!” The man scoffed and kicked me hard in the wound, causing my breath to hitch and my face to go pale. Laughter erupted around me. “Still not dead? Just as we thought—worthless!” “Yes, yes, I’m nothing, just a lowly creature at your mercy,” I knelt and pleaded, echoing their words. Only when I played along did their mood improve, sparing me worse torment. After a year in this place, I’d grown used to such humiliation. When I first arrived, I was proud, defiant. I fought back, clashing with them. But a few enforcers pinned me down, tying me to the experimental table, injecting me with all manner of concoctions. I was force-fed drugs and even live insects. My stomach wrenched with pain every day. Over time, the relentless torture broke my spirit, turning me into an obedient tool. I knew these men were sent by Vanessa Hale, who watched over me through them. It was all her doing. She called me unruly and said I needed to be taught a lesson for challenging Marcus Sterling. So, she sent me here for “discipline.” And so, I endured inhuman abuse. ###
But this time was different. One of the guards pulled out a phone—I recognized it as mine, confiscated when I first arrived. “Your time’s almost up. You finally turned into the obedient dog Vanessa wanted. She said you could talk to her. She’ll be here soon.” The call connected quickly, her voice coming through, cold and void of emotion. “Zachary Monroe, after all this time, do you look forward to coming home?” Tears of relief ran down my face as I dropped to my knees. “Yes, yes, I can’t wait! If you tell me to go east, I won’t go west…” “I’m finally going to escape this place!” Vanessa seemed satisfied with my response and ended the call. The guards, knowing I was about to leave, seemed disappointed that their entertainment was over. They cracked their knuckles and spoke of a send-off. I was stripped and hung upside down at the entrance of the Crawford Research Institute. Every employee who passed by marked their arrival by lashing me with a whip laced with salt and chili powder. The deeper the welt, the bigger the bonus they received. They etched designs into my skin with surgical blades, calling it borderless art. When I passed out from the pain, they revived me with electric shocks, starting the torture all over again. I became nothing more than their toy. The day Vanessa Hale came to get me, they dressed me in the same clothes I wore when I arrived, wrapping my wounds in thick bandages to prevent blood from soaking through. After a year, I finally saw daylight again. I stumbled out of the building. Vanessa stood by her car, dressed impeccably, smoking a cigarette. When she saw me, her expression turned cold. “It’s been a year, Zachary. Have you learned your lesson?” The moment I heard her, I fell to my knees instinctively, knocking my forehead on the ground. “I was wrong, I’ll never go against you again, or Marcus. I’ll do anything you say.” I was terrified she’d send me back here. A fleeting look of surprise crossed her face before a smile appeared. She nodded approvingly. “Not bad. It seems this year wasn’t wasted. You’re obedient now.” “Keep it that way, or back here you go.” At those words, I hit my head on the ground harder, the impact splitting the skin, blood trickling down my face. Vanessa’s eyes showed a hint of disgust. “Get up. Don’t you care that the ground is filthy?” I didn’t. In this place, they’d force me to drink vile black serum, swallow live rats, and choke down concoctions teeming with bacteria and viruses. The mere memory made me retch. Unable to help it, I vomited in front of Vanessa, yellow-green bile mixed with blood spilling onto the ground. Eating those things had left my stomach writhing with pain daily. My body was now just a vessel of poison, ready to burst beyond repair. I sat by the car window, ashamed and distancing myself from her, afraid that my stench would offend her. Her expression softened. “What’s wrong? Stomach bothering you?” ###
Stomach pain was an understatement; my stomach had been corroded and ruined by what they had fed me. I knew all too well the number of times I had vomited blood. “You’ve changed a lot. Looks like sending you there was worth it,” Vanessa Hale remarked as she sat nearby, observing my compliant behavior. My body trembled instinctively. At the Crawford Research Institute, daily beatings were routine. They locked me in with pythons, just to see how much a human could endure before being devoured. If my reactions weren’t up to their expectations, they would escalate to electric shocks, rinse my eyes with pepper spray, burn my chest with searing irons, or let flesh-eating bees sting me until I passed out and needed resuscitation. The mere thought made me shudder, leaving me too scared to even consider disobedience. Perhaps noticing my fearful demeanor and the blood still clinging to my lips, Vanessa’s gaze softened. Her voice lost its harsh edge, turning into a gentle reprimand. “I sent you there to learn discipline, not to destroy yourself. Look at you now, your stomach is in shambles.” She reached out to cradle my face. To me, the gesture was as terrifying as a death sentence. I flinched, nearly losing control, and dropped to the floor, pleading. “Please, don’t hit me! I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll do whatever you say—just don’t hurt me again.” I was like a pitiful dog, desperately begging for her mercy. I wouldn’t dare desire my master anymore. When I was first sent to the institute, they warned me: never look at Vanessa Hale that way again—she belonged to Marcus Sterling. Back then, I was defiant, taking pride in the bond we shared, refusing to bow to anyone. The first round of beatings didn’t break me, nor did the second. But when Robert Lang, her trusted bodyguard, injected me with that vile black serum, my spirit shattered. Under their creative and unending torture, I became an object—a thing to be used and discarded. What right did someone like me have to get close to Vanessa Hale? Her outstretched hand froze midair, her eyes glimmering with anger and confusion. She stared at me, searching for answers in my face. I could only lower my head, unable to meet her eyes. A dog has no right to make eye contact with its master. I understood that well. Yet, Vanessa seemed even more infuriated. Why? Isn’t this what she wanted? To my surprise, instead of taking me back to Hale Estate, she drove me to Sterling Enterprises. Throughout the five years we had been together, she had never allowed me to set foot in that place. Even when I offered to visit, wanting to show support and deliver lunch to assert my position over Marcus, she had shut me down with cold finality. But now, she was taking me there willingly. The company was hosting a product launch, and the employees lined the halls, clapping as we arrived. Marcus Sterling stood front and center. He handed me a bouquet, his smile warm and welcoming. “Welcome back, brother.” That smile sent an icy wave down my spine, my legs trembling uncontrollably. I had seen that face too many times at Crawford Research Institute. Each time, he brought new, creative ways to torment me. The staff at the institute replicated his ideas, filming my screams and delirium as entertainment. “Hmm, not brutal enough.” “What about roasting his back until it oozes, then sprinkling chili powder on it?” “Dead rats are good, too. Should taste interesting.” They’d openly discuss the next method of torture, with no hint of remorse. ###
Vanessa Hale sending me to the Crawford Research Institute as an experimental subject was all because of him. I was her latest fascination, but Marcus Sterling was her “white knight,” holding a permanent place in her heart. So, she believed every word he said. Marcus narrowly escaped a car accident that almost disfigured him. He accused me, claiming I had cut his brake lines simply because his car was parked at the Hale Estate for a couple of days. Important documents went missing from his office, derailing a crucial business deal. The next day, those same documents mysteriously appeared in my room. A few days later, Marcus, with a noticeable limp, approached Vanessa and claimed it was all my doing. He said I had even hired people to beat him up, leaving him near death, almost taking him away from her forever. Vanessa didn’t hesitate; she believed him without question. She froze all my bank accounts and confined me to a room under round-the-clock surveillance. I couldn’t step outside, not even for the bathroom, without being watched. I was furious. It felt like a violation of my basic dignity. When Marcus showed up, gloating and smug, I grabbed a vase and threw it at him without thinking. I never expected him to stay rooted, making no move to dodge. The vase hit him squarely on the forehead. Blood trickled down slowly. The surveillance cameras captured everything in perfect clarity. For the first time, Vanessa Hale lost her composure. Her face was a storm of rage, but her hands were gentle as she touched Marcus’ bleeding head, before rushing him to Mercy Hill Medical Center. This time, there was no defense I could make. Vanessa listened to Marcus’ suggestion and sent me to Crawford for “training.” “You’ve really let me down this time, Zachary. I hope that when you come back, you’ll understand your mistakes,” she said, disappointment written all over her face. In the lab, I endured two brutal beatings before Marcus himself showed up. He ordered the guards to inject me with that black serum and forced a three-day-old dead rat into my mouth, making me swallow it. Then he lifted the mask off one of the guards. I knew that face well. It was Robert Lang, Vanessa’s personal bodyguard—and once mine. So, Vanessa had known all along. I felt my resolve disintegrate, my spirit crushed, leaving me an empty shell. My brokenness drew stares, and Vanessa’s expression grew displeased. She leaned in, whispering in my ear, “Zachary Monroe, I thought you’d changed, but you’re still the same. Do you want to go back to ‘training’?” Fear gripped me, and I almost dropped to my knees. But I realized we were standing at the entrance of Sterling Enterprises—I couldn’t embarrass her here. I swallowed my instinct and stayed upright. To Marcus, the whisper appeared intimate, and a shadow of jealousy darkened his face. He walked up quickly, pulling me into a strong embrace. But it wasn’t just an embrace. He squeezed my wounds with enough pressure to make my teeth clench, cold sweat trickling down my back. I didn’t dare react. Screaming meant punishment—it was instinctual now. Years of torment had hardwired that into me. “It’s all in the past now. Let’s make amends,” Marcus said, extending his hand. I hesitated, and Vanessa slapped my shoulder hard. “What’s wrong with you? He’s offering peace, and you’re standing there like a fool?” Her slap landed right on a painful spot. I felt the blood seeping slowly under my shirt, concealed only by the black fabric. The stumble didn’t go unnoticed by Marcus. He stepped closer, a sly smirk on his face, and punched me in the chest. “Looks like your training paid off, brother. Your chest is as solid as steel—it even hurt my hand,” he said, pretending to massage his knuckles. A muffled groan escaped my lips as I suppressed the pain. My chest, wrapped tightly in bandages, still bore the remnants of four broken ribs from the institute. Vanessa noticed my slight reaction and shot me a sharp glance. “Enough with the act. Get in, now,” she commanded. I followed her unsteadily. This was Sterling Enterprises’ luxury swimwear launch. Models in swimsuits strutted down the runway, showcasing the latest designs. A mischievous coworker called out, “Hey, I heard Mr. Monroe’s been training for a year. I bet he’d look better in a swimsuit than those models! Why not have him show off?” The crowd erupted with cheers. The playful culture of the company often saw employees and even executives participating in shows like this. Panic surged through me. Taking off my shirt meant exposing the network of scars covering my body. Would Vanessa really go that far? To my horror, after a moment’s contemplation, Vanessa agreed. Seeing my reluctance, she cast me a look of disdain before leading me backstage. Marcus, now visibly rattled, stepped in to intervene. “Vanessa, he doesn’t seem too eager. Why not let it go? You know my physique isn’t bad either!” he added, throwing in a wink. But Vanessa wasn’t swayed this time. “Marcus, stay out of this. He trained for a year; I need to see if it made a difference. He’ll be taking over eventually.” With that, she led me back toward the stage. No one saw the fleeting look of jealousy and worry that crossed Marcus’ face. Vanessa’s hand was as soft as I remembered from our early days, back when she confessed her feelings and gave me the hope I had clung to. But now, the warmth only felt suffocating. The memories of a year of torment stripped any comfort they once held. I clenched my fists, yanking my hand from hers. Her expression darkened with irritation. “Zachary, what’s your problem?” “This isn’t for you; it’s to pave the way for the future. Didn’t you once say we should face everything together?” For a moment, a touch of tenderness returned to her eyes. But I was trapped, whispering, “Shouldn’t it be Marcus standing with you for that?” Vanessa’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I would never—” Before she could finish, I dropped to my knees, bowing my head. “Please, Ms. Hale, I’m just a lowly dog. I’m not worthy of you. Let me go.” “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have crossed Marcus. My jealousy was my downfall. I’ve paid for it. Treat me like the garbage I am and throw me away!” Vanessa’s eyes flared with anger. “Zachary Monroe, I didn’t send you to that place to come back as a broken man. Looks like you’re hopeless.” Her words struck a strange note. Was she saying that sending me there was supposed to be for my good? How absurd. Suppressing the bitter taste rising in my throat, I continued my act. “Yes, yes, I’m worthless. Marcus Sterling is the one worthy of you.” Before I could finish— “Enough, Zachary! You’re insufferable!” I staggered behind them, trying to keep up. This was Sterling Enterprises’ launch event for their new luxury swimwear line. The runway was full of models clad in sleek, high-end swimwear, showcasing the latest collection. Suddenly, one of the more mischievous colleagues shouted, “I heard Mr. Monroe’s been through a year of intense training. From the looks of it, his chest muscles put the models’ to shame. How about Mr. Monroe tries on a swimsuit and gives us a show?” The room erupted in laughter and chatter. Marcus Sterling’s confident expression faltered for the first time, his smile fading. Terror gripped me. Stripping down would mean exposing the web of scars that crisscrossed my body. Would Vanessa Hale really push me to that point, tearing away even this final shroud of dignity?
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