The Savior’s Trap

Chapter Forty-One – Rule Two

The clinic hummed with its usual music: telephones ringing behind reception, the faint shuffle of paperwork, the muffled slam of a door two corridors away. It was ordinary sound, yet every note grated against Elena’s nerves. She carried a stack of folders against her chest like armor and forced her heels into an even rhythm on the polished floor. A colleague passed with a polite nod; she smiled back too brightly, knowing her face looked brittle.

Keep walking. Just keep walking.

Her office door waited at the end of the hall. Normally it was a small sanctuary, a place where order could be maintained with files, books, pens, rules. Today the door looked like a trap.

Because he was there.

Vincent leaned casually against the wall outside her office, as if the space belonged to him. His hands were sunk deep into his pockets, his dark shirt clinging slightly to his chest from the drizzle outside. Damp strands of hair glistened at his temple. He didn’t look like a patient waiting for help. He looked like someone waiting for his cue, a performer on the edge of a stage.

Elena’s stomach tightened. She considered walking past, pretending she hadn’t seen him. But his eyes had already found hers, alive, glittering with secret amusement.

“You’re early,” she said, forcing calm into her voice. “Group doesn’t start for another hour.”

He pushed off the wall with languid grace. “I like being early. Gives me time to… prepare. And it gives me time to talk to you privately.”

She shifted the folders in her arms, trying to keep them between them like a barrier. “There’s nothing more to talk about. I already told you—”

“Rule One,” he interrupted smoothly, his smile cutting her words in half. “I stay in the group. Whether you like it or not.”

Her throat constricted. “You can’t make the rules here, Vincent.”

He tilted his head as if considering that. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. Therapy is all rules, Elena. Confidentiality. Boundaries. Authority. You live by them. You hide behind them. But you’ve already broken one with me.”

Her skin prickled. He took a step forward, close enough that she could smell rain and the faint trace of cologne clinging to his shirt.

“And today,” he murmured, “we add Rule Two.”

Elena’s grip on the folders tightened until the edges bit into her fingers. “What is it this time?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it brushed the shell of her ear. “Today, when you lead the session, you’ll do it without underwear. No bra. No panties. Just you, beneath your careful professional costume.”

The words detonated inside her like a hidden charge. Heat surged up her neck; her face flushed hot, shame flooding so quickly she thought he must hear her heart pounding.

“That—” she struggled for air—“that is obscene. You’re delusional if you think I would ever—”

“Obscene?” He chuckled, slow and low. “No, Elena. Honest. If you walk into that circle knowing you’re bare beneath your blouse and skirt, you’ll feel every second of it. Every word you speak, every glance from your patients will remind you of me. That’s the point.”

Her breath snagged, uneven. Images invaded her against her will: the ring of chairs, the young faces fixed on her, and underneath her clothes—nothing. She imagined herself shifting in her seat, aware of fabric brushing too directly against skin. The thought made her stomach twist, part nausea, part something darker she despised herself for feeling.

She forced her voice into steel. “And if I refuse?”

He slid his hand into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and lit the screen. The photo glared back at her—her pressed against the brick wall in the alley, scarf gagging her mouth, his shadow a cage around her body.

“Then the world gets a glimpse of their angelic Dr. Chase in a very different light.” He spoke softly, but the threat vibrated in the air like a taut wire ready to snap.

Elena’s hand twitched. She wanted to rip the phone away, hurl it against the wall, watch it shatter. Instead she stood frozen, her breath shallow, her palms slick with sweat.

“You’re sick,” she whispered.

“No,” he corrected gently, as though he were teaching her vocabulary. “I’m awake. And soon, you will be too.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his eyes never leaving hers. “Rule Two. No underwear. A simple choice.”

She turned away quickly, moving behind her desk as though paper could shield her. Her fingers scrambled at the folders, straightening them, pretending to find something important. Her vision blurred; she hated the tremor in her hands.

Vincent leaned one palm on her desk, invading the space. His smile was calm again, conversational. “You’ve told countless patients that facing discomfort is the path to growth. I’m just giving you a chance to live by your own advice.”

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. What would Kevin say if he knew? She saw his face in her mind—the trust in his eyes when he sat at this very table telling her about school. If he saw her stripped bare in front of her own patients, if he saw her humiliated, ruined—

Her voice cracked. “Why me?”

His expression softened with mock sincerity. “Because under all this armor—these files, this office, these rules—there’s a woman who aches for freedom. I see it. You’ve built yourself into a fortress, Elena. I want to watch the walls fall.”

She pressed her palms flat against the wood of the desk to stop them from shaking. “Get out of my office.”

He straightened, adjusting his jacket with maddening composure. “In an hour, I’ll see you in the circle. And I’ll know if you followed Rule Two.” His eyes glimmered with satisfaction. “Don’t disappoint me.”

He walked to the door, opened it quietly, and paused. Looking back over his shoulder, he added, “Every game has rules, Elena. And mine only get harder.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

For a long moment she couldn’t move. The office seemed too bright, the fluorescent lights glaring, the walls shrinking in. She stumbled to the mirror fixed to the side wall—a practical thing she used for tidying herself between sessions.

The reflection stared back: her hair slightly out of place, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide and shining with fear. She touched her blouse, the buttons fastened neatly, and imagined undoing them, removing the bra she wore beneath. The thought sickened her, but her body shivered in treacherous recognition.

She pressed her palms to the cool frame of the mirror, whispering to herself. “You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than this.”

But even as she said it, a terrible thought slid through her mind: What if the rules really do keep getting harder? And what if one day, I don’t say no?

The clock ticked mercilessly toward the next session.