The Savior’s Trap

Chapter Three – The Circle

The group room always smelled faintly of paper and old carpet, though Elena Chase insisted on airing it out before every session. She cracked open the single narrow window, letting in the evening chill, and smoothed down the circle of chairs until their backs lined up evenly. Seven chairs, one for herself, six for them. A box of tissues stood in the middle on a low wooden table, next to a glass carafe of water and a stack of paper cups. Rituals mattered. The little arrangements reminded her that she was in control, even when everything else felt like chaos.

The door creaked, and the first of them arrived.

A young woman, no more than twenty-five, slim with restless hands that couldn’t stop pulling at her sleeve. She offered Elena a faint smile before sliding into a chair on the far side of the circle. Behind her came another—this one louder, her perfume arriving a second before she did. She dropped her bag by her chair and immediately pulled out her phone, thumbing through messages until Elena cleared her throat.

By seven o’clock, they had all gathered: four women and two men, none of them older than thirty. One woman wore her defiance like armor, legs crossed sharply, eyes narrowed as though daring anyone to challenge her. Another kept her gaze glued to the floor, her cheeks flushed. The two men were different shades of discomfort—one jittery, tapping his foot like a metronome, the other stiff and too quiet, his arms locked tight across his chest.

Elena’s professional calm slid into place as naturally as breathing. She clasped her hands in her lap, scanning them one by one. Children, she thought, though she didn’t say it. Children who had already burned themselves badly enough to be sent here.

“Good evening,” she began. Her voice filled the small room with steadiness. “My name is Elena Chase, and I’ll be leading this group. I want to start by explaining the rules, because rules are what make this space safe. First—do not interrupt. Everyone deserves to be heard without fear of being cut off. Second—confidentiality. What you hear in this room, you leave in this room. Third—respect. No shaming, no mocking, no cruelty.”

She let her gaze linger on the sharp-eyed woman, who smirked but said nothing.

“And finally,” Elena continued, “relationships between members are strictly forbidden. This is not a place to look for partners. It is a place to look for yourselves. Do we understand?”

There were nods, hesitant at first, then firmer. One of the women rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Elena knew better than to expect enthusiasm. Agreement was enough.

She reached for her clipboard, tapping her pen lightly against the margin. “We’ll start by introducing ourselves. You don’t need to share more than you’re comfortable with. Just your name and a little about why you’re here. We’ll go clockwise—”

The door opened.

Every head turned.

A man stood in the doorway, framed by the pale corridor light. He was tall—easily six feet—with broad shoulders that filled the frame. His shirt was plain, dark, but clung in ways that revealed more than it hid. His hair was thick, falling carelessly across his forehead, and his jaw was cut sharp as stone. His presence was magnetic, and Elena felt it ripple through the room like a current.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, confident without being loud. “I was told there was still room in this session. May I come in?”

For a second, Elena forgot to breathe. She forced herself to nod. “Yes. Please, take a seat.”

He crossed the room with an ease that bordered on arrogance, claiming the empty chair opposite her. The movement was fluid, unhurried, like a man entirely comfortable in his own skin. Elena caught herself staring at the line of muscle in his forearm as he rested it casually on the chair’s armrest. She blinked hard and dropped her gaze to her clipboard. Professional. Stay professional.

“Vincent,” he said simply when he sat down. He leaned back, one ankle balanced on his knee, the picture of relaxation. “I’m here because I make the wrong choices. And because I don’t always stop myself when I should.”

The words were vague, carefully chosen, yet they carried weight. Elena felt the shift immediately.

Three of the women in the circle—who had barely looked up from the floor before—were now staring at him openly. One tucked her hair behind her ear in slow motion, another adjusted her blouse as though suddenly conscious of her neckline, and the third bit her lip, eyes fixed on him with the hunger of recognition. Even the two men shifted uncomfortably, their expressions turning wary, as if the balance of the group had already tipped.

This will be a problem, Elena thought.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Vincent. We appreciate honesty here.” Her pen hovered, but she didn’t write. She was too aware of how his gaze lingered on her a second too long.

To break the tension, she turned to the young woman nearest her. “Why don’t we continue clockwise? Please, go ahead.”

The girl’s voice trembled. “I’m… Chloe. Twenty-two. I’ve had… issues with relationships. I lose myself in them. Every time. I thought I was in love, but it was just… chaos. That’s why I’m here.”

Her cheeks burned red. She glanced nervously at Vincent as though expecting him to judge her. Instead, he smiled faintly, and her blush deepened.

Elena’s stomach tightened. Already.

Next was the confident one with crossed legs. She lifted her chin. “Jessica. Twenty-eight. I work in sales. I’m here because my therapist told me I use people. Men, mostly. I didn’t think it was a problem until it cost me a job. And maybe a marriage.” Her eyes flicked toward Vincent, bold, challenging, daring him to look back.

He did. Slowly.

Elena straightened in her chair, forcing her tone steady. “Thank you, Jessica. Remember, this is a safe space. We’re not here to perform for one another.”

Jessica smirked, leaning back without apology.

The introductions continued. A young man named Peter admitted he couldn’t stop chasing one-night stands, even when it risked his career. Another, David, confessed in a low, halting voice that he had been arrested after crossing boundaries online. The shy woman finally murmured her name—Holly—and whispered something about obsession with a married colleague.

With each confession, Elena felt the web tightening. Vincent didn’t speak again, but he didn’t need to. He was present in every word, in every glance, in the way their bodies shifted toward him unconsciously.

When the circle came back to her, Elena offered her usual closing. “Thank you all for your honesty tonight. This is just the beginning. We’ll take small steps, but those steps matter. Remember the rules—confidentiality, respect, no relationships. Those boundaries protect you more than you realize.”

Her gaze landed briefly on Vincent as she said the last words. His eyes met hers, steady and unreadable. For the first time in years, Elena felt her composure falter.

The group had only just begun, and already she knew: this session would not be like the others. This group would test her.

And Vincent would be the reason why.