The blonde man leaned forward, his tone pressing harder against my nerves. His words pushed at me, making my stomach twist in unease. My hands clenched under the table as I instinctively looked around, my eyes darting toward the corners of the room.
Cameras.
They were here too, recording everything.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself.
The blonde man exhaled sharply before speaking again.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But sign these.”
His words sounded like an order, not a request.
I hesitated, my fingers tightening on my lap. “And if I don’t?”
It wasn’t the blonde man who answered.
The psychiatrist spoke instead, his tone cold and unyielding, leaving no room for argument.
“If you refuse, we’ll take this to court and have them grant us the legal right to diagnose you and tr
