Page 30 of UnTrained: Volume One
"I'll try," I say finally, my voice barely audible. "But I don't know how much I can remember without... without going back there in my head." The prospect terrifies me—the idea of willingly returning to those dark corridors, even if only in memory.
"We'll take it slow," Aiden says, his voice gentler now. "One piece at a time."
I nod, though uncertainty still churns in my gut. Can I really do this? Can I face those memories without losing myself again?
"Can I ask you something?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Aiden tilts his head slightly. "Go ahead."
"You said you're a Dominant." I struggle to meet his eyes as I speak. "So all of this—the way you've been with me—is that real, or is it just... strategy? To get me to talk?"
The question hangs between us, raw and vulnerable. I search his face for any sign of deception, any hint that this has all been an act to get me to open up.
Aiden's expression shifts, his eyes darkening with something I can't quite read. "Both," he says finally, his voice low. "The way I’ve been with you? That's who I am. But using it to get information from you... that's strategy."
His honesty catches me off guard. I expected a lie, a reassurance that would make me feel better but ring hollow. Instead, he's given me a complicated truth.
"So, you're using me," I say, the words bitter on my tongue.
"I'm trying to help you," he corrects, leaning forward. "And yes, I need information from you to do that. But Lana, when I tell you that what happened to you wasn't your fault, that's not strategy. That's the truth."
He looks like he wants to say more, but he presses his lips into a thin line.
I want to believe him. Some small, fragile part of me—the part that remembers being Lana, that remembers my classroom and my cat and my life before—wants desperately to trust him. But trusting men with power is what got me into this nightmare in the first place.
"I need time to think," I say, sliding down from the exam table. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, but I manage to stay upright.
Aiden nods, stepping back to give me space. "Of course. But Lana?"
I pause, looking back at him.
"What you told me today. About the club, about wanting to explore submission? That took courage. Don't let shame steal that from you."
His words follow me as he leads me back to my room. The small space feels different now, less like a cell and more like... I don't know what. A sanctuary, maybe. Or just a place to hide while I figure out what comes next.
After Aiden leaves, locking the door behind him with that soft click that reminds me I'm still a prisoner here, I sink onto the narrow bed.
I sit on the edge, staring at my hands. My palms are still shaking from whatever just happened in that room. The memory of thespeculum, of Aiden's voice coaxing secrets from me, makes heat crawl up my neck.
I told him things. Things I've kept buried so deep I almost convinced myself they weren't real. The club. The auction. The way I walked into their trap because some twisted part of me craved exactly what they pretended to offer.
My stomach churns with shame and something else—something I don't want to examine too closely. Because there was a moment, when Aiden's voice went rough and commanding, when his hand pressed against my thigh, that my body responded in ways I can't forgive myself for.
He's a Dominant. The word echoes in my head, carrying weight I'm not ready to unpack. It explains the way he speaks, the authority that rolls off him like heat from a flame. But it also terrifies me, because I recognize the pull I feel toward that authority. Even after everything, even knowing where submission led me before, some part of me still craves it.
21
AIDEN
Ilean against the door after it clicks shut behind me, running both hands through my hair. The sound of Lana's breathing, the way she trembled when I removed that speculum, the broken honesty in her voice when she finally told me about the club—it's all burned into my memory now.
Fuck. This is so much more complicated than I anticipated.
I push off from the door and head toward the break room, needing coffee and distance to think clearly. But I can't shake the image of her face when she asked if I was using her. The raw vulnerability in that question, like she was handing me a loaded gun and asking me to be careful where I aimed it.
Both, I'd told her. Strategy and truth tangled together until I can barely separate them myself.
The break room is empty when I arrive, fluorescent lights humming overhead. I pour myself coffee that's been sitting too long, the bitter taste matching my mood. My phone buzzes with a text from Gavin asking for an update. I ignore it.
