Thalia's POV
I'm fifteen minutes early, just like always.
The waiting room is empty and quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. I sink into my usual chair by the window, my hands gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles turn white.
Today I meet Dr. Morrison's son.
The mysterious therapist with no online presence, no digital footprint, no face I can prepare myself for.
I've spent the last week imagining what he'll be like. Maybe he'll be awkward and nervous, desperate to live up to his mother's reputation. Or maybe he'll be overconfident, thinking he knows everything because he grew up with a therapist parent.
Either way, I'm not ready.
I scroll through my phone, not actually reading anything. Just moving my thumb to give my anxiety somewhere to go. An article about AI development. An email from work. A meme Zara sent trying to make me laugh.
Nothing holds my attention.
The clock on the wall shows 9:52. Eight minutes until Dr. Morrison comes out and introduces us.
My leg bounces. My stomach churns. I run through my grounding techniques—five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear.
It doesn't help.
What if I can't do this? What if I freeze up and can't talk to him? What if he asks me to explain my trauma and I have a panic attack in the first five minutes?
What if
The main entrance door opens.
I look up automatically, expecting Dr. Morrison.
A man walks in.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Expensive dark suit that probably costs more than my monthly rent. His hair is perfectly styled, his jaw sharp, his whole presence radiating confidence and control.
He's handsome in that intimidating way that makes you want to look away.
But I can't look away.
Because I know that face.
I know those eyes.
I know that exact expression of cold, calculated focus.
My phone slips from my hands and hits the floor with a crack.
The sound makes him look directly at me.
Our eyes meet.
All the color drains from his face.
Time stops.
The waiting room shrinks until there's nothing but him and me and three years of trauma crashing back in a wave that steals my breath.
It's him.
Damian Morrison.
The lawyer who destroyed me on the witness stand.
The man whose voice still haunts my nightmares.
The person who tore me apart in front of three hundred witnesses and cameras and my parents and everyone I'd ever trusted.
Ms. Kent, did you embezzle three million dollars from your own company?
How do you explain the offshore accounts in your name?
Isn't it true you manipulated your investors?
His questions echo in my head, sharp and cutting and designed to break me.
And they did break me.
I broke right there on the witness stand, in front of everyone, while he watched with those same cold eyes.
We stare at each other across five feet of carpet.
Neither of us moves.
Neither of us breathes.
This can't be happening. This can't be real.
He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but no sound comes out.
My body moves before my brain catches up. I grab my bag, shoving my cracked phone inside with shaking hands.
I have to leave. Now. Before I fall apart. Before he sees how much power he still has over me.
I stand up so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
One step toward the exit.
Thalia.
My name in his voice freezes me in place.
It sounds different than it did in court. Softer. Careful. Almost... afraid.
But it's still his voice. The one from my nightmares.
Wait, he says. Please.
I turn to face him, and rage explodes through the terror.
Don't. The word comes out harsh and broken. Don't say my name.
He takes a step toward me, his hands raised like he's approaching a wounded animal. I didn't know you were
You're lying! I'm shouting now, my voice shaking. You have to be lying! This is some sick game
It's not. God, Thalia, I swear I didn't know you were my mother's patient.
Your mother? The pieces click together, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. Dr. Morrison is your mother?
He nods, looking as horrified as I feel.
No. No, no, no. I back toward the door. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
I know this is
You destroyed me! The words rip from my throat. You stood in that courtroom and tore me apart piece by piece! You knew I was innocent! You knew Marcus was lying! But you didn't care because winning was more important than the truth!
His face crumbles like I just slapped him. You're right. Everything you're saying is right. I was
Don't! I slam my hand against the wall, the pain grounding me. Don't you dare apologize! Don't you dare stand there and pretend you care!
Thalia, please, if you'll just let me explain
Explain what? How you made a career out of breaking people? How you used every weakness against me? How you asked about my father abandoning me in front of everyone just to make me cry? Tears stream down my face, and I hate myself for crying in front of him. You calculated every question to hurt me the most. You knew exactly what you were doing!
I did. His voice breaks. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I've regretted it every single day since.
I don't care about your regrets! I grab the door handle. I don't care about anything you have to say. I'm leaving, and I'm never coming back, and you can tell your mother—
Both of you. My office. Now.
Dr. Morrison's voice cuts through the chaos.
I spin around to find her standing in her office doorway, her expression carefully neutral. But her eyes are sharp, taking in the scene—me trembling with rage and tears, Damian looking gutted, the space between us crackling with three years of trauma.
No, I say immediately. I'm not going anywhere with him.
Thalia
You knew! The betrayal hits me harder than anything Damian said. You knew he was the lawyer from my trial, and you didn't tell me!
Dr. Morrison's face doesn't change. Yes. I knew. And we need to talk about why.
There's nothing to talk about! You lied to me! You let me trust you for three years, and you never mentioned that your son was the person who—
I understand you're upset, Dr. Morrison interrupts calmly. But we're not having this conversation in the waiting room. Both of you. Inside. Now.
She steps back, holding the door open.
Every instinct screams at me to run.
But I need answers. I need to know why the woman I trusted more than anyone would do this to me.
I walk into the office, my whole body shaking.
Damian follows behind me, keeping his distance.
And Dr. Morrison closes the door with a soft, terrible click.