Chapter Text
Megan’s mornings were always the same: the beginning of a quiet battle. Waking up didn’t come easily to her; the moment she opened her eyes, the world often felt like pure chaos. Everything had to fall into order immediately. That was why, every morning, she tried to start the day by retreating into her room, shutting the door on the outside world, and taking control of things in the only way she knew how.
The first task was always coffee. Her relationship with the coffee machine was ritualistic, almost sacred. Every step had to be done the same way, in the same order. As long as the coffee was brewing, everything felt manageable. That cup of coffee was the key, the thing that would grant her control over the day. Only then did she reach for her phone.
The first check of the day: social media.
She skimmed through it quickly. Everything looked normal, and yet, somehow, she felt that it shouldn’t be. She shut her phone off abruptly and began getting ready for work, the unease inside her quietly growing.
To suppress that restlessness, she had no choice but to head to work, toward the familiar route leading to Skiendiel Group. She needed to step into a world where everything was in its proper place, where things moved forward smoothly, predictably. And yet there was something there, too. The work itself, the position her father wanted her to fill, had a way of making her feel small. Sometimes, when she let herself think about it, when she felt that hollow space open up inside her, she realized the truth: this job didn’t suit her at all. She didn’t belong here.
But she couldn’t quit. Her father insisted, and it fit perfectly with his view of the world, a world where everything had to be flawless, orderly, controlled, and exactly the way he wanted it. At times, sitting alone in her room, dwelling on that emptiness, she longed to do nothing at all, to simply stay still for days on end. Somehow, though, she never managed to let herself.
As the day went on and tasks piled up , especially as more and more responsibility landed on her shoulders, the pressure began to weigh on her. People’s demands, their questions, the files waiting to be handled, the reports that needed finishing… all of it made Megan feel dizzy, stirred a quiet, constant anxiety inside her. She couldn’t accept the idea that she was living a life like everyone else’s, because that life was never enough for her. It was orderly only on the surface.
Inside her mind, she lived in constant fear of everything slipping out of control, of watching it all splinter apart piece by piece. That was why, just like every morning, by evening all she wanted was to go home. And yet, home offered no real relief. The same thoughts waited for her there. The same feelings. The same obsessions.
Megan spent her time trying to regulate every moment. She could sit alone in her room for hours, scrolling through old messages, old photos, keeping records of everything, creating a sense of control where she could. Everything had to be under control at all times. If that control disappeared, everything would fall apart.
Sometimes, she remembered what her therapist had told her. But to Megan, there was nothing that needed fixing. Losing control meant becoming weak. She refused the idea of stepping outside that control, of getting lost, of letting these obsessions either take over her life or be cast out of it entirely. For her, there was only one truth: everything had to be in order. Whenever she felt that hollow ache inside, she responded by tightening her grip, by imposing even stricter rules on herself.
Megan’s world existed entirely within a system she had built on her own, a private order that belonged only to her. And she allowed nothing that might disrupt it to come anywhere near.
Her office felt like a sanctuary where perfection was not optional. It reflected not only the order of her work, but the order of her mind. Every corner of the room followed an unspoken guide dictating exactly where things belonged. There was nothing on her desk except a single framed photograph.
Every file, every document was placed exactly where it belonged, neatly arranged and carefully labeled. When Megan stepped into her office each morning, the very first thing she did was scan every corner of the room. The color of the chair, the precise moment the window should be opened, the cleanliness of her computer screen… everything was under control. To preserve that order, Megan moved with deliberate care, thinking through the consequences of every step, every motion.
Her assistant, Leah, knew Megan’s obsession with order better than anyone. Because of that, she was constantly trying to maintain a careful balance in the way she dealt with her. Each time Leah approached her desk, she made sure to do so correctly, efficiently and always at a measured distance, just close enough to keep things running smoothly. Megan’s attitude toward her was distant, sometimes sharp. Still, as long as Leah didn’t do anything Megan disapproved of, as long as everything functioned properly, Megan rarely interfered.
Leah’s role was simple in theory: to carry out Megan’s requests precisely. In practice, it also required patience - patience for Megan’s obsessive attention to detail and her uncompromising standards.
Megan liked Leah, in her own way. But she never formed a sincere bond with her; to Megan, she was more of a tool than a confidante. Leah’s ability to understand her need for control and act accordingly counted as a significant advantage in Megan’s eyes. But the moment something went wrong, Megan’s patience evaporated. A file placed in the wrong location, a mistake in an email - any of it could send her spiraling into anger. Every error represented chaos, and to Megan, chaos was unforgivable.
One day, while Megan was deeply focused on her work, a file her assistant accidentally placed on her desk pushed her past her limit. The folder belonged in the far right corner of the room, and that small, careless mistake caught her completely off guard. She called out to her assistant as the young woman stepped into the room, trying to redirect her attention elsewhere.
“That file can’t be there. Don’t you know where it’s supposed to go?”
Megan’s voice was sharp cold, controlled, and unyielding.
As the assistant hurried to apologize and place the file back where it belonged, she caught sight of the blank, frozen look in Megan’s eyes. It was impossible not to be careful around her. Megan’s obsessions reached outward, touching everyone in her orbit. Even when Leah was alone in Megan’s office, working quietly, she felt as though every movement was being watched, weighed, evaluated. That was why she tried to perform her tasks flawlessly while simultaneously doing her best to avoid triggering Megan’s restless, unpredictable moods.
Megan, for her part, struggled to contain her anger whenever her rigid standards were challenged, even as she worked relentlessly to keep everything perfect. That inner conflict only pushed her further into isolation. For things to run smoothly in the office, she expected everyone to be perfect, all the time. Leah was forced to move through Megan’s meticulously ordered and suffocating world like a machine, precise and obedient.
The emotions Megan projected onto her assistant were always complicated. On one hand, she demanded competence, efficiency, satisfaction. On the other, she subjected Leah to constant tests, as if waiting for the inevitable mistake. Megan’s obsessive nature kept everyone in the office on edge, especially her assistant. Because once Megan’s patience snapped, that unease shifted into something sharper, heavier - a tension that settled into the air and refused to leave.
Megan continued to control every moment in an effort to maintain order at work. And yet, she struggled to fill the emptiness that lived within that order. She clung to control with one hand while becoming a victim of her own obsessions with the other. That internal conflict grew more visible with every step she took. In Megan’s world, everything had to be orderly but no matter how hard she tried to enforce that order, the hollow space inside her was never completely filled.
-
Megan was staring out through the glass wall of her office when she noticed her assistant stepping inside. Leah closed the door quickly, trying to draw her attention, but Megan’s gaze remained fixed on the view outside - distant, unfocused, almost empty. Leah could read Megan’s moods instantly, and she adjusted her movements accordingly.
“Ms. Skiendiel, I’ve finished preparing the report. I left it on your desk for your review. If everything looks good, I can move on to the other files” her assistant said.
Without taking her eyes off the window, Megan turned toward her desk and picked up the report. She took a slow, steady breath. She opened the folder and skimmed through it - everything was correct. And yet… something was wrong.
The label on the left corner wasn’t properly affixed.
How could Leah make such a simple mistake? Everything had to be perfect.
Megan closed the file sharply and placed it back on the desk, speaking without raising her voice.
“The label isn’t properly attached. How do you make a mistake this basic? Is this what we’re paying you for?”
The edge in Megan’s voice was unmistakable. Leah nodded quickly, apologizing at once.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Skiendiel. I wasn’t careful enough. I’ll fix it immediately” she said, panic creeping into her tone.
Megan studied her with a cold, assessing gaze. Expecting perfection wasn’t optional - it was a necessity. But people… people could never be as perfect as she needed them to be. They were merely tools, means to maintain order and control. Leah was one of those tools. And yet, at times, Megan’s belief that everything could be flawless began to crack. These small mistakes had a way of triggering something much larger- a deeper, more unsettling fear.
“Errors like this can disrupt my work. We have to be fully prepared for the reporting meeting at the beginning of the week. Please be more careful” she said firmly.
With her head lowered, standing in front of Megan, Leah felt the unease curling tightly in her chest. Megan’s cold demeanor always left her on edge. But there was nothing to be done. She was there to do her job, nothing more.
“Of course, Ms. Skiendiel. I’ll do it exactly as you asked. I’m fixing it right away.”
Megan watched her for a moment longer, her gaze darkened. The larger the emptiness inside her grew, the more she demanded perfection from everything around her. No matter what, losing control was not an option. Leah wasn’t perfect - not in the way Megan required - but Megan forced herself to tolerate that fact. Still, at times, those uncontrollable things, those small mistakes, felt like omens of something far worse. And that sense of impending collapse spread inside her like a widening hole.
“Make sure you haven’t forgotten anything. Check the details. Everything needs to run smoothly today” she said, tension threading through her voice.
Leah nodded, apologizing one last time before leaving the room. Megan lingered by the window for another moment, choosing to focus on flawless execution rather than face the discomfort stirring inside her. Because the only truth that mattered was this: everything had to be perfect.
-
From the early hours of the morning, Megan had been preparing for the meeting in her office. Slowly, methodically, she inspected the layout of her desk. Every file, every pen was exactly where it belonged. Even the dropdown menus on her computer screen were arranged just right. The room itself felt precisely aligned, every corner in perfect relation to the next.
There was only one thing out of place.
The keys on her desk had shifted slightly.
Megan opened the small drawer beside her desk, adjusted the keys until they were neatly aligned, then took a deep breath and finally allowed herself to focus on the meeting ahead.
Today was the day of a major meeting. Her father - along with several of the company’s most important clients - was coming to the office for discussions. Megan had been preparing for days, reviewing every detail with meticulous care. Her father had always known her as a perfectionist, and because of that, the pressure on her doubled. Everything had to be flawless; the future of the company depended on it. And whenever Megan felt that weight pressing down on her, there was only one thing she needed to be certain of:
Control.
At the scheduled time, Megan entered the room where her father and the clients were gathered. The office, as always, was excessively luxurious and unmistakably cold. She greeted her father with a brief nod, then immediately began scanning the room. Were the chairs too close together? Was the painting centered perfectly? For a fleeting moment, she felt her father’s gaze on her and, almost instinctively, took a small step forward to adjust the distance between the chairs.
Even a second under her father’s watchful eyes didn’t reassure her - it stirred a deep, tightening anxiety instead. She knew he was waiting for assurance, for proof that she could handle this. But the unease inside her grew with every passing minute. As Megan reviewed her notes once more, her focus snagged on the edge of the table. A few pages were out of order. There were words written incorrectly.
Unacceptable.
For a meeting this important, even the smallest mistake was intolerable. She straightened the papers in her hands, correcting every detail until there was no room left for error.
The clients began to arrive. Once everyone was seated, it would be her turn to speak. And yet, for a brief moment, anxiety flared in her mind - the fear that her words might falter, that something might come out wrong. She was still trying to steady herself when her father’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“Megan,” he said, his tone probing, “have you finalized the reports?”
Megan fell silent for a few seconds. The pressure inside her tightened, as if it had lodged itself in her throat. His question made her doubt herself -made her question whether his trust was truly there. She lifted her chin, forced herself into stillness, and answered him calmly.
“Yes, Dad. Everything is ready. I can guarantee that everything is on track, exactly as we planned” she said, trying to sound reassuring.
As Megan repeated the words, the hollow feeling inside her never quite loosened its grip. In her mind, a new current of thoughts rippled outward - calculations meant to ensure that everything went perfectly. What if this meeting failed? The question pressed in on her, and with that anxiety still clinging to her, Megan forced her focus back onto the clients.
Throughout the meeting, she believed every word, every glance, every movement had to be controlled. Whenever a client spoke, Megan’s attention sharpened and yet she wasn’t truly present. Something was always slipping through her grasp, leaving behind the sense that something was missing. The pen on the table, perhaps, was drawing too much attention. Between exchanges, she found herself moving it to a different spot.
Every detail felt like a threat.
The clients noticed Megan’s diligence and competence, but even then, her thoughts were elsewhere. To avoid any misunderstanding or the smallest mistake, she reshaped every sentence before letting it leave her mouth. She followed the conversation with care, measuring each response, weighing every word. In doing so, she kept her emotions tightly restrained.
There was a price to perfection.
Megan knew that.
At last, the meeting was over. Everyone stood up, and Megan let out a deep breath, a fleeting sense of relief washing through her. But for that relief to truly settle, she needed to be certain that everything in that room was flawless. Her father gave her a brief look of approval as the meeting wrapped up. Still, Megan’s mind remained trapped in that familiar hollow space, one that refused to tolerate even a single overlooked mistake.
Once her father left and the office fell quiet, Megan returned to her own room, carried there by a momentary sense of emptiness. She tried to press down her anxiety by believing, once again, that everything would be better now. But had she really felt relieved? She had made it through yet another perfect day and beneath that perfection lived the constant urge to demand more.
When Megan stepped into her father’s office, the anxiety inside her surfaced instantly, just as it always did. After closing the door behind her, the coldness of the room struck her all at once, despite the fact that her father sat behind his large desk. He hadn’t changed in years; the suit he wore, the lifeless steadiness of his gaze - authority clung to every part of him.
As Megan took a step toward him, she felt that familiar blend of fear and reverence settle deep inside her.
Without lifting his eyes from the computer screen, her father spoke sharply.
“Megan, what is it? You look like something’s gone wrong again today. Is everything all right?” he asked in his usual harsh tone.
Megan flinched slightly, then forced herself to steady. Her father’s harsh gaze had always unsettled her. No matter what she did, she was terrified of never quite earning his approval. The fear ran so deep that sometimes she felt a single misstep could bring all of her achievements crashing down.
“Everything is fine, Dad. The meeting went well. Everything turned out exactly the way we wanted. But…”
Her father’s expression didn’t change. Megan continued, choosing her words with care.
“But I may have overlooked a few minor details. Still, everything is under control” she added.
Her father listened to every word, then slowly raised an eyebrow. The moment Megan saw that look, she felt it - the certainty that things were about to get worse. Doing anything that failed to meet his approval filled her with constant anxiety.
“Details?” he snapped, his voice rising. “What do you mean by minor details, Megan? You can’t afford to be careless about the details in this business. Everything has to be perfect. Everything has to be complete. You should know that.”
Megan held his gaze for a few seconds, then felt a sudden tightness seize her chest - a brief, suffocating block. His voice was the same one that had weighed on her for years, always demanding more. She continued carefully.
“Yes, I know, Dad. You’ve always said that. I know everything has to be perfect. I think so too. It’s just… sometimes…” she said, her voice uncertain.
He cut her off sharply.
“Sometimes what?” he demanded. “If everything isn’t perfect, then you’ve failed. There is no other way. If that’s the case, what are you even doing here?”
He slammed his hand down on the desk as he shouted.
Under her father’s furious gaze, Megan felt herself slip away, if only for a moment. She lowered her head at once; even the thought of making a mistake beneath his watchful eyes was enough to terrify her. As always, everything outside of his approval felt meaningless.
“I understand, Dad. It’s just that sometimes… small things… other people…” Her voice faltered. “I think they don’t understand me.”
Her father smiled faintly and somehow, that smile only deepened the fear coiling inside her. He knew her devotion to perfection well, and he used it, steadily increasing the pressure he placed on her.
“Megan,” he said, his tone calmer now, “your only goal should be success. Nothing else. If people don’t understand you, forget them. Just do the job. That’s it. Nothing will ever make you happy except success. Do you understand me?”
Megan nodded, not quite convincingly, and looked away. His words, as always, filled her with a strange mix of fear and strength. In that moment, the confusion inside her only grew. There was no love in his gaze only control. For years, Megan had grown up in the shadow of his expectations, raised not on affection but on ambition and the demand for perfection. He had never made her feel understood. And yet, the fear and reverence she felt toward him had never faded.
The idea of becoming as successful as her father had always given her a sense of power.
“Yes, Dad. I understand. I’ll just… be more careful.”
Her father accepted the answer, satisfied enough, and leaned back in his chair, returning to his work. As Megan left the room, his words continued to echo in her mind. No matter how much she wanted otherwise, nothing held meaning beyond his approval. In his eyes, she had always felt small. No matter how successful she became, she never felt complete.
As she closed the door quietly behind her, Megan noticed her heart racing. And to escape that sensation, she turned instinctively toward the place she always went her safe place.
-
As Megan sat at her usual table in the same corner of the bar she always went to, the voice of the new girl on stage slowly lodged itself in her mind. The melody of the song rang in her ears while, at the same time, the girl’s movements, her posture, her body language, drew Megan’s attention inescapably. She narrowed her focus to the small space around the stage, watching every step, every shift.
The girl’s voice was so captivating that, for a moment, Megan felt detached from everything, from who she was, from belonging to anyone at all, like a stranger to herself. But this unfamiliarity wasn’t a threat. To Megan, it felt like an opening. An opportunity.
She believed there was something else beneath every word sung on that stage, something unspoken, something layered. The girl’s face, alive with emotional undercurrents, settled into Megan’s thoughts. The songs stirred things deep in her subconscious - things she hadn’t noticed, or allowed herself to notice, for years. And yet Megan didn’t question what those feelings meant. She simply followed them.
When the song ended and the girl quickened her steps toward the backstage area, something inside Megan sharpened. She didn’t bother explaining it to herself. She didn’t need to. She just knew she had to act. Everything made sense. She knew exactly how right this was. Following the girl now felt natural, inevitable.
It’s that simple, Megan thought. I just need to take one more step.
She didn’t hesitate even once as she slipped out behind her. Her movements were careful, measured but resolute. I need to get closer to her, she told herself. Nothing about this felt strange. It was merely the distance between wanting and doing, and she was closing it. This was a purpose. A target. She knew, with absolute clarity, exactly what she needed to do.
As she moved toward the bar, Megan’s thoughts kept unfolding alongside her steps. The girl was heading outside, and Megan matched her pace without effort, walking in quiet synchrony behind her. She had already begun to memorize the girl’s movements, the rhythm of her steps, the brief pauses, the subtle slowdowns. Each one seemed to carry meaning for Megan. Watching her felt like a purpose in itself.
Where is she going? Megan wondered. Wherever it is, I’ll be there too.
Everything felt so natural that it didn’t strike Megan as strange in the slightest. Following her, tracing her steps, slipping somehow into her world…none of it felt excessive. It felt inevitable. She was strong enough to control this. Nothing , no feeling, no hesitation , could stop her.
Megan continued to observe the path the girl took outside, more carefully now. The girl hadn’t noticed her presence at all. Megan’s focus sharpened, her attention recording every detail she might need to remember. The girl’s hair lifted in the wind, and Megan etched the image into her mind with precision.
As she followed, Megan found herself thinking again about how natural this all felt. Should I be enjoying this? The question flickered briefly and the answer came just as quickly.
Yes. I should.
Because this is how it’s meant to be.
Following her felt like proof that Megan was on the right path. It had become an obsession , but even as an obsession, it brought her world into alignment. Everything fell into place. Nothing felt strange or wrong. It was simply a matter of doing what needed to be done.
Now she was fully committed, her steps continuing to mirror the girl’s. Her heart beat faster, but the sensation only strengthened her. Where the girl was headed didn’t matter. Megan only wanted to see her more , to be closer. In her inner world, this was right. Logical. Necessary.
As Megan followed the girl, she felt herself moving steadily deeper into the night. The darkening air created a moment where everything felt more controllable. The quiet of the night soothed her; each step grounded her, filled her with a fragile sense of certainty. By then, she had nearly reached the girl walking slowly ahead of her on the street. As the distance between them shrank, Megan became acutely aware of her own tension.
She was searching for something , an action, a moment, that might fill the hollow space inside her, even just a little.
Focused entirely on the girl’s movements, Megan sensed a shift. Something was different. For a split second, the girl turned her head, and Megan , as if she could feel her gaze , quickly looked away. The possibility that she’d been noticed sent a sharp, unsettling fear through her.
With every step, Megan grew more tense.
Did she notice me?
She wanted everything to proceed smoothly, wanted everything to remain hidden. But the tension coiled inside the moment forced her to be more careful. The girl kept walking ahead of her, yet something had undeniably changed. As Megan tried to close the distance, she found herself hesitating , wondering if she should fall back instead. There was unease in the girl’s movements now. A stiffness. A discomfort.
Something inside Megan reacted instinctively, urging her to act - to stop that discomfort before it could fully take shape.
Suddenly, the girl turned down a side street.
Without a second thought, Megan shrugged off the jacket on her shoulders and tossed it into a nearby trash container, already calculating how it would make her appear like someone else entirely. She followed immediately, without hesitation. But this time, when the girl abruptly turned back and scanned her surroundings, Megan decided not to keep watching from a distance.
Instead, she made a move
For a brief moment, her gaze locked onto the girl’s face , searching for connection, for confirmation. The girl felt something; Megan could see it clearly now. She shortened the distance between them and stepped forward at exactly the right moment.
She was watching for an opening , a moment where she could fill the hollow inside her with the girl, in some way. Right then, Megan felt closer to her than ever before. The girl kept glancing back, uneasy, unaware that Megan had already closed the distance entirely.
Megan moved with painstaking care. And just as she was about to reach her, she spoke softly.
“I noticed you seemed like you thought someone was following you,” Megan said, as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “But you don’t need to be afraid. I can help you. If you want, we can walk together.”
The sound of Megan’s voice made the girl freeze. It had come so suddenly that it landed like a shock. Still, Megan didn’t stop talking.
“My name is Megan,” she said, a faint smile touching her lips. “ If someone really is following you, I can help. Come on, let’s walk together. Just for a few streets, at least.”
She lowered her gaze briefly, tilting her head, and continued with that unsettling, steady confidence.
“I want to help you. We can go somewhere safe. Together.”
The girl stared at Megan, stunned. It felt as though she barely had room to resist what was being said. The suggestion unsettled her, and yet, the determination in Megan’s eyes was strangely reassuring. Megan’s presence created a sensation that hovered somewhere between suspicion and relief.
The closer the distance between them grew, the stronger the stirring inside Megan became. This -this moment- was where she felt most secure. The thing she knew better than anything else.
Control.
When the girl took a few steps toward her, Megan was flooded with a quiet sense of victory. She had taken an important step toward earning the girl’s trust. In a single, decisive motion, she smothered her own unease beneath the urge to protect her.
And the girl had no choice but to begin trusting her.