In a world ruled by fear, survival comes with a price.
When her brother's attempt to overthrow the Saviors fails, Tessa finds herself under Negan's watchful eye-protected, controlled, and dangerously close to the man she should hate. As violence, po...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Tessa yanked the shower curtain open, steam spilling into the room as she grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around herself.
"I'm coming—Jesus," she muttered, water dripping from her hair as Simon's voice barked from the other side of the door.
She swung it open.
Simon stood near the bed, setting down a bundled stack of clothes like he was dropping off supplies, not dictating her fate. His eyes lifted to hers immediately—and didn't waver.
"I said twenty minutes," he said flatly. "You nearly burned the rest of the damn day."
"Oh, get over it," she snapped, stalking past him and snatching up the bundle. "At least I haven't tried killing you yet."
She peeled the clothes open.
And froze.
Black undergarments. Thin. Deliberate. And a dress so short it barely qualified as clothing—tight, sharp, unmistakably chosen.
"You've got to be kidding me." Her stomach dropped. She tossed the dress back onto the bed like it was contaminated. "I'm not wearing that."
Simon crossed his arms, expression unmoved. "Oh yes, you are. Boss's orders."
"Then tell your boss he can shove it." She lifted her middle finger without hesitation, pulse roaring in her ears.
For a second, Simon just stared at her.
Then his grin slipped—curdling into something meaner.
He stepped closer.
"Careful," he said quietly. "I'd hate for you to end up like your buddy—eating dog food off the floor in a cell." His eyes flicked down to the dress, then back to her face. "Put it on. Or I'll be more than happy to drag you out there myself."
Something snapped.
Tessa bolted upright, eyes blazing. "Daryl's here?" Her voice shook with fury. "You son of a bitch—take me to him. Now."
Simon tilted his head, clearly enjoying the way her control cracked. "Not my call, sweetheart." He shrugged. "But maybe... if you beg real nice, Negan might let you have a peek."
The words felt like a knife twisting in her gut.
He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at her over his shoulder. "Now quit stalling and get dressed. Don't keep him waiting."
The door shut behind him with a decisive click.
Tessa stood there, breathing hard.
Her hands trembled as she stared at the dress on the bed. Rage churned in her chest—hot, suffocating—but underneath it was the cold, creeping understanding of exactly what this was.
Control.
She hated that they'd chosen something meant to make her feel exposed. Hated that refusing it would cost her more than her pride.
Slowly, she picked it up.
Her jaw tightened as she pulled it on, every movement stiff with resistance. When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, her stomach twisted.
It wasn't her.
But it was what they wanted.
And she'd learned—painfully fast—that survival here meant choosing when to fight... and when to endure.
A knock sounded at the door.
Once.
Twice.
"Let's go," Simon called from the hall.
Tessa took one last breath.
Then she squared her shoulders and stepped forward—ready or not.
