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...
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Negan guided Tessa through the dim halls of the Sanctuary and out into the open yard. The heavy doors creaked shut behind them, sealing off the darkness she'd been suffocating in for days.
Daylight hit her like a blow.
The sudden brightness stabbed at her eyes, white and unforgiving, and she flinched, lifting a hand too late. She hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd seen the sky. How much she'd missed the simple act of breathing open air without walls closing in.
She drew in a sharp breath—
And gagged.
The stench hit her immediately. Rot. Metal. Old blood baked into concrete. Decay so thick it coated her tongue. Walkers clawed uselessly at chain-linked fences lining the yard, jaws snapping against restraints, fingers scraping metal with hollow insistence. Their moans rose and fell like a warning siren, as if they were begging her to turn back while she still could.
Her gaze flicked past them—
And froze.
"Daryl."
The word left her before she could stop it.
He turned at the sound of her voice.
For a single heartbeat, she saw the man she knew—the one who fought beside her, covered her back, dragged her out of hell more times than she could count. The man who once met fear with a crooked grin and stubborn defiance.
Then the illusion shattered.
He looked destroyed.
Eyes sunken deep into his skull. Jaw bruised and split. Shoulders slumped like the weight of the world had finally crushed him. Whatever fire he once carried had been beaten down to embers.
A shell.
Her body moved on instinct, heart slamming painfully against her ribs. She stumbled forward, ignoring the ache in her legs, ignoring everything—
Only for a hand to clamp around her arm like a vise.
Before thought could catch up, she whirled and slapped.
The crack of her palm echoed through the yard, sharp and loud. Negan's cheek barely shifted from the impact—but his grin vanished instantly.
In the blink of an eye, she was slammed back against the truck.
Metal bit into her spine, knocking the breath clean out of her lungs. Pain flared hot and immediate as the world tilted. She gasped, the sound coming out broken and useless.
Daryl lunged, fury blazing across his ruined face—but Saviors swarmed him before his foot even hit the dirt, hands grabbing, forcing him down.
Negan leaned in close, his breath ghosting her cheek—cold, venomous.
"You really don't know when to stop, do ya, sweetheart?"
His voice was low enough that only she could hear it.
"If I didn't find you so damn entertaining, you'd be hangin' next to those walkers right now."
His fingers dug into her jaw, forcing her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "That's strike one. Two more... and I put your boy in the ground. You understand?"
His stare burned into her, daring her to test him.
Her throat tightened painfully. Slowly, she forced a shaky nod.
"There she is," Negan cooed, mock affection dripping from every syllable. His grin slithered back into place as if it had never left. He patted her cheek—light, humiliating—like she was a misbehaving pet. "Now let's get this show on the goddamn road."
He hauled her into the truck, shoving her between himself and another Savior. The cab felt too small, too hot, too close—filled with the smell of leather, sweat, and Negan's presence pressing in from all sides.
Negan's hand slid lazily onto her thigh—heavy, possessive, claiming.
Every nerve in her body screamed to shove him away. To break his wrist. To stab him with the heel he'd forced her to wear.
But she knew better.
She stared straight ahead, jaw locked, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. Exhaustion dragged at her eyes, heavy and relentless. Fear and adrenaline could only carry her so far.
Eventually, her body betrayed her.
When she woke, her cheek was pressed to something warm. Solid.
She jerked back—
Negan's shoulder.
He smirked, delighted.
"Perfect timing, baby. We're here."
He flung the truck door open and hopped down, turning back toward her with a twisted gentleman's flourish.
She ignored the offered hand and climbed down stiffly, legs aching, spine screaming from the earlier impact.
Negan stepped close—too close—his voice smooth but edged with steel.
"By now you know the rules. But let me spell it out one more time. If you try anything—and I mean anything—someone dies. Got it?"
Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Yes, sir."
"That's what I like to hear." His approving grin glinted like a knife.
"Stay."
He strode toward Alexandria's gates, Lucille thudding rhythmically against the metal with every step. Spencer finally opened the gates, clueless and smiling, unaware of the storm he was letting in.
From where she stood, Tessa saw Rick approaching.
Their eyes locked across the distance.
Her chest tightened painfully, breath catching in her throat.
Rick looked at her—really looked—taking in the heels, the dress, the makeup, the way Negan hovered too damn close. The way she stood stiff and silent like she didn't belong to herself anymore.
Guilt, horror, and rage warred openly across his face.
She shook her head, small and sharp.
Don't. Not now.
Dwight's hand touched her shoulder, guiding her forward. Instinctively, she drifted closer to Daryl—needing him, needing the shield of his broken presence against the leers of the Saviors who eyed her like she was new merchandise.
Negan's arms spread wide as he marched into Alexandria, voice booming with false delight.
"Hot diggity dog! This place is magnificent! You've got plenty to offer—I can feel it!"
Rick's voice cracked when he called out. "Tessa... Daryl..."
Her name on his lips hit her like both a comfort and a knife. Negan saw it immediately. He threw his arm across her shoulders, yanking her tight against his chest.
"No, no, no," he said brightly. "Don't distract her, Rick. She's workin'."
He tilted his head toward her, grinning.
"Her job is to stand there and look pretty. Don't look at them. Don't talk to them."
His grip tightened around her waist, bruising.
"And I sure as hell won't make you chop anything off 'em."
His laughter rang out—warm, careless, filling the street.
But to Tessa, it sounded like chains locking shut.
