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.
Once they arrived back at the Sanctuary—hell, as Tessa always called it—Negan walked her down the hallway with that same lazy, predatory swagger, like the place existed solely for his amusement.
The walls felt too close. The air too still.
He stopped in front of her door.
His hand lingered on the knob longer than necessary, thumb tapping idly as if he were considering something. His grin twisted—cruel, knowing.
"Get some rest," he ordered, though there was no concern in his voice. Only threat. "We'll have dinner later."
He leaned in until his breath brushed her cheek, warm and deliberate.
"Try anything stupid," he murmured softly, "and Daryl dies."
The door slammed shut.
The lock clicked.
And just like that, Tessa was alone again.
Her legs nearly gave out as she turned, sinking onto the edge of the bed. The room was sparse but clean—too clean. Like a place meant to erase people, not house them. A book rested on her lap, tossed there earlier by Simon like she was a bored child who needed distracting.
She tried to read.
Tried to pretend the words mattered.
But the silence felt alive. Heavy. Watching her breathe. Crawling under her skin.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump, heart slamming painfully against her ribs.
Dwight? Simon? Someone coming to drag her to dinner?
When the lock turned, she braced herself—
—but the figure who stepped inside wasn't either of them.
A woman entered quietly, light brown hair brushing her shoulders, posture calm and practiced. She wore an elegant black dress that fit her like it belonged there, like she had learned how to survive without drawing attention. Folded fabric rested in her arms.
"You must be Tessa," the woman said gently. "I'm Sherry."
Tessa blinked.
Sherry was beautiful in a way that hurt—soft, composed, untouched by panic on the surface. A reminder of a life Tessa couldn't reach anymore. Her gaze dropped to the clothes in Sherry's arms.
"Negan asked me to get you dressed and ready for tonight."
Of course he did.
Tessa let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Perfect. Come on in." She gestured weakly. "I'm Tessa—though I guess he's already told you everything I don't want anyone to know."
Sherry didn't smile at that.
She handed over the dress, and Tessa disappeared into the bathroom. The fabric was soft beneath her fingers, delicate lace tracing her waist, a brown belt cinching her figure in a way that made her feel like someone else entirely.
Someone polished. Someone performative. Someone she didn't recognize.
For a brief, cruel moment, she saw Damon—her ex-husband—smiling at her across a dinner table she once believed meant safety. Stability. Love.
She shoved the memory away.
When she emerged, Sherry was waiting, carefully fixing the last strands of her hair with gentle hands.
The woman staring back looked composed. Desirable. Controlled.
She felt none of those things.
"Can I ask you something?" Tessa murmured.
Sherry nodded without hesitation.
"The dress," Tessa said quietly. "You're one of his wives... right?"
Sherry's hands stilled.
Her smile faltered, eyes dimming as if a light had been quietly turned off.
"Yes," she said softly.
"I'm sorry—" Tessa started.
"No," Sherry interrupted gently. "Don't be." She hesitated, then added, "We all ended up here for reasons we didn't choose."
She studied Tessa for a moment, voice lowering.
"I know we just met, but... you said yes to Negan for Daryl, didn't you?"
Tessa swallowed hard. "Yeah." Her voice cracked. "I'd do anything for him."
A pause.
"Who did you say yes for?" she asked.
"My husband," Sherry whispered. "Dwight."
The name fractured her voice.
She sat beside Tessa, fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress like it was the only thing tethering her to the past.
"Before all this, he worked for points," she said quietly. "My sister had diabetes. She needed medication we couldn't afford. Negan offered a deal. If I married him, he'd protect us. Protect her."
A tear slid down her cheek.
"We thought we could steal supplies and run. But we were caught." Her breath hitched. "My sister died without the medication. Dwight was punished anyway."
Tessa felt sick.
"Negan burned half his face."
The words landed like a blow.
"He destroys people," Tessa whispered.
Sherry nodded. "But you..." She squeezed Tessa's hand. "You're strong. I envy that. You've survived so much, and you're still fighting."
Tessa hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"I know this isn't the best time, but... I need a favor."
Sherry straightened immediately. "What is it?"
"Daryl," Tessa whispered, voice trembling. "If there's ever a chance—any chance—help him get out. Tell him I'm okay." She swallowed. "And Sherry... go with him. Promise me."
Sherry's eyes filled with grief.
"Tessa... you don't deserve this either."
"No," Tessa said fiercely. "If Negan finds out, he'll kill you. He'll kill Daryl. He'll kill anyone just because he can." Her voice broke. "I've lost too many people already. I can't lose him too."
Sherry pulled her into a hug.
Two women—different worlds, different scars—clinging to each other because sometimes broken people were the only ones who truly understood.
"I'll do what I can," Sherry whispered. "I promise. But we need to go... before Negan decides to come get you himself."
They pulled apart as footsteps echoed down the hallway.
The fragile bond between them lingered in the air—two prisoners bound by fear, survival, and a silent vow to protect the people they loved from the man who owned their lives.
