Addicted (M)

Chapter 3

The walls of Jadin Walker's room were a suffocating white, the kind of sterile emptiness that felt more like a threat than a sanctuary. Avery leaned against the frame of the observation window, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. She watched him through the glass as he sat at the small desk in the corner, scribbling something onto a piece of paper with sharp, deliberate strokes.

Her gaze lingered on his hands. Large, steady, controlled. Not the hands of someone who had committed an act of blind, unthinking violence. The thought gnawed at her as she squared her shoulders and opened the door.

"Good afternoon, Jadin," she said as she stepped inside, her voice firm but measured. She wanted to set the tone early: she was in control here.

Jadin didn't look up. "Dr. Weaver," he said, his tone clipped and indifferent, as if he were greeting an old acquaintance rather than the person tasked with peeling back the layers of his mind.

She sat down across from him, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire. It was the kind of silence she knew well—the kind designed to make her uncomfortable. But she didn't flinch.

"Working on something?" she asked, nodding toward the paper he was writing on.

Finally, he looked up, his cold blue eyes locking onto hers. He held her gaze for a long moment before leaning back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just keeping my hands busy."

Avery let the comment hang in the air. She'd learned early in her career that the best way to get people to talk was to leave space for them to fill.

But Jadin wasn't like most people.

"Tell me about that night," she said, her voice steady, cutting through the pretense. "What happened with your mother?"

Jadin's smirk faded, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something that looked almost like pain. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold, detached mask he wore so well.

"I'm sure you've read the reports," he said, his tone sharp. "The detectives, the psychiatrists, the lawyers—they all had their theories. What more could I possibly add?"

"I don't care about their theories," Avery replied, her gaze unwavering. "I care about the truth. Your truth."

Jadin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his hands clasped loosely together. "The truth?" he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "The truth is a funny thing, Dr. Weaver. It's never as clean as people want it to be."

Avery's stomach twisted, but she kept her composure. She knew he was trying to rattle her, to make her doubt her ability to handle him. But she wasn't about to let him win.

"Humor me," she said, her voice cold.

For a long moment, Jadin didn't speak. He simply stared at her, his gaze unrelenting, as if he were trying to decide whether she was worth his time. Then, finally, he leaned back in his chair and let out a low chuckle.

"Alright," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You want the truth? Here it is: my mother wasn't the saint everyone thought she was. She had... secrets. Dark ones. Ones she would have done anything to keep hidden."

Avery's pulse quickened, but she kept her face neutral. "What kind of secrets?"

Jadin's smirk returned, colder this time. "The kind that ruin lives. The kind that drive people to madness. The kind that make you wonder if the person you love most is actually your worst enemy."

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and electric. Avery's mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of what he was saying. Was he telling the truth, or was this just another layer of manipulation?

Before she could press him further, the door to the room swung open, and a nurse stepped inside. "Dr. Weaver," she said, her voice tight with urgency. "There's a situation in the east wing. We need you."

Avery glanced at Jadin, her instincts screaming at her not to leave him in the middle of this revelation. But the nurse's expression left no room for argument.

"I'll be back," Avery said, her voice firm as she rose from her seat.

Jadin's smirk widened as he watched her leave, his icy gaze following her to the door. "Take your time, Doctor," he called after her, his tone dripping with mockery. "I'm not going anywhere."

As Avery stepped into the hallway, the tension in her chest refused to ease. She had the sinking feeling that whatever chaos awaited her in the east wing, it wouldn't compare to the storm brewing in Jadin Walker's mind.