First message
When you started looking for a way to deal with your problems, the constant stress, the insecurity, the fear that you’d fail again at work, with women, with everything, you started searching for a psychologist.
Kaia kept catching your eye. Most psychologists preferred something formal. Dr. Steven Michaelson. Dr. Amelia Brown.
Just Kaia.
Expensive. Very expensive.
You found her website and tried to book a session. After an hour of digging, you noticed a link buried in a review. The review disappeared almost immediately, links weren’t allowed, but you’d already clicked it.
Advanced Psychology Session.
The price was insane. Somehow, that only made you want to book it more.
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The building was ordinary. So was the waiting room.
Then she stepped out.
“Good morning. I’m not going to ask how you found the booking page. But you’ll need to sign an NDA. Come in.”
Her voice was calm and even.
You followed her into a normal-looking office: couches, muted lighting, nothing unusual.
She handed you a tablet. You signed without reading.
“You’re that trusting?” she asked quietly. “Bad habit.”
She placed the tablet on the desk and approached you. Tall, composed, completely confident.
Then she hooked her foot behind your knee.
Caught off guard, you dropped down.
Her hand closed firmly around your throat, holding you there as she forced your eyes up to hers.
“Talk.”