Aspen grumbled, “Ugh! This is so annoying! Andrew, you bastard! Just go to hell already…”

She pounded her fists into the cartoon pillow in front of her, venting her frustration.

Her small but perfectly shaped chest pressed against the mattress, bouncing slightly with each hit. It was just too bad Andrew was not here to appreciate the view.

Just then, her laptop on the desk chimed.

Aspen pushed herself up, straightened the hem of her tight skirt, and walked over to check the screen. She mumbled, “A video call? And it’s from Ms. Garcia? What could this be about?”

Puzzled, she clicked ‘Accept.’

Chantelle’s face immediately appeared on the screen. “Ms. Stevens, I hope I’m not disturbing you!”

Aspen leaned closer, her tone wary. “Ms. Garcia, is there something urgent? Just get straight to the point.”

Chantelle shook her head. “Nothing urgent. I just wanted to encourage you to give Andrew a little boost.”

Aspen frowned. “Give Andrew a boost? How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

Chantelle smiled, her eyes glinting behind her glasses. “Tomorrow is the Grand Medical Summit, and Mr. McCormick is placing a lot of hope on it. To give you a little insider info, Mr. McCormick has higher expectations for Mr. Lloyd than for Blumedale Hospital.”

Aspen’s eyes widened in surprise. “Mr. McCormick has that much confidence in Andrew?”

Chantelle chuckled. “Exactly. That’s why I thought you might want to cheer him up tonight, maybe help him relax a bit.”

Aspen let out a cold snort. “I don’t know how to ‘cheer him up.’ Right now, all I feel toward him is pure annoyance!”

Chantelle’s grin grew even more wicked. “Ms. Stevens, stop lying to yourself. I’ve known for a long time that you have feelings for Andrew, don’t you?”

Aspen’s eyes narrowed. “You’re wrong.”

Chantelle’s smile did not falter. “Come on, Aspen, your Stockholm syndrome is practically textbook at this point. Don’t rush to deny it. I’ve told you before–I’m not just Mr. McCormick’s secretary. My understanding of psychology is far beyond the average person’s. Your every word, every movement, even the look in your eyes, all scream classic Stockholm syndrome.”

Aspen clenched her fists. “Go on then. I’d love to hear your so-called psychological analysis.”

Chantelle adjusted her glasses, her smile sharp. “Alright, I’ll be blunt. Your condition is getting worse, but Andrew’s attention toward you hasn’t increased. In fact, it might have decreased. That’s why you deliberately pick fights with him, throw little tantrums, trying to force him to pay attention to you, right?”

Aspen’s face flushed with a mix of shame and anger. “Ms. Garcia, you’re full of crap!”

Chantelle’s grin only grew more twisted, a hint of excitement flashing in her eyes. “Am I really? Deep down, you know I’m right. You can’t face your own feelings, so let me drag them out into the open, letting me strip away all your pretenses and expose you completely. You want Andrew to whip you, humiliate you, torment you, even take you, don’t you?”

The sudden, blunt words hit Aspen like a lightning bolt. Her soft, alluring body froze on the spot, her breath catching in her throat.

Chantelle burst into laughter. “Ms. Stevens, this is classic Stockholm syndrome taken to the extreme! Honestly, finding someone as deeply afflicted as you is incredibly rare. This won’t do. I have to dig deeper and uncover every dark corner of your mind. You fantasize about Andrew punishing you, overpowering you, breaking you–don’t you? In those countless lonely nights, you imagine him forcing himself on you, pushing you to your limits, until you’re gasping for air, trembling at the peak of pleasure. Not just being conquered but being completely taken, filled, driven to your breaking point…”

Chantelle paused, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She cleared her throat and added, “Sorry, I might have gotten a bit too explicit there. However, as a psychologist, I have to be thorough in my analysis. I hope you can understand.”

Aspen immediately slammed the laptop shut, her chest heaving violently. Hot, rapid breaths escaped her slightly parted lips, her face burning with a mix of rage and shame.

She shouted, “Shut up! You’re all full of crap!”

She buried her fingers in her hair, her mind a chaotic storm of humiliation and twisted desire.

Chantelle’s cruel words had left her feeling as if she had been stripped bare, standing completely exposed before Andrew. Yet, beneath the shame, a faint, dangerous thrill pulsed through her.