Months have passed, and Logan is nowhere to be found. It's as if he's vanished into thin air, leaving Evangeline to grapple with the void he left behind. Each day bleeds into the next, a monotonous cycle of pretending and faking her way through encounters with clients who never see the real her. She goes through the motions, her smile mechanical, her laughter hollow, and every night she retreats to her empty apartment feeling more lost and disconnected than the night before.

Evangeline stands in front of her bathroom mirror, scrutinizing her reflection. Dark circles mar her eyes, and her face is gaunt, a shadow of the vibrant woman she once was. She runs a hand through her hair, sighing deeply. This life, this existence, is suffocating her. She's alive, but she isn't living. There's a fundamental difference between the two, and she's stuck on the wrong side of the line.

Tonight, she's supposed to meet another client, a wealthy investment banker who requested her company for dinner and drinks. As she dresses, slipping into a form-fitting black dress and applying a mask of makeup, she can't shake the feeling of dread that coils in her stomach. The act of getting ready feels like preparing for battle, donning armor for a fight she doesn't want to engage in.

The restaurant is one of the city's finest, all crystal chandeliers and plush velvet seating. Evangeline walks in, her heels clicking on the marble floor, and spots her client at a corner table. He's already sipping on an expensive glass of wine, his eyes lighting up as he sees her approach. She plasters on a smile, slipping into the chair across from him.

"Evangeline, you look stunning," He says, his gaze lingering on her.

"Thank you," She replies, her voice smooth and practiced.

She picks up the menu, scanning the options without really seeing them. Her mind is elsewhere, trapped in a cycle of questioning her choices, her path, her very existence.

Dinner progresses as usual, the client talking about his latest business deals and expensive hobbies while Evangeline nods and feigns interest. She's become an expert at this, at making people feel seen and heard while she herself remains invisible. She takes small bites of her food, chewing slowly, the taste barely registering. Everything feels distant, muted, like she's moving through a fog.

Halfway through the meal, she zones out completely, her mind drifting to memories of her mother, of Logan, of what her life could have been if she'd made different choices. She doesn't even notice when the client asks her a question, snapping back to reality only when he clears his throat pointedly.

"Sorry, what was that?" She asks, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I asked if you wanted to try the dessert," He repeats, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Sure," She says quickly, forcing another smile, "Dessert sounds great."

The client orders a lavish chocolate torte, and they continue their conversation. But Evangeline's heart isn't in it. She's tired, so tired of this charade, of pretending to be someone she's not. She finishes her wine, hoping the alcohol will dull the ache inside her, but it does little to help.

When the evening finally ends, and they step outside into the cool night air, Evangeline feels a profound sense of relief. She thanks the client, accepting the envelope he hands her with a practiced grace. As he drives away, she stands on the sidewalk, clutching the envelope, and stares up at the night sky.

She's alive, her heart is beating, her lungs are drawing breath, but she's not living. There's no joy, no passion, no purpose in her days. Each moment feels like an obligation, a duty she has to fulfill rather than a choice she's made. She's a ghost, drifting through life without direction or meaning.

Walking home, the city around her hums with life. People laugh and talk, their voices blending into a symphony of existence. She watches couples holding hands, friends sharing stories, families enjoying their time together. They're living, truly living, experiencing life in all its vibrant colors. And she's stuck in grayscale, unable to break free from the chains she's bound herself with.

Her apartment is dark and quiet, the silence pressing in on her. She tosses the envelope onto the table and sinks onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. The tears come, hot and unbidden, and she doesn't have the strength to fight them anymore. She cries for the life she's lost, for the dreams she abandoned, for the person she used to be.

Evangeline thinks of Logan, of the strength and kindness he showed her. She wonders what he's doing, where he is, if he ever thinks of her. She longs to see him again, to feel that connection, that spark of something real. But he's gone, and she's left alone with her regrets and her emptiness.

Evangeline sits across from her latest client, a man in his early forties with piercing blue eyes and an air of authority. They're at an upscale lounge, sipping cocktails and making small talk. The evening is progressing as it usually does, her laughter forced, her smiles practiced. But something about this client feels off. There's an intensity in his gaze that unsettles her, a predatory gleam that makes her skin crawl.

He's been asking probing questions, more personal than she's used to. Normally, clients are content with superficial chatter, but this man seems intent on digging deeper. She deflects as best she can, steering the conversation back to safer topics, but he's persistent.

"So, Evangeline," He says, leaning in closer, "tell me about your family. Do you have any siblings?"

Her heart skips a beat, and she forces a smile.

"I'm an only child," She replies, taking a sip of her drink to hide her discomfort.

"And your parents? Are they still around?"

The mention of her parents hits her like a punch to the gut. She swallows hard, trying to keep her composure.

"They passed away," She says, her voice tight.

He nods, seemingly sympathetic, but there's a glint in his eyes that makes her uneasy, "I'm sorry to hear that. Must be tough, being on your own."

She nods, not trusting herself to speak. The mask she wears feels heavier than ever, and she's struggling to keep it in place. She glances at the clock, willing the evening to end. But time seems to drag, each minute stretching into an eternity.

Eventually, the weight of her charade becomes too much. She feels herself cracking, the façade slipping. She stands abruptly, nearly knocking over her glass.

"I need to go," She says, her voice wavering.

The man's expression shifts, his eyes narrowing.

"Sit down," He says, his tone commanding.

A chill runs down her spine, but she tries to keep her voice steady, "I'm sorry, I just... I can't do this tonight."

He grabs her wrist, his grip like iron.

"You're not going anywhere," He growls, pulling her back into her seat.

Fear surges through her, but she tries to remain calm.

"Let go of me," She says, her voice trembling.

He doesn't release her. Instead, he tightens his grip, his eyes boring into hers.

"You're going to stay right here and finish this evening with me," He says, his voice low and menacing.

Evangeline's heart pounds in her chest. She knows she's in danger, and her instincts scream at her to run, to fight. But she's trapped, his grip unyielding. She tries to pull away, but he's too strong.

The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vial.

"I didn't want to have to do this," He says, unscrewing the cap and pouring the contents into her drink, "But you're leaving me no choice."

Panic sets in as she realizes what he's doing. She tries to scream, but he clamps a hand over her mouth, forcing the glass to her lips. The liquid burns as it goes down, and she chokes, her vision blurring.

"Good girl," He murmurs, his voice a sickening purr, "Now, just relax. Everything will be fine."

Her limbs feel heavy, her thoughts muddled. She tries to stand again, but her legs won't support her. She stumbles, and he catches her, holding her up as the room spins around her.

"Come on," He says, dragging her toward the exit, "We're going somewhere more private."

She struggles weakly, but the drug is taking hold, sapping her strength. Her vision narrows, darkness encroaching on the edges. She tries to fight it, to stay conscious, but it's no use. She feels a sharp pain at the back of her head, and everything goes black.

When Evangeline regains consciousness, she's in a dimly lit room, her head throbbing. She tries to move, but her hands and feet are bound, the ropes cutting into her skin. She's lying on a cold, hard floor, her body aching from the restraints.

Panic surges through her as she realizes the gravity of her situation. She's been kidnapped, drugged, and now she's at the mercy of a man who clearly has no intention of letting her go. She tries to think, to come up with a plan, but her mind is foggy, the drug still affecting her.

The door creaks open, and the man steps inside, a cruel smile on his face.

"Ah, you're awake," He says, his tone mocking, "I was wondering how long it would take."

Evangeline glares at him, fear and anger mingling in her chest.

"What do you want from me?" She demands, her voice hoarse.

He crouches down beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"You're a very interesting woman," He says, "I've been watching you for a while now."

Her heart sinks. This isn't just some random client. He's been stalking her, planning this. She tries to swallow her fear, to appear strong, but it's difficult when she's so vulnerable.

"Let me go," She says, trying to keep her voice steady, "You don't have to do this."

He laughs, a cold, mirthless sound.

"Oh, but I do," He says.

She struggles against the ropes, but they're too tight. He stands, looking down at her with a smug expression. Evangeline says nothing, her eyes burning with hatred. He seems unfazed by her silence, turning to leave the room.

As the door closes behind him, Evangeline takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

Hours pass, each one stretching into an eternity. She tries to work the ropes loose, her wrists chafing against the rough fibers. Her body aches, her head still pounding from the blow, but she refuses to give in to despair.

The room is silent, the only sound her ragged breathing. She can't tell how much time has passed, but it feels like an eternity. Every minute is a battle, every second a test of her resolve.

Finally, the door opens again, and the man steps inside. He looks at her, his expression one of cruel amusement.

"Ready to talk?" He asks, his voice dripping with condescension.

Evangeline glares at him, her jaw clenched.

"Go to hell," She spits, her voice filled with venom.

He laughs, shaking his head.

"Feisty. I like that," He says, "But it won't help you. Not here."

He steps closer, and she braces herself for whatever is coming next. She won't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. She's stronger than that. She has to be.

Evangeline's eyes narrow as her captor steps closer, his cruel smile widening.

"You see, Evangeline," He begins, his tone almost conversational, " I believe you have... potential."

She struggles against the ropes, her skin raw and burning where the fibers cut into her.

" Potential?" She echoes, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Is that what you're calling this?"

He chuckles, shaking his head, "Oh, you misunderstand. I think you have untapped abilities, dormant powers that just need a little... coaxing to come out."

A chill runs down her spine as his words sink in. He's not just a deranged kidnapper; he believes she's a mutant who hasn't manifested her powers yet. And he's willing to do whatever it takes to force them out.

"I'm not a mutant," She says, trying to keep her voice steady.

He waves a dismissive hand, "We'll see about that. In my experience, everyone has a breaking point. It's just a matter of finding it."

Evangeline's heart pounds in her chest as he retrieves a small black case from a nearby table. He opens it, revealing an array of syringes and vials filled with various colored liquids.

"We'll start with something simple," He says, selecting a syringe filled with a clear liquid, "A little serum to heighten your senses. Maybe it will trigger something."

She struggles harder, but it's no use. The ropes are too tight, and her captor is too strong. He kneels beside her, his smile never wavering as he injects the serum into her arm. The liquid burns as it enters her bloodstream, and she bites back a scream, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

The effects are almost immediate. Her vision sharpens, every detail of the dimly lit room coming into stark focus. Her hearing amplifies, picking up even the faintest rustle of his clothing. Her skin tingles, hyper-aware of every movement, every shift in the air.

"How do you feel?" He asks, his voice a sickening blend of curiosity and amusement.

Evangeline grits her teeth, refusing to answer. She won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's affected her. She won't let him break her.

He frowns, clearly disappointed by her silence.

"No matter," He says, selecting another syringe, "We have plenty of time to see what works."

The next injection is worse. The serum sends waves of pain coursing through her body, each one more intense than the last. She bites her lip until she tastes blood, struggling to keep from screaming. The pain is excruciating, but she clings to the thought that she's not a mutant. There's nothing he can do to make her manifest powers she doesn't have.

He watches her with a clinical detachment, making notes on a clipboard.

"Interesting," He murmurs, "Your tolerance for pain is quite high. Let's see how long that lasts."

Hours blur together in a haze of pain and fear. He injects her with various serums, each one more potent than the last. He hooks her up to machines that monitor her vital signs, looking for any hint of a change. He shocks her with electric currents, each jolt searing through her nerves.

Through it all, Evangeline fights to remain conscious, to keep her grip on reality. She focuses on the memories of her mother, the warmth of her touch, the sound of her voice. She clings to those moments, drawing strength from them as her captor continues his experiments.

At one point, he steps back, frustration evident on his face.

"Why aren't you changing?" He mutters, pacing the room, "What am I missing?"

Evangeline uses the momentary reprieve to catch her breath, her body trembling from the strain.

"I told you," She says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm not a mutant."

He rounds on her, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Lies!" He shouts, slamming his fist into the wall, "You have to be."

She flinches at the outburst, but her resolve hardens.

"You're wrong," She says, meeting his gaze with defiance, "There's nothing special about me."

His face contorts with rage, and he storms over to her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back, "I'm not done with you yet."

The next hours are a blur of pain and confusion. He subjects her to more tortures, each one designed to push her to her limits. He deprives her of sleep, keeping her awake with blaring lights and loud noises. He starves her, offering only water to keep her hydrated. He breaks her bones, only to set them again and watch them heal.

She can feel herself slipping into unconsciousness, the darkness beckoning her with the promise of relief. But she forces herself to stay awake, to keep fighting.

Just as she feels herself starting to drift, the door bursts open, and a figure strides into the room. Her vision is blurry, but she recognizes the familiar silhouette, the wild hair and the fierce expression.

And as the darkness takes her, she feels a glimmer of hope.

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