Chapter 6

　　"What is The Black Room?" I asked. I wasn't particularly curious—the name alone sounded ominous enough to make me want nothing to do with it. I'd already tried to leave twice now, but Hot-Shot here kept insisting this conversation would be worth my time.

　　"The Black Room is an underground research laboratory," Theo replied. "Filled with scientists working day and night to understand the human mind."

　　He placed his phone on the desk and pushed it toward me.

　　I picked it up and scrolled through the screen. There were photos—too many—of mentally ill patients, some strapped to beds, others mid-treatment. My gut twisted.

　　As I stared, he continued. "Over the years, we've created several psychoactive substances used to treat people with various psychological conditions. And currently, Medi-Tech is working alongside us to produce the ultimate mind medicine—Therapyne."

　　Theo's voice was deeper and throatier than Harold's, but it felt empty. Robotic. Like he'd been programmed for business and hadn't had a single genuine emotion in years.

　　"The drug Richard Angelo claimed to have invented?" I asked, feigning interest. Truthfully, all I wanted was to return to my cell.

　　"Richard Angelo didn't invent shit," Theo snapped. "He's just one of our largest investors. He bought the rights to make that claim. Therapyne was created by a large team of scientists who are still actively refining how it works."

　　His voice had tightened. I'd struck a nerve.

　　"How does it work?" I asked, nudging the phone back to him.

　　"Therapyne functions like a debugger. It attacks and corrects abnormalities—not just in the brain, but in the intangible mind as well. The drug is designed to improve a patient's overall wellbeing—possibly even enhance their abilities beyond their original potential."

　　He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Some patients we've tested it on recently have experienced improved mental capacity, enhanced emotional regulation, and even increased physical strength. For a few… let's just say the drug worked a little too well, and they had to be neutralized."

　　"Right, right," I said flatly. "And how do I fit into all of this?"

　　"We're looking for the perfect face for the product. Someone recognizable, with a troubled past, who's desperate for a fresh start. Someone who can help us introduce Therapyne to the world."

　　"And that person is me?" I asked, though it wasn't really a question. The signs were all there.

　　"Miss Angel," Theo began, folding his hands together, "you were disowned and humiliated by your family, endured three years of domestic abuse, and lived with PTSD for four more. You battled drug addiction and depression. You attempted to take your life—more than once. And now, you've unintentionally taken someone else's. I can only imagine what that's doing to your mind right now."

　　I clenched my jaw. "Yeah? So?"

　　"The picture looks like this," he said. "You're up against two of the most powerful and dangerous families in the city—The Angelos and The Fredricks. Given your current financial situation, you don't stand a chance. You're either going to be sentenced to life in prison... or death. There's no escape."

　　"And?" I said again, more firmly.

　　"That's where I step in," Theo offered. "I'll help you, and you'll help me. Richard has tainted your public image. But with my help, you can clean it up. Show everyone you're not the monster he painted you to be. Prove that Jennifer's death was a tragic mistake, not premeditated murder. All I ask in return is that you become the face of our product."

　　"Pass," I said instantly, rising from my seat. "Harold offered me the same deal. You're just dressing it up to sound mutual."

　　"But it is mutual," Theo countered, standing as well. "You rejected Harold's offer because it came gift-wrapped in pity. And pity is the last thing you want, isn't it? You're tired of being told to pull yourself together. Tired of people patting you on the back while secretly judging you."

　　I paused, folding my arms tightly across my chest. "And how exactly would you know what I want?"

　　"I know people like you. You want to be heard. You want to be seen—not as the weak woman who ran to Forest Hills to escape the wreckage of her life, but as someone who survived it. Who stood up and crawled out of the rubble stronger than ever."

　　Theo's voice, though composed, had the rehearsed crispness of a salesman. Like he'd stood in front of a mirror and practiced that line a hundred times just to get the tone just right.

　　He placed his hands flat on the table. "You want people to know that Angel isn't just your name—it's what you are. And I can help you show them."

　　I stared at him for a long beat, then let out a soft scoff. "What a speech," I said, half-laughing. My voice cracked slightly, and I realized my eyes were starting to sting.

　　No one had ever understood me like this before. Even if his words sounded superficial, Theo had peeled back layers of my soul in under five minutes. He'd told me more about myself than I'd ever dared to admit.

　　But I couldn't let him see that.

　　"I'm intrigued," I said, slowly sitting back down. "But how exactly are you going to get me out of jail? I don't suppose you have connections in high places too."

　　"As a matter of fact, I do," Theo said calmly. "But if we're going to clean up your image, it has to be spotless. No shortcuts. No crimes. Everything has to be done by the book."

　　"And how do you intend to play by the book when I've got two families gunning for me?" I asked.

　　"We'll hire the best lawyer we can and build your defense around mental trauma—disorders inflicted on you by years of abuse and manipulation from Richard Angelo and your family. We've already got proof he was a terrible husband. It won't be hard to convince the court."

　　He leaned in, eyes sharp. "You'll likely be sentenced to a few months—maybe a couple of years—in a psychiatric ward."

　　"What? No," I exclaimed.

　　"Relax," he said with a hint of a smirk. "You won't be locked away with strangers. I'll make sure you're admitted into The Black Room. My ward. You'll have all the freedom you want—as long as you stick to your contract during your sentence."

　　I let out a shaky sigh and leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes. "Alright then. I'm not exactly a fan of being a science experiment, and I really don't mind dying in here. But... if there's even the slightest chance I can change my life—prove to Richard that I'm not as weak as he thinks I am... then I'm in."