#ryan wheeler

The way his gaze skirted over her frame whenever they were alone together caused Serena to tense up in his presence; she wondered what he wanted, what he might expect. Mr. Wheeler was younger than her, with boyish features that made him seem even more so, but he still held more power. Significantly more, she admitted to herself, with an anxiety that rotted away at her core the more time she spent in the presence of the Wheelers. 

The more it became obvious she was nothing more than a handmaid to them.

But nothing was out in the open yet; they hadn’t locked her away or discussed her fertility or renamed her, ‘ofRyan.’ Still. She felt like she was walking a fine line between a facade of cordiality and some bigger plan they had yet to unveil. 

Perhaps she could use his attraction to her to her advantage, to get <i>some</i> say, <i>some</i> leverage.

Serena felt like she was wasting away within the walls of the Wheeler’s home, with nothing to do, no one to talk to. 

So she confronted him alone, when Mrs. Wheeler was likely upstairs, asleep. Slipped through the door at his surprised nod, swallowing down her trepidation. She hoped the low lighting would hide her nerves from him.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you.”

“Is there a problem?” He raised a brow, studying her curiously.

“No! No, not at all. I was just hoping for a moment with you.”

“You gonna shoot me?”

Her stomach dropped, and toenails curled into her shoes, but he shrugged it off, as if they were both in on the joke. 

“What can I do for you?”

She tried to control her breathing, nerves frying her insides, and took a step forward. Explained how the concept of turning the building into a fertility center was her idea. How she wanted to be there, as a symbol and proof of a successful pregnancy.

He pursed his lips. “I’ll consider it.”

Serena waited, hoping for more, another cue to indicate what decision he was leaning toward. When it was met with a stoic expression and silence she just said, “okay,” and turned to leave.

As soon as she put her hand on the door, his voice sliced through the quiet room. “Although, I could be convinced.”

Her breath caught; she was anticipating and dreading this moment equally, and turned. “How so?”

He bit his lip, his gaze more brazenly tracing her form, smirking a little. “We’ve been quite generous, letting you stay here. Free food, free shelter, free medical support.” She flinched, remembering the gynecologist who hit on her, but smoothed her features. “So you tell me. What do you think is fair?”

Her body froze up, and she swayed a little, uncertain of what to do and afraid to make the wrong choice. After an uncomfortably long moment, she said, “I…well. What would it take to convince you?”

His smirk grew, and he widened his legs. “Come here.”