Escaping Drew's Manipulation

The email from Drew arrived while I was reviewing my latest research notes.

"Gracie, I need you to attend the weekend retreat with Marcus Webb. He's interested in your expertise on wind turbine efficiency."

I stared at the screen, my coffee growing cold beside me. "A weekend retreat?"

"It's at the Lakeside Resort," Drew continued over the phone. "Marcus specifically requested you. This could secure our funding for the next two years."

Something in his tone made my stomach knot. "What exactly does he want me to do?"

"Consulting, of course." Drew's voice carried that edge—the one that always made me doubt myself. "Your research is revolutionary. Just explain the technical aspects."

But when I arrived at the resort, Marcus had other ideas.

"Gracie," he said, his hand lingering on my lower back as he guided me toward a private cabin. "I've been looking forward to our... collaboration."

The room was set with champagne, roses, and a single king-sized bed. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"There must be a mistake," I said, backing toward the door. "I'm here to discuss renewable energy projections."

Marcus laughed, the sound thick with alcohol. "Oh, we'll discuss plenty of things. Drew said you were eager to please."

Ice flooded my veins. I fumbled for my phone and called Drew, my fingers trembling.

"What's wrong?" His voice was calm, annoyed.

"He thinks—he expects—" I couldn't form the words.

"Gracie." Drew's tone turned condescending. "You're being paranoid again. Marcus is a respected client."

"He's expecting me to sleep with him!"

"Don't be ridiculous." Drew's voice hardened. "You're misunderstanding professional relationships. This is normal networking."

Normal. The word echoed in my head as Marcus stepped closer.

"I should go," I whispered.

"Stay," Marcus insisted. "We have business to discuss."

I backed away, my heart pounding. Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Room service," called a familiar voice.

Everett burst in, his expression shifting from polite to thunderous when he saw Marcus's hand on my arm.

"Gracie," he said firmly. "There's an emergency at the office. Drew needs you immediately."

Marcus's face darkened. "This is inconvenient timing."

"Sorry to interrupt," Everett said, not sounding sorry at all. He gripped my elbow gently. "Let's go."

---

The discovery came two weeks later. I was organizing my files when I noticed my laptop had been moved. The browser history showed visits to my research folder—at 2 AM, when I'd been asleep.

"Drew," I called, carrying my laptop to the living room where he was reviewing presentations. "Have you been using my computer?"

He looked up, surprised. "Of course not."

"The history shows—"

"Oh." His expression shifted. "I borrowed it briefly. Needed to review some data."

"For your presentation tomorrow?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

My hands shook as I opened my research file. The latest simulations—my work from the past three months—were missing.

"That's my research," I said quietly. "You're presenting it as yours."

Drew stood, his face tightening. "Our research, Gracie. Our success."

"You stole it."

His expression darkened. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Everything you have is because of me," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "Everything!"

Pain shot up my arm. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"Drew, you're hurting me."

For a moment, something wild flashed in his eyes. Then, as quickly as the rage had come, it dissolved into tears.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, releasing me and collapsing onto the sofa. "I'm under so much pressure. Supporting us both—it's overwhelming."

I stood frozen, rubbing my bruised wrist.

"Please understand," he pleaded. "I need you to understand what I'm going through."

---

The knock came just as Drew and I finished dinner. Rarely did we have uninterrupted time together anymore.

"Gracie?" Sylvie's voice trembled through the door. "Please, I need help."

Drew rushed to open it. Sylvie stumbled in, her eyes red-rimmed.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, collapsing into Drew's arms. "The darkness—it's too much."

"Come sit down," Drew soothed, guiding her to our sofa.

I retreated to the bedroom, giving them space. When I returned an hour later, Sylvie was calmer, but something felt wrong.

"Where's my mother's photo?" I asked, noticing the empty spot on the mantel.

Sylvie's eyes widened. "Oh! I'm so sorry—I had an episode. I must have knocked it over."

She held out the torn photograph—my mother's face ripped in half, the frame shattered.

"Accidents happen," Drew said firmly. "Sylvie can't control her episodes."

"But that was my only—"

"Gracie." Drew's voice turned cold. "She's dealing with serious mental health issues. This isn't the time."

I stared at the ruined photograph—the only connection to my past, to my mother.

"I'm sorry," Sylvie whispered, not meeting my eyes.

"Apologize," Drew demanded.

"For what?"

"For being insensitive about mental health."

I looked at Sylvie's perfectly steady hands, at Drew's expectant stare.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though something inside me hardened like concrete.

As Sylvie left, she brushed against me. "These things happen," she murmured, so quietly only I could hear. "When you don't belong."