Discover May's secrets.

Magi’s authority over the other girls had a bitter and fleeting taste. Every order she gave, every submissive look she received, was tainted by the shadow of May, prostrate in his apartment. Her power was borrowed—a suit that could be reclaimed at any moment. That insecurity became a silent obsession burning within her, more potent than exhaustion or disgust.

While the girls carried out their tasks with the docility of frightened automatons, Magi began her own search. May’s office was her sanctuary, her base of operations. There had to be something more. Something that was the true source of his power.

Her fingers traced every inch of the dark wood bookshelf behind his desk. She pressed moldings, tried to turn ornaments. Nothing. Then, her eyes settled on an old mercury thermometer hanging on the wall, an artifact out of place. Guided by pure intuition, she tilted it.

A soft click. A panel of the bookshelf slid away, revealing a modern touchscreen embedded in the wall. A login prompt flickered. With her heart in her throat, she tried: C0ntr0lT0t4l. The screen flashed and granted access.

Her breath caught. Sharp icons labeled functions that were violations in themselves: Cameras (with views of the locker rooms, their showers), Audio (always-active microphones), Finance (transactions with names of powerful men for "personalized experiences"), Dossiers (files on all of them, featuring May’s cruel evaluations). Environmental Controls.

It was the brain of the beast. The master key to the entire perverse machinery.

Magi sank into May’s chair, her skin crawling. A torrent of possibilities, both terrible and liberating, flooded her mind.

She could destroy it all. Delete the files. Open every door. Shout at them to run.

But then, what? Where would Cloe go, with no family and no money? Sofia, with her self-destructive rage? Lara, who only knew how to obey? Julia, lost in her fog? And her? Back to instant noodles and the debt that had brought her here? Freedom was a terrifying precipice.

She could use the power. Like May. Control the cameras to protect them… or to spy on them. Use client information to **** them… or to provide better service. Be a benevolent jailer… or an even better-informed tyrant.

The temptation was viscous and seductive. The rage she felt toward May mingled with a sickly fascination for the efficiency of his system. He had built it all. And now, it was in her hands.

Her gaze landed on Sofia’s dossier. One click. There it was: evaluated as "rebellious," "problematic." She could… silence her. Sabotage her. Isolate her with a few commands.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

But then, an image pierced through her: Sofia on the yacht, her broken strap, her look of pure humiliation. She wasn’t just a "problem." She was a person. Just like her.

An uncontrollable tremor ran through her. Rage and temptation gave way to overwhelming panic. She didn’t know what to do. She didn't want to be May. But she didn't know how to be anything else, either. Freedom was terrifying, but power was even more so.

With a sharp, almost panicked gesture, she logged out. The panel slid shut, hiding the digital monster.

She remained sitting in the growing darkness of the office, trembling. The master key was right there, within reach, but it was too heavy to hold. She wasn't the heroine who would destroy the system. Nor was she the villain who would inherit it.

She was just a terrified girl, sitting in her jailer’s chair, with absolute knowledge of her prison and absolutely paralyzed by it. Power was not liberation; it was another cage, more sophisticated and lonely. And for the first time, she understood why May never left his own: because outside there was only chaos, and inside, at least, there was control. And now that control belonged to her, and it was the most terrifying thing she had ever held in her hands.