Tangled in a Trance

Tangled in a Trance - Chapter 1: The Challenge

I stride into Dr. Julian Voss’s office, my heels clicking on the polished hardwood, my blonde hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city skyline glitters beyond, a reminder of the stakes. I’m Elise Harper, star journalist at The Metro Pulse, and I’m here to tear down the myth of this so-called hypnotherapist. My notebook’s open, pen poised like a weapon. I’ve spent weeks digging into Voss—his polished smile, his loyal clientele, his infuriating confidence. He’s a fraud, and I’m going to prove it.

Voss leans back in his leather chair, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he gestures for me to sit. “Ms. Harper, I’ve been expecting you.” His voice is smooth, like velvet draped over steel, and it sets my nerves on edge. He’s in his late thirties, sharply dressed, with a jawline that could cut glass and a presence that fills the room. I hate how he seems to know it.

“I’m here to expose you,” I say, my tone sharp as I settle into the plush chair across from him. “Hypnotherapy’s a scam, and you’re the poster boy. I’ve got quotes from skeptics, studies debunking your ‘craft,’ and a platform ready to broadcast your downfall.” I lean forward, locking eyes. “Care to comment before I bury you?”

He chuckles, low and unruffled, steepling his fingers. “You’re direct. I like that.” His gaze flicks over me, not leering, but appraising, like he’s sizing up an opponent. “But you’re wrong. Hypnotherapy works. It changes lives. You’d know if you tried it.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “Tried it? So you can wave a watch and make me cluck like a chicken? Pass.” My lips curl into a smirk. “I’m not one of your gullible clients, Dr. Voss.”

“Julian,” he corrects, his smile widening. “And I don’t use watches. Too cliché.” He leans forward now, mirroring my posture, his voice dropping. “You want to prove I’m a fraud? Let’s make it interesting. One session. If I can’t hypnotize you, write your article. Humiliate me. End my career. I’ll even give you an exclusive interview to seal the deal.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “And if you do hypnotize me? Which you won’t.”

His eyes gleam, a spark of challenge igniting. “If I succeed, your subconscious will follow my commands—nothing harmful, just enough to prove my point. It’ll be… let’s say, free marketing for my practice. Proof hypnotherapy is real. Deal?”

The air thickens, charged with the weight of our standoff. My pulse quickens, not from fear but from the thrill of the game. He’s cocky, and I’m going to enjoy watching him crash. “Deal,” I say, extending my hand. His grip is firm, warm, and lingers a fraction too long, sending an unexpected shiver up my spine. I pull back, ignoring it, and flash a defiant smile. “You’re going down, Julian.”

He grins, unfazed. “We’ll see, Elise. Tomorrow, 3 p.m. My table, your test.”

The next day, I’m back, my confidence armor-clad. The office is dimmer now, soft lighting casting shadows on the walls. A plush recliner sits in the center, and Julian stands beside it, his white shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that distract me for a split second. I shake it off. Focus, Elise. He’s prey, not a person.

“Ready to lose?” I quip, settling into the recliner. My skirt rides up slightly, and I tug it down, aware of his eyes on me. Not predatory, but observant. It unnerves me more than I’d like.

“Ready to be surprised,” he counters, his voice low and steady. He pulls a chair close, his knees inches from mine. “Just relax. Listen to my voice. You’re in control… for now.”

I roll my eyes but lean back, determined to resist. His words flow, smooth and rhythmic, guiding me to focus on my breathing, the weight of my limbs. I’m skeptical, but his voice is a current, pulling me under despite my fight. My eyelids grow heavy, and I **** them open, glaring at him. He smiles, unperturbed, his gaze locking with mine. There’s a power in it, a quiet dominance that makes my stomach tighten.

“Elise,” he murmurs, “let go. You’re safe.” Safe. The word feels like a trap, but my body betrays me, sinking deeper. I don’t notice when my eyes close, or when my thoughts blur. His voice is all that remains, weaving commands I can’t quite hear.

When I blink awake, he’s watching me, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “How do you feel?” he asks.

I sit up, shaking off the fog. “Fine. And completely un-hypnotized.” I smirk, triumphant. “Looks like I win.”

He leans back, his expression unreadable. “Do you? We’ll see.” He hands me my bag, his fingers brushing mine, deliberate and electric. “Write your article, Elise. Let me know how it goes.”

I leave, my heart pounding with victory. Back at my apartment, I open my laptop, ready to draft the takedown of the century. My phone pings—a text from my editor, Tara. How’d it go with Voss? My fingers move before I can think, unbuttoning the top of my blouse. I freeze, my breath catching. What the hell? Another ping. Call me. Another button. My bra peeks through, and my cheeks burn red. I shove my phone away, heart racing, disbelief clawing at me.

No. It’s a coincidence. I’m fine. I won. But as I stare at my reflection, my blouse half-open, a shiver runs through me—not just fear, but something else. Something thrilling. Julian’s voice echoes in my mind, and I realize, with a flush of dread and adrenaline, that this game is far from over.