The Thomas Women

Amara's Perspective:

The lecture hall felt suffocating. Garrett’s voice reverberated through the space like a smooth toxin, infecting every corner of the room. His posture calm, his tone composed, his confidence unshakable—he didn't need to demand attention. He simply absorbed it. Amara sat in the back row, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

She hated him.

Not just for what he was doing—but because no one else seemed to care. The students weren’t resisting. They were leaning in. Listening. Taking notes. Worse: smiling. And Lexi—Lexi wasn’t sitting by Amara anymore. She wasn’t retreating into herself, afraid of every whisper or glance.

Lexi was near the front now, confident, styled, made-up. Not overdressed, but intentional. She held herself like someone who’d found her place. Her eyes didn’t flick nervously across the room anymore—they focused entirely on Garrett.

She looked... content. And powerful.

And it made Amara sick.

The worst part? Her mother had said nothing. Nia avoided her altogether. Amara felt like she was the only one left still seeing clearly, still fighting. And now even Lexi—her Lexi—was gone, and worse—taken in by him. She knew white girls could be so easily swayed, but it still stung. With her, Lexi had been treated well, given chances. Ungrateful.

She remembered one afternoon last semester. Lexi had waited outside Amara’s seminar just to walk with her. They used to talk about everything—books, politics, justice. Now? Amara couldn’t remember the last time Lexi had even looked at her.

After the lecture, Garrett announced calmly, "The pairings for the semester paper are up outside. Preferences were noted. Mostly." A few chuckles. Then movement.

Amara waited. When she approached the list, she scanned it with dull dread. There it was:

Amara – Priya.

Her eyes flicked down. Lexi – Anjila.

She turned and found them already standing together by the hallway window. Anjila beamed, genuinely pleased. She didn’t notice Amara at first. But when she did, her expression turned sly. "Finally," she said, half under her breath but loud enough. "I get to work with your little white princess. Girl needs to be put in her place. Getting mouthier every day." Amara didn’t respond outwardly, but inside she reminded herself of the plan—she was in on it. Anjila wanted this pairing, wanted to use it to get closer to Lexi and pry out more about Garrett. Amara hoped the charade would lead to answers, maybe even an end to all of this. Hopefully Lexi could still be saved… but if not, then that was simply the way it would be. She walked away, the rage still following her like a second shadow. Everything was falling apart. But she still had her grandmother. And lately—strangely—she had Anjila. Not in friendship, not yet. But in understanding.

Octavia's Perspective:

Marisol was still gone.

No explanations. No proper notice. Just vague HR memos and bureaucratic nonsense. And now Laila too? Another three-week absence. Another "temporary burnout." Octavia slammed the stack of reports on her desk with more **** than necessary.

"They don’t make minds like they used to," she muttered.

She made her way to Farida’s wing, heels clicking sharply across the polished floors. If anyone could shed light on the shifting dynamics of the faculty, it would be her.

Farida was in her office, typing quietly. Her posture was perfect. Her desk immaculate. When she looked up, her smile was polite—but thin.

"Octavia," she said, not surprised.

"You missed the cross-review last Thursday," Octavia said, closing the door gently behind her.

"It wasn’t required. I sent a summary via the new distribution form."

Octavia raised a brow. "You usually storm those meetings like a prosecutor."

Farida folded her hands. "I’ve found things move more smoothly when I let others lead."

There was a pause.

"You always hated inefficiency," Octavia said.

Farida gave a short, practiced laugh. "And yet—here we are."

Octavia’s eyes scanned the walls. Clean. Empty. No student photos, no research posters, not even the quote plaque that used to hang behind her desk. She frowned.

"You redecorated."

"Streamlined." Another smile. "The visual clutter was unnecessary."

"Farida..." Octavia sat down. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly." The answer came too fast.

Octavia studied her. No sweat. No tremble. But everything was too clean. Too rehearsed.

"You used to scribble on the corners of every memo," Octavia said, almost to herself. "Now it’s all… machine-perfect."

Farida shrugged. "I’ve learned to optimize."

Octavia hesitated. For the first time in years, she didn’t know how to read her.

She stood. "If anything changes, you’ll tell me?"

Farida tilted her head slightly. "Of course."

As Octavia walked out, the silence behind her felt colder than the hallway.

Ji and Zuleika. She’d have them support Garrett’s upcoming hypnosis study. If anything unusual was happening, surely those two would sense it. And if not… perhaps they’d draw something useful out of him anyway.

She made a note to schedule them for review.

Simone's Perspective:

Simone hummed softly as she prepared Lexi’s evening tea.

She didn’t feel tired anymore. Not in the way she used to. Her life was simpler now. Clearer. She knew her place—and it was beautiful.

Once, she would’ve called this surrender. But now? It was clarity. Purpose. Belonging.

She entered the living room quietly. Lexi sat on the velvet armchair, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through her notes with regal ease. Her makeup was flawless. Her tone when she greeted Simone was casual, yet precise.

"She’s almost done," Lexi said without looking up. "Few more days and Laila will be ready."

Simone smiled and knelt beside her. A flicker of pride burned in her chest.

"My Mistress is so talented. Mommy’s so proud of you."

Lexi finally looked up, her eyes cold and sharp. "Then show me."

There was no hesitation. Simone slid forward, her hands gentle, her movements reverent. "Yes, my sexy daughter," she murmured, earning a faint smirk.

"More licking, less talking, Mommy slut," Lexi instructed coolly. Simone obeyed without a word, her admiration growing as she realised Lexi remained icy calm, still reading, even as Simone gave her all.

Lexi’s eyes finally lifted from the page. "When was the last time you came, Mommy slut?" she asked.

Simone’s voice was breathless. "Three weeks, Mistress."

A hum of amusement. "Then we’ll wait a little longer…" Lexi pressed her head down firmly, guiding her pace, holding her there until her own release came—quick, controlled, inevitable.

Simone felt only happiness. Fulfilled in serving, content to exist in her Mistress’s shadow.

When it was over, Lexi didn’t speak. She simply returned to her notes as if nothing had happened, her hand lazily resting on Simone’s lowered head.

Her daughter. Her superior. Her legacy.

She had once written articles on feminist power structures. Now she lived in one of Lexi’s making. And it felt perfect.

Nia's Perspective:

The basement door remained locked.

Nia passed it every day now. And every time, her hatred burned hotter. That useless sow—Laila—still had her room. Still occupied a space that belonged to someone worthy. She hadn’t been seen in weeks, and yet the others whispered like she might still matter.

She kicked the wall beside the door with a muted thud.

Lexi said she was almost done. That meant soon. But Nia was tired of waiting. She wanted that bloated cow dragged out, shackled, humiliated, forgotten. Lexi deserved better. Deserved focus. Deserved loyalty.

And yet... Lexi spent hours down there. With her. Every day. Every night. She whispered into her ear. Programmed her. Played with her. Broke her.

That pig had Lexi’s full attention.

Nia’s jaw clenched. Her fingers dug into her own forearm, nails pressing red crescents into her skin. She wanted to be in that basement. Not because she deserved punishment—but because she wanted to matter again. She wanted to be the one Lexi focused on. Not some pathetic burnout case.

Laila was disgusting. But she was wanted. Nia felt discarded.

And now Lexi was spending all her time with Anjila?

She scowled, grinding her teeth. Another bitch with a smug smile and fake charm. Lexi laughed around her. Shared secrets. Discussed plans. Nia had watched from the hallway, fists clenched, heart pounding like a jealous child left outside.

She hated how her chest tightened when Lexi didn’t look her way. Hated the sting behind her eyes when Lexi called someone else by name.

She pressed her lips to the doorframe again, a little harder this time.

"Please, Big Sis," she whispered. "Look at me again. Just once."

Then she stepped back.

"Break her already. So we can move on."