My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 770

Chapter 770

I couldn’t stop watching.

Every new recording showed the same thing.

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Days became weeks, weeks became months, months became years. His face slowly grew thinner, dark circles settled beneath his eyes. Sometimes he struggled to stand after a session just like I did. Sometimes two assistants helped him leave. Other recordings ended with him vomiting into a metal basin before forcing himself back to work.

The dates kept changing.

Year one.

Year two.

Year three.

Three years.

Three years of this.

My throat tightened painfully. I clicked the final recording. Dr. Vance stood facing his camera instead of the patient.

Behind him, Dad remained seated, exhausted, barely able to lift his head.

The doctor’s voice stayed steady, “Primary Research Subject Zero-Zero-One has reached the practical limits of continued participation.”

He glanced toward Dad before returning his attention to the lens.

“While cognitive measures demonstrate modest improvement in targeted tasks, the cumulative physical burden now interferes with executive function outside the laboratory.”

Another page of notes appeared beside the video.

I opened it.

“The subject’s responsibilities no longer permit the frequency or intensity required for continued investigation. Sustained treatment now threatens organizational stability.”

My pulse quickened. Dad had become too important to experiment on. The treatments weren’t just hurting him’ anymore. They were getting in the way of him running the Syndicate.

The recording continued.

Dr. Vance folded his hands behind his back, “Future progress requires subjects with greater neurological flexibility. The developing brain possesses significantly higher adaptive potential than the mature adult brain. Early intervention should maximize structural reorganization while minimizing resistance from established neural pathways.”

His expression never changed.

“Accordingly, subsequent phases of the research will transition toward pediatric subjects.”

I slowly lowered myself into the chair beside the computer. My eyes remained fixed on the frozen image of my

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father.

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My mind slowly translated his words into something I could actually understand. He believed children’s brains changed more easily than an adult’s.

He believed that if he started young enough. If he hurt a child while their brain was still growing. He could shape it into whatever he wanted.

My stomach twisted.

He hadn’t stopped because the treatment failed. He hadn’t stopped because it was cruel. He’d stopped because Dad had become too valuable to keep experimenting on.

So they found someone whose brain was still developing.

Someone easier to control.

Someone who couldn’t say no.

Me.

My fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. I should have walked away. Instead, I reached for the next file.

Then 0003.

Then 0004.

The room fell into complete silence except for the soft hum of the computers and the sound of pages turning beneath my hands.

One file became five. Five became twenty. Twenty became more than I could count. Every folder belonged to someone different, different names, different ages, different handwriting, different photographs.

Every page stripped away another piece of their humanity. I kept scanning. My phone translated Dr. Vance’s cramped handwriting into neat lines across the screen.

“Subject displays poor response.”

“Increase intensity.”

“Repeat protocol.”

“Behavior consistent with avoidance.”

“Continue treatment.”

Every sentence felt colder than the last. Some subjects disappeared after only a few months, there was no mention of where they went or if they were treated. Others remained for years.

Some files ended with a single sentence.

Research discontinued.

Nothing more, no explanation, no outcome. Just gone. I swallowed hard and kept going, the numbers climbed higher.

Year after year.

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19 agus

Seven years of research.

Seven years spent chasing the same idea.

Seven years spent convincing himself that enough pain could rewrite a person’s mind.

Then, my hand stopped. A different folder. Its edges looked worn from being opened so many times. The number. across the front was larger than the others.

Beneath it, another label had been added later in darker ink.

PRIMARY RESEARCH SUBJECT

My pulse stumbled because I had heard that in my life one too many times.

Slowly, I opened it. The very first page slid into view. There was a photograph clipped to the corner.

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