Warning: This is a kind of story that won't please most people. It will have a distinct format – some chapters will be record-tapes playing, others diaries pages, others just regular narratives. It is not a comfy story. It will not make you feel fuzzy and great – that's not the point. The point is to explore dark and painful topics, and show how one can overcome adversities, no matter how cruel their experiences are. It's a story about strength and union and family and young love. It's raw and unapologetic.

It is intent for mature audiences.

Prologue

A hand placed a record-player on the cold, steeled table. Long fingers stretched lazily before pressing play.

*Tapes rewinding*

First voice: (muffled sounds) I… I don't know what to do. I always enjoyed control. When I was younger I craved it, you know it. When I met Ana, things changed a bit, but I still like to feel domineering, powerful – in every aspect. And now… I just… (sighs) I'm so useless. I feel useless. I feel powerless. It's so awful. I can't deal with it. I keep thinking maybe if I had done things differently this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I was around, instead of across the globe, I would have been able to prevent it. It's my fault. I've… I've failed as a father, John. I couldn't do the simple task of protecting my family. How? How is it possible? Why? Why did it happen… My girl… My baby girl… She's… What do I do, John? Please tell me. I have to do something, I have to make it better… (long sighs and muffled sounds) I just don't know how. She's hurting so badly and I don't know how to take the pain away. Fucking world! (growls) Fucking, disgusting, empty world! It's my fault isn't? I should have prevented it… I should have done something, anything… Maybe there really is a God and this is His way of saying I shouldn't have kids. I should have known it. I'm too fucked up. My life was too fucked up. I was an awful person. And now I'm paying for it. I just couldn't imagine the price would be so high. And to my little girl… John, I'm desperate. Please, help me! What do I do? What can I fucking do? (loud thump, cries)

Second voice: Christian, I'll tell you this as your friend and not your psychiatrist: It is not your fault. None of it is. It was an awful, grotesque crime that happened, but no one could have done anything to prevent it. We can't control everything. You know it. You learned it throughout the years – don't lapse out on that now. It is not your fault. Neither is Ana's or Teddy's or Phoebe's. You can't blame yourself. These events aren't planned out and can't be deterred, no matter how much we wish for it, it's out of our hands. You're not a bad father, Christian, and you have to know and understand you can't protect and obstruct your kids from the real world forever. They live in it, they are part of it. Eventually they will have to experience it. It shouldn't be this cruelly. Nobody deserves this, especially not a young girl, but calamities don't choose targets. They happen to anyone in the most unexpected times. You have to stop this self-loathing road – it is not helpful to your daughter, and right now, that's all you should have in mind: her well-being. You need to be strong and patient. Phoebe needs her father, the man she grew up with, the man she knows and loves, not this self-abhorrent shell of a person you used to be. If, indeed, there is a God, then it's not a fair one – period. Saying you shouldn't have kids is absurd Christian, you are a great man. But now you need to be strong. I don't know what else you, or anyone, can do. Situations like this are just too personal. Everyone deals with them differently. (silence) I would like to speak to Phoebe again, if that's possible. We could arrange another session for next week. (sighs) Just… Be strong… You just have to be strong Christian… You'll pull it through…

First voice: I wish I could do justice with my own hands.

*End of taping*

A dark suited man reclined on his stainless chair. He rubbed his hands over his stomach, taking his time, letting the recorded words sank in. The room was filled with an eerie silence – not even their breaths made a sound. It was almost unnatural. Almost frightening.

"So, Mr. Grey, did you do it?" The man finally asked after a moment too long. "Did you take the matter into your own hands?"

The accused leaned back in his seat as well. His own hands sprawled confidently on the tabletop. He didn't blink once. The second detective came around from behind Christian, circling his body with a predatory stance, stopping next to him and resting his hip on table. He leaned in, hoping to come across as intimidating.

"Did you kill your daughter's rapist, Mr. Grey?" The second one asked hoarsely.

Christian's back straightened up. He stared at both detectives hard, not once drifting his eyes from theirs. His gaze was bold, assuring and unapologetic. He wasn't nervous in the slightest.

"No." Christian Grey finally answered. "But I wish I had."