In the video, Ophelia called, “Honey?”
Logan stiffened, frantically tapping to close the app on his phone. She came into frame, beaming at him with such innocent adoration, dressed as though she was going out for the night—a sheer black top that showed the bra beneath and a leather skirt that was tight across her hips.
“Are you ready?” she asked, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him.
Sam burned, though he knew it was irrational. She hadn’t even known of his existence when this was filmed.
She pulled back with a smile, bumping their noses together.
“Yeah, I just need one more minute, babe.”
“Okay—but not too long. We’ll be late, and your friends are already on the fence about me. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to keep you from them.”
He smiled tightly and nodded at her, his eyes darting sidelong at the camera. When she left, he fiddled with his phone, and the lens repositioned until the bed was in the center of the frame.
His phone rang and he swore softly before picking it up. “What, dude? Yeah, tonight. I can’t keep putting it off. The higher-ups are starting to ask questions, and Tiffany is pissed about it.”
“Chop chop!” Ophelia called in a sing-song voice from out of the frame.
Something flickered in Logan’s face—regret, maybe?
“We’re coming now,” he said into the phone.
Then he was gone, and the next thing the camera picked up when the bedroom light flicked on was Ophelia sobbing, telling Logan how much he’d hurt her by trying to force his colleague on her.
Sam shut the video off, needing to look at her and reassure himself that she was fine in the present.
Her expression was peaceful in sleep as her chest rose and fell slowly.
She wouldn’t be serene for long, he mused, popping the SD card out of his arm and turning it over in his fingers. This would devastate her. He destroyed the footage in his fist, crumbling the plastic until it resembled a chewed piece of gum.
It wouldn’t be enough.
That camera might have a local memory, but it had also been transmitting to Logan’s phone over the Wi-Fi. He’d likely gotten everything he wanted from it while he’d been there, downloading the recording in real time.
Surely, she would rethink her policy about killing him now.
He picked up her phone and opened their message thread.
Can you come over tomorrow afternoon? We need to talk.
The read receipt popped up, but no bubble followed to suggest he was writing a reply. Sam tutted. It would be muchless convenient to have to hunt him down in the city. He was contemplating the best place to kill him quietly when the phone pinged.
Okay.
CHAPTER 32
Ophelia woketo the sun streaming through the blinds. Her limbs felt leaden, and her eyes were so swollen that she could barely crack them open.
Sam’s fingers sifted through her hair, catching in a snarl and untangling it with gentle tugging that pricked at her scalp. She closed her eyes, nuzzling deeper into the safety of the embrace, too cowardly to face the reality of everything that lay before them.
She didn’t know what to feel. Everything blended into a dull ache in her chest. Her muscles were so tense, as though the second she finally relaxed, the hammer would finally fall.
Logan was gone. It was over. The whirlwind years of her life, where she’d believed herself to be loved, had all been a lie.
Astoundingly, that wasn’t what devastated her the most.
No, the looming blow that terrified her was losing Sam. And shewouldlose Sam. Logan would have no reason to keep him out of the lab now. The demo was in a few days, and Sam was one of the central pieces to display. He was already slotted to be sold off to someone who would doubtless have him scrubbed of the virus that had given him so much autonomy. He wouldn’t beSam anymore, just another voiceless, compliant machine—a six-foot sex toy.
