No news from the Consortium.
No contact with the outside world except the satellite internet that works sporadically at best.
Just us and Callum and the house and the endless Montana landscape.
Callum stays in the guest room, giving us privacy but remaining close in case we need anything.
He makes supply runs to the nearest town—thirty miles of winding mountain roads—and brings back groceries and news from the outside world.
"Nothing in the papers," he reports after the first trip, setting bags on the kitchen counter. "No mention of the showcase or any incident. The Consortium keeps their business extremely private. As far as the public is concerned, nothing happened."
"What about my company?" Vaughn asks, helping unload groceries with the kind of domestic normalcy that still feels surreal given where we were just a week ago.
"Some rumors circulating in business circles. Questions about where you are, why you've gone dark. But nothingconcrete. Your CFO is handling things well. Business as usual for now. The markets haven't reacted."
"Good. That's good. Thank you, Callum."
But I can see the tension in Vaughn's shoulders as Callum leaves us alone.
Can see the way he checks his phone compulsively even though there's barely any signal out here.
Can see the worry he's trying to hide.
He gave upeverythingfor me.
Made enemies of the most powerful men he knew.
Threatened them with exposure.
Put his entire business at risk.
And now we're waiting to see what the fallout will be.
Waiting to see if the threat was enough.
Waiting to see if we're really safe or if this is just the calm before the storm.
The guilt gnaws at me during quiet moments.
Makes me wake up at three in the morning staring at the ceiling, wondering if I should have just performed at the showcase.
Just let him have both—me and the inner circle.
Just submitted to one more degradation to save him from losing everything.
Would that have been so terrible?
Would it have been worse than this uncertainty, this waiting, this knowledge that I cost him fifty million dollars and his entire social circle and the inner circle he worked toward for five years?
But then I remember.
Remember the woman standing naked in the corner of the Grand Salon like she was a statue, like she was art instead of human.
Remember the twins made to touch each other while sixty people watched like it was dinner theater.
Remember the girl on a leash following her owner up the marble steps.
That would have been me.
