What the fuck happened while they were out?
When she appears, I can’t help but study her every movement, searching for any sign that she’s okay.She moves with a certain heaviness as if the weight of the world is pressing down on her.
In the kitchen, she grabs a huge bottle of Coke and fills a glass, chugging it down like she’s trying to drown something inside. She refills the glass and downs it just as quickly, and I can’t help but feel a tightening in my chest.
She’s hurt.
But what hurt her?
With the bottle in hand, she walks slowly to the couch and sinks into the cushions. She takes a swig directly from the bottle, her eyes distant, like she’s somewhere else entirely. She places the bottle on the coffee table, then curls up on her side, drawing her knees to her chest and lying there motionless.
She looks so small, so fragile, like she’s retreating into herself. It reminds me too much of when she broke down after her mother called, the way she curled up and shut the world out.
It hurts me to see her like this, and I want to send her a piano piece again, something to comfort her, but she had given Jamie—or rather, me—the ultimate command.
If I did anything now, she’d know it wasn’t the AI.
The door opens, and Misha and Oliver finally enter the apartment. My heart pounds with frustration and worry as I look up at them. Oliver has an arm around Misha, supporting him as he guides him to the couch and helps him sit down.
“What took you so long?” I demand as I walk up to them, my voice sharper than I intended.
Misha winces slightly as he adjusts his position on the couch, his face twisted in discomfort. “I’m okay, thanks for asking,” he mutters, his tone laced with sarcasm, but there’s a vulnerability there, too, that makes me pause.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, ignoring his jab, my arms crossing over my chest as I focus on Oliver, who sinks onto the couch next to Misha. His usual calm demeanor is gone. Instead, he buries his face in his hands, rubbing them over his face before grabbing his hair and pulling at it in frustration. I watch him, concern creeping up even more, before I turn my gaze to Misha, who looks…guilty?
No, more than guilty. He looks utterly defeated.
“Amelia tried to kiss me,” Misha admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
My heart sinks so deeply that I swear it just fell through the floor. “What?” The word comes out harsher than I mean it to, but I can’t help it—the shock is too much.
Misha nods, gnawing on his lips as if trying to hold back his own emotions. “And I stopped her, telling her I couldn’t do it. She was mortified, and I think… I think I hurt her a lot with it.”
He looks like he hurt himself with it too.Fuck.
I glance at Oliver again, breathing deeply, trying to steady himself, before I ask Misha, “What did she say?”
“Not much,” he admits, his voice filled with guilt. “Just that she’s sorry and that I should forget about it. Then she fled. But her eyes said enough. I hurt her, Grey. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I’m a fucking asshole.”
“No… you may feel that way, but you aren’t,” I assure, even as I silently wonder if I could have kept my head in the same situation.
Misha looks at Oliver, his expression pleading. “Maybe you should go talk to her, Ollie. I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t do it because you’re in love with her. It’s just not my place. But maybe if you tell her, she’ll understand?—”
“Understand what?” Oliver cuts him off, his voice filled with anguish. “That I’m standing between her and her happiness? What kind of friend am I if I don’t let you guys be happy?”
“Honestly, I think she’s in love with you too. I think she’s confused and maybe just needs someone to take her hand and show her what she wants or what the possibilities are like she does in other aspects of her life. Take her hand, Ollie.”
Oliver shakes his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “I can’t. I’ll only make it worse. She wants you. Not me.”
This is a complete fuckup, but right now, Oliver has two people supporting him while Amelia is once again left alone, probably drowning in her own pain and confusion.
“You take him,” I say to Misha. “I’ll go take care of her.”
Without waiting for a response, I head to the home office and open Jamie’s interface, unlocking Amelia’s door through the smart home system. I know she wouldn’t open for me right now. Drastic times call for drastic measures.
I take the elevator down to her apartment, my heart pounding with each step. When I get there, I walk right in, startling her as she sits curled up on the couch.
“Grey, what? How?”
