“Amelia, dammit, what is going on?” August hisses, but everything is muffled.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to focus. I need to act to protect myself or what’s left of me. The sight of Misha, still fast asleep, almost rips my heart out as I stumble out of the room, mymind reeling from the shock of this betrayal. The hallway seems to spin around me.
“They used me,” I manage to say, my breath unsteady and my heart pounding so hard it feels like it's lodged in my throat. “All this time, they’ve been watching me. I can’t… I can’t believe it.”
“What?” August’s voice is sharp with concern, cutting through the fog of my disbelief. “The friends you are withnow?”
“Yes.” I whimper, not being able to form a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming sense of betrayal.
They said they were my friends.
More than that.
“They have access to my cameras, my system, fuck, they even have my birth certificate!”
“Amelia, get the fuck out of thereright now,” August commands. “You could be in danger.”
I lean against the wall. The cool surface barely registers against my flushed skin. “I don’t know where to go,” I admit, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “I… I can’t go back to my flat.”
“Come home,” August says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “You wanted to anyway, right? I can arrange a flight for you straightaway. Come back home to London, and we’ll figure this out together. You’ll be safe here.”
“But work—” I begin, my mind scrambling to make sense of the chaos my life has suddenly become. The thought of leaving everything behind is terrifying, but staying feels even worse.
“You said your work is gone anyway,” he interrupts gently. “This is dangerous, Meelie. Come home, and we can figure out what to do next. You need to be somewhere safe while we get to the bottom of this. We can sort out the details later.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, feeling a small measure of relief at the thought of putting an ocean between them and myself.
“Okay,” I whisper, the words barely leaving my lips. “Book me the next possible flight, please. I’m going to pack the necessities, and then I’m off to the airport. I just… I need to get out of here.”
I hear him exhale a relieved breath. “Thank you. I’ll send you the details as soon as I have them. Don’t worry about anything else right now. Just focus on getting here safely.”
“I will,” I lie, knowing full well that my mind will be a whirlwind of overthinking during the ten hours I’ll spend on the plane, every moment replaying the betrayal, the lies, the illusion of trust.
“Oh, and Meelie?” he says just when I’m about to leave their apartment and hang up on him.
“Yes?” I pause, my hand on the doorknob, hesitating for just a moment longer.
“Everything will be all right.”
The words hang in the air, empty promises that I desperately want to believe but can’t bring myself to trust. Not anymore.
I rush down the four floors to my apartment, my heart pounding with each step. When I finally open my door and step inside, the familiar space feels tainted now, violated.
With shaking hands, I grab a bag and start throwing in clothes, toiletries, and essentials. Every item I pack feels like a small part of my old life slipping away, replaced by a gnawing void of uncertainty. As I stuff my things into the bag, my gaze keeps flicking to the corners of the ceiling, paranoia creeping in with each passing second.
Are they watching me right now?
The thought makes me freeze midaction. Grey is probably still asleep. I guess Oliver is as well. But Misha could have woken up. Could he be watching me at this very moment through the very cameras I installed myself?
I pause, my eyes landing on the fish tank—twelve tiny lives, oblivious to the chaos unfolding around them, swimming peacefully in their little world.
Grabbing my phone, I type out a quick message to Willow, explaining that I left earlier than expected and giving her instructions for feeding the fish. My fingers shake as I hit send, the finality of my decision sinking in.
After putting my phone in my pocket, I reach for a sheet of white paper and a thick marker. I know exactly where to place it—on my small dining table right in the middle of all the cameras. My hand trembles as I write, tears blurring my vision, but I force myself to finish.
I stare at the words, feeling a mix of anger, hurt, and a lingering sense of disbelief. How could they do this to me? How could I have been so blind?
I thought…
