“It is,” Misha agrees, sounding equally bewildered. “And I have no idea what to think about it.”
I try to sound more confident than I feel, squaring my shoulders. “We have a foot in the door,” I say, trying to reassure them and myself. “Now we have to play this right.”
Oliver shoots me a worried glance, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of her father liking you,” he says softly. “I don’t think Amelia is either.”
Me neither.
“We’ll call Grandpa as soon as he’s awake.” I check my watch, calculating the time difference. “See what he thinks of his old student.”
And whether being under Mr. Stanley’s roof will help us get Amelia back or make things even worse.
SIX
The outfit mymother chose for me for the high tea is the epitome of posh elegance—a cream-colored silk blouse with delicate pearl buttons tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt that hugs my nonexistent curves in a way that feels almost indecent.
My feet are encased in nude stilettos that make my legs look miles long.
This is not me.
But does it really matter?
It’s not like anybody likes the real me. Lately, not even I do.
I glance at the sorry bouquet of flowers next to me, a blinding truth I refuse to acknowledge.
The laptop and sensors James managed to acquire for me are laid out on the vanity in front of me. The familiar hum of the machine is almost soothing in the otherwise quiet room. The process of setting them up is methodical, and I let myself get lost in the rhythm of it, grasping the tether to control.
To who I want to be.
Innovating, troubleshooting, and eventually linking them to my smartwatch is a victory and a comfort—like slipping into a pair of old, well-worn shoes and walking with my head held high.For a moment, I can pretend that I’m back in Seattle, back where I belong, working toward my dreams.
But I’m not.
As I work, I keep my eye on the security feed on the laptop that shows the mansion’s public rooms, garden, and driveway. It’s a simple interface, nothing like the advanced system I had at my apartment that the guys used to watch me, but it does the job. I smile faintly at the real victory of gaining access without setting off any alarms, however small.
Take that,DoctorDonovan.
You’re not the only one who can hack.
I finish setting up the sensors and link them to my smartwatch, which will now alert me of any movement outside my door. This felt like a higher priority. Next, I will work on the motion detection to amplify the alert when I’m spiraling. Not only is each beep and flicker a success, but also a rebellion.
Mother will never again just sneak up on me.
And iftheythink they can just barge their way in here, then they’ll be sorely disappointed when I use the same type of tech to avoid them as they used to pry into my life.
Having the guys in this house is a fucking joke, like the universe has conspired against me, or rather, my father has.
Not that that’s anything new.
As I wrap up the setup and head out of my room, the hallway stretches out, pristine and cold, a perfect metaphor for my current state—polished but empty.
It’s hard not to feel a pang of disappointment and self-reproach. I’m back to being monitored, guarded, and controlled, even if it’s in a different way.
Once the final sensor is set in place along the hallway to my room, I try to ignore the creeping sense of being trapped, even if it’s in a cage of my own making. Just as I’m about to make myway toward the godforsaken high tea, I spot the guys coming out of a room further down the hallway, blocking my path.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
They’re talking amongst themselves, but as soon as I mutter the curse under my breath, they turn to look at me. They look like they’ve showered and made an effort to fit in. Pants, shirts, cardigans. Styled hair.
