“Where were we?” I ask, taking a seat by the breakfast bar, the aromatic scent of pancakes and bacon hanging in the air.
“Getting off our asses to dosomething,” Broadway mutters, marshaling his smirk. “We should check the bank, Carter.”
“The moment we do, everyone will know we’re onto something. If the evidence is there and we don’t gain access, Vaughn will have a warrant in less than twenty-four hours—forged or real,” I clip. “That’s why we’ve been sitting on this information so long.”
“We have Alex’s parts, and we have Hailey.”
“She can’t remember how to access the deposit box,” Koby reasons.
“How hard can it be? It’s all fucking biometrics.”
“Not all of it,” Ryder says. “There are different protocols in place. Biometrics, passwords, cards, keys.”
Hailey’s footsteps echo down the stairs, and I spin round, checking if she’s being a good girl or a little devil.
She’s dressed, but something doesn’t quite add up. Instead of her usual sweater or sweats and a hoodie, or even one of the elegant, conservative dresses Layla’s stylist had delivered, she’s wearing a little denim pinafore number.
It’s short, which is fine, but coupled with the white blouse she has underneath, it makes her look infantile. Her blonde locks flow in waves down her back, her lips are stained pink to match her cheeks, and mascara pops her big eyes further...
She looks younger than she is.
Even younger than she looked at Lakeside wearing those flimsy flowery dresses Alex bought her. She’s dug up the most girly thing in the closet and cranked the outfit to eleven.
“What deposit box are you talking about?” she asks, feigning oblivious innocence as she sits beside me. “I wasn’t eavesdropping... your voices carry upstairs.”
It’s not just her outfit that’s glaringly different this morning. Her scars are nowhere to be seen, meticulously hidden beneath a thick layer of makeup.
I’m fucking reeling.
I want to grab her wrist and drag her upstairs so she’ll get changed. Make her wash the concealer away.
This isn’t her. It’s a defense mechanism. Something Alex conditioned her to do: use all means necessary to hold interest and earn attention.
My head pounds, blood slowing in my veins like cherry slurpy. She’s doing this for me. She’s reverting to the girl she was for Alex because I keep turning her down.
I bet she thinks this version of her will change my mind.
My chair scrapes along the tiles as I push away and storm into the control room, closing the door behind me.
I knew her insecurities had deep roots. I knew Alex trained her like a fucking circus monkey, but amnesia wiped the slate clean. Despite being thrown back into that state in her flashbacks, she was breaking away from his hold. She was finding out who she really is. I loved it when she transitioned from cardigans to wearing my hoodies and leaving her scars on display.
God, what the fuck have I done?
She’s back in the mold Alex put her in: firmly believing she should adapt and change so I’ll want her. SoCarterwill want her, because this isn’t Nash’s girl either.
I thought pushing her away, taking intimacy off the table, would prove a good choice. That it’d help her realize I love her and want her trust before I touch her again. That her mind and heart mean way more to me than her pussy.
Clearly, that backfired fast. Alex’s brainwashing resurfaced, and Hailey’s fallen into his toxic traits.
I grip the desk with both hands, hanging my head low. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
If she gets my attention by looking like Alex’s wet dream, she’ll think it’s working. Thatthisis what I expect. If I don’t, who knows what other fucked-up way she’ll find to adapt.
My fingers gouge into the hardwood so hard it’s not far off splintering. I lift my head, watching Koby set a plate before her on the live feed from the kitchen.
She starts poking the food, sending my stomach on a quick ride to my knees. All those times I watched her do this during the first few weeks at Lakeside come back to smack my face. Back then, I thought she didn’t need much food to feel full, but now, after two weeks here, seeing her playing with her meal again, I realize her behavior is more sinister.
She’s not eating the things she likes. No, she’s picking the light foods. Low in calories. She scoots the bacon and pancakes aside, despite devouring them just yesterday.
