Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Grey

Amelia finally emerges from her bedroom, dressed in leggings and an oversized gray sweater. I've been waiting, watching the door with a growing sense of concern.

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?"

"You should lock your door if you don't want people to come in without knocking," I say, standing in front of her, trying to keep my tone light even though I'm anything but calm inside. I notice the half-empty bottle of Coke on the coffee table and pick it up, looking at it, then back at her. "You never drink soda. What are you doing? That stuff is not good for you."

"Trying to drown the butterflies," she mumbles, her voice small and defeated.

"In Coke? Try vodka next time," I retort, carrying the bottle to the sink to pour it out.

"Hey!" she protests, a spark of life in her voice, but I'm already retrieving her shoes and kneeling to put them on for her. She swats me away, probably more out of reflex than actual resistance.

"What are you even doing here?" she demands, her voice trembling with frustration and something else—something more vulnerable.

"We're going for a walk."

"What? No, I don't want to. I was just on a hike!"

"Tough luck," I reply, my tone more gentle as I pull her to a stand, making her face me.

"Grey. Leave. Please ."

A single tear escapes from the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek. The sight of it breaks something inside me, and I gently remove her glasses and wipe the tear away with my thumb. Without thinking, I bring my thumb to my mouth and lick it away, my eyes never leaving hers .

Her eyes widen in shock, and I notice her gaze flicker to my lips, lingering there. For a moment, time seems to freeze, and I savor the connection, feeling an unexpected thrill as her eyes remain locked on my mouth. But I know this isn't the time for that, so I clean her glasses on my shirt and carefully put them back on her, noticing how heavy they feel. The button on the side is almost invisible.

Fuck, this is huge.

But it's not the right time to think about that either.

"Be a good girl and do what I say," I instruct, reaching down to take her hand in mine, trying to convey through touch what I can't express in words.

"I don't want to talk," she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she's holding inside.

"Fine," I reply. "I said we're going for a walk, not a talk. Come on."

I gently but firmly guide her out of the apartment, my hand lingering on the small of her back as we step into the hallway. The silence between us is heavy, almost suffocating, but I know she needs it, needs the quiet to process whatever is going on inside her head. I can feel the tension radiating from her, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. I wish I could say something, anything, but I don't want to push her. Not yet.

At Grandpa's house, she waits outside, her arms wrapped around herself as if she's trying to hold herself together. She still hasn't said a word, and it's starting to worry me.

I hurry inside, grabbing Peanut's leash, and when I return with him, I hand it to her, hoping Peanut might bring her some comfort. She takes the leash without looking at me or properly saying hello to him, her movements automatic, like she's on autopilot.

We continue our walk to the park, the silence between us only broken by the occasional bark from Peanut or the sounds of the city. I keep glancing at her, trying to gauge her mood, but her expression remains distant, her eyes fixed on the ground. She's here, but not really here, and it tears me up inside. I want to reach out, to pull her back from wherever she's gone, but I don't know how.

When we pass a small supermarket, I hesitate for a moment before making a quick decision. "Wait here," I tell her and Peanut, pointing to a spot by the door. She nods absently, barely acknowledging me. I duck into the store and grab two cones of ice cream—strawberry for her, coffee for me. It's a small gesture, but I'm hoping it might bring a spark of life back into her eyes.

Finding a bench in the park, we sit down, Peanut quietly resting beside us as we eat our ice creams. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, hoping for some sign, any sign, that she's coming back to me. She eats slowly, methodically, as if she's just going through the motions. It's so unlike her that it makes my chest ache. The Amelia I know would be teasing me about my coffee-flavored choice, but right now, she's a million miles away.

When we're done, I can't ignore the defeated look in her eyes anymore. So, I stand up, taking the leash from her hand, our fingers brushing for a brief second.

"Come on," I say, steering her toward a patch of grass shaded by a cluster of trees.

We pause under the shade of a large tree with the branches above us swaying gently in the breeze. Amelia leans back against the tree trunk, her posture heavy when she lets out a deep sigh. I tilt my head, studying her face, but I stay silent, waiting for her to come to me, offering her the same courtesy she always gives everyone else.

Finally, she opens her pretty mouth to talk to me. "It seems like I'm never good enough," she whispers, watching Peanut sniff the ground.

What?

"Amelia…" I start, stepping closer.

"No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to be good enough… I'm not." Her voice cracks, and with it, so does my heart. The pain in her words cuts through me like a knife, and I feel a surge of protective anger rising within me—anger that she's feeling this way, that someone has made her believe this lie.

I step forward, unable to keep the distance between us any longer. I press her gently but firmly against the tree with my hip, gripping her chin with the hand that's holding Peanut's leash, guiding her to look at me. My other hand cradles the back of her head, ensuring she doesn't hit the rough bark. She gasps, her eyes widening in surprise before she averts her gaze, unable or unwilling to meet mine.

"Princess, look at me," I prompt, trying to coax her out of the dark place she's in.

She breathes out deeply, but instead of meeting my eyes, she closes hers, retreating further into herself.

"Do you want me to make you look at me?" I ask as I tilt her chin up. She finally meets my gaze, and the teary-eyed blue storm in her eyes almost breaks my heart all over again. "You're absolutely none of the cruel, mean things you tell yourself. I see you, Amelia," I whisper. "I see all of you. The brilliant, beautiful, strong woman you are."

She huffs bitterly, the sound filled with disbelief and self-doubt. "He said it's not me . Isn't that the universal excuse? The thing you say so you don't hurt someone's feelings? But it always means it absolutely is you."

My grip on her chin tightens just a fraction, trying to ground her, to make her hear me. "He said it's not you because it's not you. Everyone who spends more than a few minutes in your presence knows that. Misha hurt you because he is a good person, a good friend."

I see confusion and pain in her eyes, a storm of feelings she's struggling to keep in. My heart aches for her, for the way she's hurting, and for the part I play in it. The urge to pull her into my arms, to protect her from everything, including myself, is almost overwhelming. But I hold back.

"I've realized over the last few weeks that I am not a good man, Amelia. Because if you tried to kiss me …" I lean in closer, feeling the warmth of her breath against my lips, "… I wouldn't have the strength to sto—"

My phone rings, cutting through the tension.

Fuck.

It's that distinctive, annoying ringtone Misha assigned himself.

He wouldn't call right now unless it were important.

I search Amelia's face, and she gives me a slight nod. "Take it."

Reluctantly, I answer the call, still close to Amelia, my thumb stroking her cheek, my eyes not leaving hers. "Yes?"

"Grey, man, I'm sorry, but you have to get home. Code black."

What the…

Code black is a major security threat—cyberattacks, unauthorized access, the kind of thing we've prepared for but hoped never to face. I lean away from the tree, still holding Amelia's gaze, unwilling to let her go just yet. "What the fuck do you mean, code black? Who the hell would hack us while we're not even online?"

"It's Oliver. I have no idea what he's doing, but I think he's freaking out. He's locked himself in his room with his laptop, and I think he's trying to delete Jamie. I'm not good enough to stop him. I'm trying to push him out, but he's faster than I am," Misha grits out, and I can hear him typing furiously on the other end.

"What do you mean he's trying to delete him?"

The shock hits me like a punch to the gut. Oliver?

"Grey, get the fuck home… now. I can't keep him out much longer," Misha's voice is laced with desperation, and it's clear this is spiraling out of control.

Jesus.

I prepared for every threat but not for one from the inside.

I search Amelia's face again, feeling torn between the urgency of the situation and the need to stay with her. Her eyes meet mine, filled with understanding, and she whispers, "Go."

"Coming. I just need to bring Peanut—"

Amelia interrupts, "I can do that." She sees my hesitation and adds, "It sounds important. I can manage Peanut."

"On my way." I hang up on Misha and kiss Amelia on the cheek. "Thank you, Princess." Handing her the leash, I add, "Be good, both of you."

With a final glance at Peanut, I turn and sprint toward home, my mind focused on stopping Oliver before it's too late.

A few minutes later, I burst into the apartment, panting, heart pounding, and find Misha in the office. "Where is he?" I ask, breathless.

"In his room," Misha replies, frustration evident in his voice.

"Why aren't you trying to keep him from the keyboard?" I gasp, still catching my breath.

"He locked himself in! I told you," Misha says, exasperated, his gaze not leaving the screen in front of him. He's doing everything he can, but I can tell it's not enough.

I don't waste any more time. Without another word, I head to the kitchen, my mind racing. I grab the universal key I'd hidden there for emergencies, my fingers shaking slightly as I fumble with it while I hurry to Oliver's room. Unlocking the door, I find him hunched over his desk, his laptop open. I stride over and grab the back of his chair, yanking it away from the desk with a force that surprises even me. I step between him and the desk, planting myself firmly in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest.

I need to be a physical barrier, the last line of defense against whatever he's trying to do, because let's be real. If he really wanted to delete the AI he invented, there is no way I could stop him.

Oliver is brilliant, and I have yet to find anyone who can match his skill.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I demand, not caring how harsh it came out. The stakes are too high, and I need to get through to him.

Oliver's head snaps up, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and pain that cuts right through me. "Jamie ruined my fucking life," he snaps, the words laced with a bitterness that I've never seen in him before.

"That's not true," I counter.

"It is true. Before all this shit happened, I knew I couldn't have her, but at least I could have her from afar. Now she's in love with him , and he's in love with her. And you're in love with her. Everybody's in fucking love with her! Probably Jamie too."

"Jamie is an algorithm. He can't be in love."

"I fucking know that, Grey! I wrote that algorithm. But it's funny how you defend Jamie not being in love with her, but not that I said you were."

Here we go, the moment I dreaded. I slowly step to the side, out from between him and the desk, but I keep my arms crossed and my gaze steady on him .

"Because it's true," I admit, my voice steady even though my insides are churning. "I am in love with her, and I would bet my watch that Misha is too. And honestly, Oliver, Misha is a better friend than I am because if I had been the one she tried to kiss, I would have kissed her, and I just told her as much."

Oliver's eyes widen, the shock and hurt evident on his face. For a moment, time seems to stand still, and I can't tell if what I'm feeling is guilt or dread. Maybe it's both. The weight of my confession hangs in the air, thick and suffocating, and I can see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to process what I've just said.

The door creaks, and Misha hobbles into the room, his expression distraught and filled with regret. "I'm so freaking sorry, Ollie," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. "I never meant for that to happen, but… fuck… I'm in love with her too."

Even though it's not a surprise, hearing him say it out loud still stings. It's like a knife twisting in an already deep wound, and I can see that it's hurting Oliver just as much, if not more.

"So we all want her," I say, the words heavy as they leave my mouth. The truth settles over us like a dark cloud.

Oliver sighs, the sound filled with a mix of defeat and exhaustion. "And she wants all of us."

"Wait, what?" I ask, stunned.

What the fuck did I miss?

"She talked to Jamie about it. She has a crush on all of us," Oliver explains.

I knew what I saw in her eyes and felt in her touch wasn't just my imagination.

"Well, Ollie, that means she has one on you, too," Misha points out, trying to find a silver lining in the mess we've found ourselves in .

Right.

"And still, she tried to kiss you. She said she couldn't decide. Looks like she just did," Oliver says bitterly.

"She did not," I argue. There's a part of me that refuses to believe it, that refuses to accept that she's made her choice because if she has, what does that mean for the rest of us?

Misha sighs, rubbing his face with both hands, clearly struggling to find the right words. "And now what? Because, damn, rejecting her was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"I never said you couldn't have her," Oliver mutters.

"No, but I know I'll lose you if I do. Maybe him too." Misha nods toward me.

Oliver shrugs, looking lost. His shoulders slump as he runs a hand through his hair.

"What, is that an ultimatum?" I ask, frustration boiling over. "Her or our family? If you can't have her, nobody can?"

Oliver shakes his head. "I never said that either! I just… I have no idea if I can live this close and be this close to you when you're having all I ever wanted, and I don't. I don't want to keep her from you, but I may have to keep myself away for my own sake."

I feel my throat closing up.

This really could be it…

I can't lose them.

None of them.

"So lose her or lose our family. It feels like a lose-lose," Misha speaks out what I'm thinking.

"Not to mention that she would lose two people too. And she needs all of us," I add.

She would lose just as much as we would.

Oliver looks up, eyes filled with anguish. "And every one of us needs her."

"We can' t just push her aside now because of our feelings," Misha agrees. "We could just… all be friends. Step back for the sake of the family. Have her in this family, but not more. Not even you, Oliver."

Oliver bangs his head against the desk, and I'm tempted to join in.

I don't know if I can step back, but it's the best solution we can find for now.

I need time to think of something better.

We'll have to figure out what we can do to make her happy. She is what's important.

I never want to see that look on her face again or hear those words. "I'm never good enough."

I nod and repeat, "Friends, for our family's sake and hers."

Oliver leans back in his chair, looking exhausted but somewhat relieved. Misha nods, though the pain in his eyes is still evident.

This feels like a disaster waiting to happen, but it's the only way forward.

For now, at least.