Chapter 38

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Amelia

A persistent, irritating buzz from the nightstand jolts me from my sleep. I groggily reach out to grab my phone, not wanting to disturb Grey, who's curled up behind me, his warm, steady breaths tickling my ear.

We spent the entire day cocooned in this room, and it felt like a soothing balm for my weary soul, helping me repress the thoughts of what happened to me and my work.

I took my second shower of the day with him, his gentle hands washing away my worries and leaving me feeling cherished. Then, wrapped in oversized clothes that smelled of him, we cuddled for hours, watching vintage movies on his laptop until he made us some mac and cheese for dinner.

His touch never strayed far from me—a hand on my knee, fingers intertwined with mine, or an arm draped protectively over my waist. And after what he revealed about his parents, it was no wonder he felt like he needed to constantly reassure himself that I was there, safe and whole, and I found myself craving his touch just as much.

I loved every second of it.

As much as I loved what we did before .

I almost forget about the buzzing phone in my hand when I recall the things he did to me.

Bloody hell.

Getting fucked by Grey Donovan is something else.

And when he talked about Misha and Oliver touching me too…

The buzzing stops, only to start back up again. Reaching out for my glasses, I put them on and check the time. It's the middle of the night.

But not for London.

I'm not surprised. I texted August earlier about my stolen laptop, work, and the bump on my head. As I try to extricate myself from Grey's embrace to answer, he pulls me closer with a sleepy grunt.

I turn in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I'll be right back," I whisper, and he makes an adorably disgruntled noise but loosens his hold, allowing me to slip out of bed.

Padding quietly to the door, I cast one last look at Grey's sleeping form before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door gently behind me. Taking a deep breath, I answer the call. "Hey, Auggie," I say quietly, moving further down the corridor to ensure I won't disturb anyone.

"Meelie, I'm sorry. I know it's late. Are you all right? Your text worried me."

I lean against the wall, sighing. "I'm okay now. How about you? Feeling any better?"

"Not really," he admits. "But never mind me. What happened?"

I run a hand through my hair, wincing as I brush the bump. "Someone broke into my flat, stole my work, and hit me over the head. I probably lost everything, and to be honest, I'm afraid to be alone in my flat now."

"Where are you? Should I book you a hotel?" he offers, and I know he would probably book me the most opulent damn five-star hotel he could find in the area.

"Actually, I'm staying with some friends now."

"Friends?" August's voice carries a hint of surprise.

Yeah, who would have thought that I have friends?

"Well… maybe a bit more than that," I confess, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. My heart races as I consider what I'm about to say, the truth of it settling deeper in my chest. The reality of the situation is dawning on me, and it's terrifying and thrilling all at once.

"Oh? What's his name?"

I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. This is the moment. Better to tell the truth right from the start. Because this is heading in a direction I don't want to overthink anymore. I've already spent too much time wrestling with the implications of what Grey said to me earlier.

"You're ours," he had whispered, his voice low and possessive. I had looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, but all I saw was certainty. He had said it with such conviction as if the idea of me being theirs wasn't just a statement but a promise. And the way he said it… the way he looked at me… it made me think—no, believe—that maybe they all meant it like that. That they really meant what I thought it would mean.

That I was theirs, and they could all be mine.

And if they did mean it like that? If they truly wanted me like that? I realized with startling clarity that I wanted it too. I wanted them—all of them.

" Their names are Oliver, Misha, and Grey."

" They? " August's tone sharpens. "Amelia, what's going on?"

Even just speaking their names made me want to find them, so when I see a glow from a door slightly ajar down the hall, I tiptoe toward it, my heart quickening with each step. As I peek inside, I find Misha asleep in his chair. His head is lolled back at an awkward angle that's sure to give him a crick in the neck come morning.

God, he's adorable.

"Hold on a moment," I whisper to August as I step into the office, intending to adjust Misha into a more comfortable position when the monitor before him suddenly captures my attention.

It's a live feed, time-stamped and dated— my apartment.

What the?

Squeezing my phone between my cheek and shoulder, I free both hands to type on the keyboard. My fingers tremble as I navigate through the interface. I see every corner of my apartment displayed in stark detail across multiple screens. The cameras I installed myself for my AR project have turned my safe haven into a surveillance nightmare.

They've been watching me.

As I dig deeper, the extent of their invasion becomes horrifyingly clear. They have access to my health scans, infrared feeds, and motion detection logs. I check the backup and logs, and my breath catches in my throat as I realize they've been monitoring my every move for weeks .

Right from the start.

My heart races as I delve deeper, each click revealing more damning evidence. Me on my birthday, sitting in my pajamas on my couch, eating pizza. Me talking to Jamie, feeding the fish.

My palms grow clammy as I scroll through countless hours of footage. There are folders upon folders about me. And they have access to all my private data.

"Fuck," I choke out.

"What's wrong?" August's voice filters through the phone, but I can barely register it, my attention consumed by the horrific realization in front of me. My vision blurs with tears, a mixture of rage and hurt bubbling to the surface as I piece together the truth. Every time they knew just what to say, what to do, when to show up—it was all because they had been watching me. Monitoring my every move, every word, every intimate moment.

How could they do this to me? The men who said they loved me. The men I thought I could trust with my heart.

I believed them—every single word, every touch, every promise.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

"Meelie?" August's voice comes through the phone again, more insistent this time, but it feels like it's coming from miles away. I clutch the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white as I try to steady myself. My chest tightens, each breath coming out in short, panicked gasps.

Is this still part of the beta test?

Have I been nothing more than a data point in their project, a toy for them to manipulate and control?

But that means… my mind races, piecing together every moment, every conversation, every time they were there when I needed them. They knew about the AR.

They knew everything before I even told them.

A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, my body trembling as the reality of the situation crashes over me like a tidal wave.

They wouldn't. They couldn't.

"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, my mind 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 with now ?"

"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 there right 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…

… I thought they cared.

With a deep breath, I turn away from the note, shouldering my bag. As I reach for the door, I can't help but look back one last time. This place, once my haven, now feels alien and cold. A lump forms in my throat as I realize this might be the last time I see it.

The last time I'll see them.