CHAPTER 17: THE FIRST DAYS SURVEILLANCE
828 Words
Andre's pov
The near-breakthrough in the hallway, interrupted by Henry and the news of Aunt Carol, had left me vibrating with a desperate, unreleased energy. I had spent the few remaining hours before dawn confined to my room, listening to the muffled sounds of the twins settling in—the low murmur of their voices, the controlled click of their shared door closing. Their scent, now back in the house, was a constant, distracting roar.
The first full day of Aunt Carol’s visit felt less like a family gathering and more like a high-stakes performance review, with Carol as the unblinking auditor.
I came downstairs late, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation, but found the entire family congregated in the sunroom after breakfast. Henry was reading the paper, Sarah was doing needlepoint, and Aunt Carol was positioned strategically on the main sofa, ostensibly sipping tea but actually conducting comprehensive surveillance of the room.
Zane and Zakk were seated nearby, pretending to review blueprints on a large, low coffee table. They were the picture of professional diligence, but the heat radiating from them was palpable. They were close enough to me—sitting opposite my chair—that the Mate Bond screamed a silent, agonizing demand for contact.
Zane caught my eye and immediately looked away, returning his focus to the papers. This was the strategy: absolute, calculated indifference. They wouldn't give Aunt Carol a flicker of suspicion. But Zane’s fingers, resting on the blueprint, began to tap a rapid, frantic rhythm against the smooth wood of the table—a private, shared language that signaled his own intense suffering.
Zakk, however, was less subtle. He couldn't sustain indifference. He was forced to maintain polite human conversation with Aunt Carol, but every time she paused for breath, his eyes would snap to me, sharp and hungry, before he forced them back to the blueprints.
"Honestly, Zakk," Aunt Carol chirped, reaching over to tap the blueprints. "Do you boys ever relax? You were just overseas. You should be resting."
"We prefer to be productive, Aunt Carol," Zakk replied, his voice smooth and deep. He then turned his full attention to the papers, but he lifted his foot and rested it casually on the edge of the coffee table, directly across from me.
His leather shoe was only inches from my knee.
This was the new form of torture: forced, agonizing proximity. The entire Mate Bond was screaming at me to reach out, to close that tiny gap, to touch the heavy leather of his shoe—any contact at all to ground myself. But I sat immobile, my muscles rigid, terrified that Aunt Carol would notice the minute tremor of my hands.
"You know, Andre needs to find something productive to do now that she's finished university applications," Aunt Carol announced, turning her gaze on me. "Perhaps the boys could give her a small task. Something simple, just to keep her busy."
Zane immediately seized the opportunity. "That's a good idea, Aunt Carol. We actually have an issue with the archived client files. We need someone to go through the old system in the back office and verify the database against the paper documents. It's tedious, solitary work."
He was giving me an escape. A mission. A reason to be alone, away from the constant scrutiny of the sunroom.
"Wonderful! Andre, you should go help your step-brothers." Aunt Carol beamed, completely missing the loaded command.
"She doesn't need to help us, Aunt Carol," Zakk countered, his voice suddenly sharp. "She needs to verify the data alone. It's highly sensitive, and requires absolute focus and discretion. She'll be much more productive in the isolation of the back office."
Zakk was shutting Zane down, refusing the shared proximity. He knew that the close-quarters contact would be too dangerous, and he was demanding isolation instead—for me to suffer alone, to break the walls completely, so when they finally came for me, my surrender would be total.
Zane nodded slowly, accepting the correction. His eyes met Zakk's, an invisible negotiation of power passing between them.
"Yes, she's right," Zane agreed, maintaining his composure. "It's best if she's alone back there. It's the only way to ensure the work is done properly."
I stood up, desperate for the chance to breathe away from the crushing pressure of the sunroom. "I'll start right away," I said, trying to make my voice sound eager, not desperate.
As I walked out, I felt both of their gazes boring into my back. Zakk's was a demand; Zane's was a promise. I was being sent into solitary confinement, a calculated move to ensure that when they finally ended the agony, my gratitude would be absolute. The day was a tense, agonizing crawl, and the night—when the house would finally fall silent—was still hours away.
- Writer
