THE NDA

THE NDABOOK 5CHAPTER 7: THE ANKLE MONITOR

THE NDA

BOOK 5

CHAPTER 7: THE ANKLE MONITOR

The ankle monitor beeped when Damian walked into my apartment.

Loud. Ugly. Government issue.

"Sorry," he said. "It does that."

I stared at it. At him. At the two Cole Group guards standing in the hallway like furniture.

"Come in," I said.

He did.

My apartment was small. One bedroom. One couch. One bathroom.

And now it had a disgraced billionaire and a federal tracking device.

"This is where you live?" he asked.

"Don’t," I said. "Don’t do the rich guy pity thing."

"I wasn’t," he said. "I was going to say it’s clean."

It was. Because I cleaned it at 3AM while waiting for them to kill my mother.

He sat on the couch. The monitor beeped again.

"Range is 50 meters," he said. "If I leave, the police get an alert. And the board gets an alert. And your mother gets a visit."

"So you’re stuck here."

"So we’re stuck here," he corrected. "30 days."

The Board’s text from last night: Phase 3: Make them fall in love again. You have 30 days.

"Rules," I said. "One: You sleep on the couch. Two: No touching. Three: No talking about the past unless I start it. Four: If you try to wipe me again I will kill you."

He nodded. "Deal."

He put his bag down. One duffel. That was it. 3 years as CEO and he owned one duffel.

"What’s in there?" I asked.

"Clothes," he said. "Toothbrush. And this."

He pulled out the necklace. The teardrop one.

"I kept it," he said. "From v2. And from you."

I didn’t take it.

At 10PM my phone buzzed. Victoria.

Daily check-in. Emotional status report. Submit by midnight.

There was a form. Rate your emotional connection 1-10.

Describe any moments of intimacy.

Upload video if available.

"Are you serious?" I said.

Damian read over my shoulder. "They are."

"What do we put?"

"1," he said. "And 'we sat in silence.'"

I typed it. Sent it.

At 12:01 AM another text.

Unacceptable. 30 days. Clock started.

Day 1: Fail.

The monitor on his ankle beeped three times. Punishment mode.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means if we fail 3 days in a row, they escalate," he said. "First: fines. Second: they take your mother. Third: they wipe you."

"So we have to pretend."

"We have to do more than pretend," he said. "We have to feel it."

"Can you?"

He looked at me. "I never stopped."

The room got quiet.

At 7AM the guards knocked. "Breakfast."

They brought food. Expensive food. Like we were guests.

Damian ate. I didn’t.

At 9AM he asked, "What do you do all day?"

"Work," I said. "Freelance. Now that I’m fired."

"You’re not fired," he said. "You’re on leave. With pay. 1.2 million still hits your account."

"I don’t want their money."

"Then give it to your mother," he said. "Or burn it. But don’t starve because of pride."

He was right. I hated that.

At 12PM the monitor beeped. Victoria again.

Day 1, Hour 4. No spike.

Recommendation: Physical proximity.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means sit next to me," Damian said.

I sat on the other end of the couch. 3 feet away.

The monitor stopped beeping.

At 6PM the guards brought dinner. And a camera.

"For the report," one said. "Smile."

We didn’t.

At 11PM my phone buzzed.

Day 1: Fail.

Day 2 begins now.

If you fail again, we take the mother.

I showed Damian.

He cursed. "We have to give them something tomorrow."

"What?"

"I don’t know," he said. "A fight. A kiss. A memory."

He stood. Paced. 50 meters. The monitor let him.

At 2AM I couldn’t sleep.

I found him in the kitchen. Making tea.

"You don’t drink tea," I said.

"I do now," he said. "You used to make it for me. When v2 was sick."

He handed me a cup. Chamomile. Exactly how I liked it.

"Stop," I said.

"Stop what?"

"Being nice to me."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts," I said. "Because I don’t know if it’s you or the programming."

"It’s me," he said. "It’s always been me."

He reached out. Almost touched my hand. Stopped.

Rule three. No touching.

At 7AM Day 2 started.

We tried. God we tried.

We watched a movie. Nothing.

We cooked together. Nothing.

We talked about the weather. Nothing.

At 8PM the monitor beeped. Warning.

At 9PM Victoria called. Video.

"Pathetic," she said. "You have 3 hours."

The call ended.

Damian looked at me. "Zara. I don’t want to do this."

"Neither do I."

"But if we don’t, they take your mother."

"I know."

He stood. Came to me.

"Can I?" he asked.

I nodded.

He kissed me.

Not like last night. Not angry.

Soft. Careful. Like I might break.

And I did.

I kissed him back. Because I was scared. Because I was tired. Because it was him.

The monitor beeped. Once. Happy.

My phone buzzed.

Spike detected: 80%.

Continue.

So we did.

For 2 hours we pretended we were the people in the videos. The people who loved each other before the board got involved.

At 11PM we stopped. Breathing hard.

"Was that real?" I whispered.

"I don’t know," he said. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

He touched my face. "It was real for me."

My phone buzzed.

Day 2: Pass. 80% spike.

Day 3: Target 90%.

Failure = consequences.

We pulled apart.

At 3AM there was a knock.

Not the guards.

Police.

"Mr. Cole," they said. "We have a warrant. Your monitor was tampered with."

"What?" Damian said.

"The signal cut out for 12 minutes," they said. "Tonight. 10:03 to 10:15."

"That’s when we were—" I stopped.

"Come with us," they said.

They took him.

Handcuffs. Again.

I ran after them in pajamas.

At the station they said it was a glitch. 4 hours later.

They let him go at 8AM.

He came back looking worse than when he left.

"What happened?" I asked.

"They asked me about v2," he said. "About v1. About how many of you there were."

"And?"

"And I told them the truth," he said. "That I don’t know. That I stopped counting after you."

He sat. Put his head in his hands.

"I can’t do this," he said. "I can’t keep pretending you’re okay with this."

"I’m not," I said. "But I’m also not letting them take my mother."

He looked up. "Then we fight back."

"How?"

"We give them what they want," he said. "But on our terms. We fake it. We record it. We sell it back to them."

"That’s illegal."

"So is everything they’ve done," he said.

At 12PM the monitor beeped.

Day 3. Target 90%.

"We have an idea," I said to Victoria on video. "But we need privacy. No guards. No cameras. For 24 hours."

"No," she said.

"Then no 90%," I said. "You want the AI to work? Give us room to breathe."

She stared at me. "24 hours. Starting now. But if you try anything—"

"We won’t," Damian said.

She hung up.

The guards left.

The apartment was quiet for the first time in 3 days.

Damian took off his shirt. The monitor was still on his ankle.

"What now?" I asked.

"Now," he said, "we write our own contract."

He pulled out paper. Pen.

"Clause 1: We don’t love each other because they tell us to."

"Clause 2: We don’t touch because they tell us to."

"Clause 3: We do it because we choose to."

He slid it to me. "Sign?"

I signed.

He signed.

At 1PM we kissed again.

Not for the board.

Not for the AI.

Not for survival.

For us.

At 11PM my phone buzzed.

Day 3: Pass. 94% spike.

Impressive.

Keep it up.

Damian laughed. Bitter. "We won."

"We survived," I said.

He pulled me to him. "Same thing."

The monitor beeped.

Not a warning.

A countdown.

29 days left.

And somewhere in the city, Victoria Cole was smiling.

Because phase 3 was working.