Mind Code (Coded Connections Duet #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Amelia

When I step out of the en suite, I hear the theme song from Tetris . Wearing a simple but elegant navy-blue dress that falls just above my knees, with a modest neckline and a fitted waist, I look more put together than I feel.

Walking into my closet, I slip on a pair of black ballet flats, opting for comfort over heels.

I hate heels. I’m tall enough as it is.

I’ve taken a nap, but I still feel drained. My old room feels foreign, like a relic of a past life I’ve desperately tried to escape smelling like lavender fabric softener.

August sits on the edge of my bed, his face illuminated by the glow of my old Game Boy that he holds only inches away from his face.

“You’re going to strain your eyes,” I tease, settling at my old vanity. The wooden chair creaks beneath me, a sound that echoes through my childhood memories.

He looks up, a wry smile playing on his face as he puts the Game Boy aside. “Says the girl who spent her youth coding in the dark. ”

“Touché,” I concede, turning on my phone before reaching for my brush. As I start to detangle my hair, wincing as the brush glides over my bump, my phone starts to buzz incessantly.

What the…

I don’t think I’ve ever received that many notifications before. Like, ever .

Switching it to silent, I check the screen. Oliver, Misha, Grey, Morgan, even Mr. Donovan. They’ve all tried to reach me, and a pang of guilt twists in my stomach, but I push it aside.

I’ll call Morgan tomorrow. Let her know I’m okay.

For now, I need to focus on getting through this godforsaken dinner. And the talk I should have had with August since he told me about the divorce. “So,” I begin, meeting August’s eyes in the mirror, trying to keep things light. “How are you holding up? With the… you know.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my heart ache. “With my wife threatening me with divorce? It’s… complicated.”

“You said you didn’t cheat. Is there anybody else? For you? For her?”

“No, never. You know there was only ever her. Love isn’t the problem.”

“What is, then?”

“Father’s pushing me to take over the firm.”

I spin around so quickly I almost topple off the chair, shock coursing through me. “What? But you always said—”

“I know what I said, Meelie,” he cuts me off, using the childhood nickname that only he can get away with. “But things changed when you left. They got worse.”

When I left?

Guilt gnaws at my insides. “You can’t just give up your dreams,” I plead, my throat tightening. “What about environmental law? All those plans you had? Fighting the companies Father represents?”

That’s all he ever wanted. All he ever talked about.

“You sound just like Abigail. She said she couldn’t stand by while I sold my soul, my principles.” His laugh is hollow, echoing through the room. “As if I hadn’t tried. You know how they are. It’s not that simple. He could take away everything. The house, the private school, and the trust funds for the girls. And then he could easily make sure I would never get work anywhere else again.”

“I bet Abigail doesn’t care about that.”

“She doesn’t, but I do! Amelia, I don’t want my family to suffer. And I know they would. You know they would. He would make our life hell.”

Yes, I understand that all too well.

It is complicated.

It’s that type of influence, that magnitude of power, that defies explanation. Like a fish trapped in a net, and even once you escape, you find yourself within their glass bowl.

August had wanted to use his degree and his wealth for good. He wanted to protect the trails we hiked, the nature he loves so much. Abigail is cut from the same cloth, instilling those same values in their daughters. It’s no wonder she can’t just stand by while he betrays everything he ever stood for.

Father is going to ruin August’s life.

He’s already well on his way.

And it’s all because when I left, he slipped back under their scrutiny.

It’s all my fault.

What does my freedom mean if it only brings agony to the one person who matters to me ?

A flicker of emotion stirs in my stomach, eerily similar to what thinking about the three men I left behind always feels like. But I push it away.

The only person who matters to me now.

Liar.

I turn back to the mirror, my fingers working through a particularly stubborn knot, using the pain to ground myself. “Maybe it is,” I say softly, the words barely audible. “Maybe… maybe I could come back.”

August’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “You know I’m thrilled you’re here, Meelie, but—”

“What’s left for me in Seattle?” I interrupt, the words barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable. “The guys… they’re done with me. My work is gone. Everything I built there is over. I haven’t even told my boss that I’m not coming in. I’m probably already fired.” I meet his gaze in the mirror, seeing my own pain reflected back at me. “If I come back, take the path they always wanted for me… maybe I can save you from it.”

“You’re not a lawyer. You can’t take over the firm. And even if you were, he would never let a woman take it,” August spits, disgust clear in his expression.

“I could find a way. I could—”

“You’re the smartest person I know, but so, so stupid,” August grunts out, shaking his head.

I flinch involuntarily, my hand freezing mid-brush stroke as I process his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, struggling to keep the hurt at bay.

He lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture I know all too well. “You’re part of that family, my family, I try to save. And for the record, I never wanted you to throw away your work because of a setback. You can still work from here. Giving everything up? That’s not you. That’s not the strong, determined woman I know. What’s really going on?”

I slump in my chair, the fight draining out of me. “You don’t understand. It’s not just a setback. It’s… everything.”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, a deep crease forming between them. “What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself to finally voice the truth I’d been grappling with. My heart races, and I can feel a slight tremor in my hands as I clasp them tightly in my lap. “I’ve made AR visible to the naked eye.” August looks like he wants to say something, his mouth opening, but I just push out the rest before I lose my nerve. “And it’s gone. Someone must have found out and got into my apartment to steal it. This was the project of my life. And it’s gone. ” My voice cracks on the last word. “Starting from scratch would take years, and it would be no use. Before I got back on track, the person who stole my project would have long ago brought it to the market, or another competitor would have. Not to mention that I used some resources from my company, which I can’t do again now they know about it. Or at least some colleagues up in the rank know about it. I don’t know if they would rat me out to keep me from it and…”

Why wouldn’t they?

They did worse.

August’s brow furrows deeper, his eyes searching my face. “Why did you tell them if you don’t trust them?”

“I didn’t,” I murmur. “They are the ones who watched me through my cameras.”

A heavy silence falls between us, thick with unspoken questions and growing unease. August’s face is a mask of concern, but there’s something else lurking beneath the surface… suspicion?

“Amelia,” he says slowly, as if choosing each word with painstaking care. “Can’t you see it? They’re the ones who broke into your apartment and took it.”

“I—” I start, but the words die on my lips.

I want to dismiss it outright, to laugh it off as absurd, but a traitorous seed of doubt has already taken root in my mind when I saw their surveillance. Flashes of memories play through my thoughts like a grainy film reel.

Grey walking into my apartment like it was nothing to grab me for a walk.

Oliver standing in my bedroom out of nowhere when I was crying my eyes out.

I’m sure of what I’ve seen. I’m sure they were watching me. Using me for their project.

But hurting me to steal mine?

Would they really do that?

“No,” I say, but it comes out weak and uncertain, more a question than a statement. “They wouldn’t…” Even as I speak the words, the foundations of my trust crumble more beneath me. “I don’t know,” I admit, the weight of it cracking through me. “I don’t know anything anymore. It’s like the ground beneath my feet has turned to quicksand, and I’m sinking fast.” Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to keep them at bay.

August stands, reaches out to grab my hand, and pulls me to stand in front of him, hugging me tightly. “They probably did,” he says softly, his words muffled against my hair. “And you’re probably right. You can’t go back. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay in this house and bury your dreams.”

“I would… I will,” I whisper, clinging to him like a lifeline. “For you.”

“And I don’t want you to,” he says firmly, pulling back to look me in the eye. “We’ll find a way, okay? Now I have you back, we’ll find a way. ”

He’s right.

I can’t go back.

Not to them.

Every interaction, every shared moment, now feels tainted, viewed through a lens of suspicion and hurt.

The possibility of them stealing from me feels like a physical weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I want to deny it, to cling to what I thought we had, but the evidence seems damning.

And as I stand there in August’s arms, I feel simultaneously anchored and adrift.

“You ready for the dinner from hell?” he murmurs with a hint of humor in his voice as he lets go of me.

Nothing about this is funny.

We make our way downstairs and into the dining room. I expect to be bombarded by the smell of all the lilies around the room, like in the entrance hall, but the air is only thick with the scent of expensive perfume. Then I remember they specifically put non-perfuming flowers in the dining room because it’s considered unappetizing to smell flowers during meals.

I’m back in their world.

Miranda, the friend Mother mentioned during our phone call, smiles at me when we step in. She’s a striking woman in her early fifties. Her fitted and stylish emerald-green dress accentuates her hourglass figure.

Daniel, her son, who’s a couple of years older than me, stands beside her. He’s tall and athletic, with neatly styled, sandy blond hair and piercing blue eyes that scan the room with an air of disinterest. He wears a tailored navy-blue suit, the crisp white shirt underneath adding to his polished appearance.

He’s very good-looking but also so damn arrogant.

My father barely acknowledges my presence, his eyes skimming over me as if I were part of the furniture. But Mother eyes me disapprovingly, her gaze raking over my outfit with barely concealed disdain as we come to stand beside her.

My mother, despite being in her early sixties, has a perfectly slim but curvy figure that she maintains meticulously.

“This is what you’re wearing?” she asks, her voice dripping with disappointment.

Wow, she didn’t take long.

“It’s what the maid laid out for me.“

“I’ll call the stylist tomorrow for a new haircut and clothes. It’s a shame you haven’t filled out a little more, but that stylist can do wonders.” Her words cut through me like a knife, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I look over to Daniel, whose gaze seems to skip over my body to see what I’m lacking.

Miranda laughs, a tinkling sound that grates on my nerves, but quickly adds, “Oh, don’t be silly. Your daughter is beautiful.”

Daniel nods in agreement, his blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. I should probably feel grateful for their intervention, but the attention makes me even more uncomfortable.

We’re seated, and I find myself between August and Daniel, feeling like a fish out of water. The dining room is a whirlwind of chatter and clinking silverware. Daniel glances at me before he attempts to small talk. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Amelia Charlotte.”

“Just Amelia, please. And yes. It’s been a while,” I reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

“You were in Seattle for work, I’ve heard.”

Why does he ask that if he knows it already?

God, I hate small talk .

“True,” I respond curtly, hoping to end the conversation there.

“How’s the weather over there?” he asks. His question is bland, but it sends a chill down my spine as a memory of a much happier voice fills my mind.

“How’s the weather inside you, Amelia?”

My heart tightens, and a lump forms in my throat.

“You’re amazing. You’re someone I want to be like when I grow up.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the ache in my chest only deepens.

“See how life gets brighter if you’re just willing to sit through the darkness long enough? ”

My hands clench into fists under the table, nails digging into my palms as I fight to maintain my composure, fight not to let them move to the back of my head.

No, Misha, I don’t see it. Even if mine got a little brighter, thanks to you, I’m back in the dark.

Daniel’s eyes search mine for a response, but I can’t bring myself to offer more than a hollow, “It’s rainy, as usual.”

“So, you probably felt just at home.”

I thought I did.

This formal dinner is my personal nightmare. I have to remind myself to breathe, desperately trying not to think about the casual, happy meals I shared with the guys back in Seattle. This stiff, oppressive atmosphere couldn’t be more different, with its starched napkins and assorted forks that I can remember the proper order for with my eyes closed.

I pick at my food, barely eating, pushing the carefully arranged morsels around my plate. Mother notices, of course, her hawk-like gaze missing nothing. “Amelia Charlotte, you’ve left the meat untouched again,” she chides, her tone suggesting I’ve committed some grave social faux pas.

“Are you a vegetarian?” Daniel asks, surprisingly gentle. I nod, wondering why he’s suddenly taking an interest. We’ve barely exchanged more than a few words before tonight.

Dinner concludes, and the air is heavy with conversation and the clink of dessert spoons, when Father orders the butler to bring cigars and scotch to the parlor. The guests rise from their seats, chairs scraping against the polished wooden floor, as they begin to make their way over.

The parlor is an opulent room lined with dark wood paneling and filled with plush leather chairs. My Steinway still sits in the corner where it’s been since Father moved it out of his office a few years ago. Its glossy surface reflects the soft glow of the chandelier overhead.

When I enter the room, he catches my eye. His firm voice leaves no room for argument and cuts through the murmur of voices. “My daughter is going to play the piano for us.”

I feel the eyes of the guests turning toward me, expectant and curious. My palms grow clammy, and I quickly wipe them on the skirt of my dress.

Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the piano, my fingers trembling as I lift the lid. The room quiets down, conversations fading into whispers.

Settling onto the piano bench, I take another deep breath, my fingers hovering over the keys. I glance around the room one last time, my eyes briefly meeting August’s before I look away. Then, with a final steadying breath, I close my eyes and begin to play. The familiar notes flow through my fingers and momentarily ease the tension within me.

God, how I missed you , old friend .

Even though I know I’ll have to stick to the classics, playing is a welcome escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the dining room. The notes pour out, filling the room with Chopin and Beethoven. At some point, I feel someone sit beside me on the long bench, but I keep my eyes closed, focused on the keys beneath my fingers, afraid to break the spell.

Finally, after what must be at least half an hour, I finish playing, the last notes hanging in the air like a whisper. My hands fall into my lap, suddenly feeling empty and restless.

I turn to see who’s joined me, expecting to find August. To my surprise, it’s not my brother as I’d assumed, but Daniel, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

“You’re amazing,” he praises, but it makes me feel uncomfortable.

“Thank you.”

“Would you like to get some fresh air with me on the balcony?” He nods toward the one that’s attached to the parlor.

What’s going on?

“I’d probably better go up to my room,” I reply, trying to muster another polite smile. “The jet lag is really hitting me.”

Before Daniel can respond, Mother strides over, her steps quick and purposeful. “Amelia Charlotte, don’t be so impolite,” she admonishes, her voice firm. “Accompany the young Mr. Bancroft. It’s the least you can do.”

Sighing inwardly, I nod and stand, trying not to let my building frustration show as I follow Daniel. The large glass doors open onto a grand, spacious balcony adorned with elegant wrought-iron railings and a stunning view of the estate gardens. The cool night air is refreshing against my skin, and I take a deep breath, trying to shake off my fatigue .

Daniel closes the glass doors again, shuts out the chatter from the room, and comes to stand beside me, his posture relaxed. “You really are talented, you know,” he says, glancing at me. “You playing the piano always was my favorite part of the galas.”

“You’re my favorite,” a way sweeter voice whispers in my mind.

Can this evening end already?

“Thank you,” I murmur, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

There’s a moment of silence, and I can sense Daniel gathering his thoughts. He reaches out, his hand brushing against mine. “I mean it, Amelia. You’re incredible.”

I pull my hand back, taking a small step to the side, needing some space. But Daniel follows, his presence pressing close. “You know,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get some alone time with you.”

What does he even want?

Daniel had never flirted with me like this before.

Hell, this is the first time we talk more than a polite hello.

“Well, you’ve succeeded.”

He chuckles, taking another step closer, his cologne wafting over me. “You’re funny. I think we’d make a great team, you and I. You with your musical talent, and me with… well, everything else.”

I roll my eyes internally, my patience wearing thin. I don’t know if it’s the fatigue or if I’ve spent too much time with Grey, but I’m so done with this bullshit. “What is this, Daniel?”

“What is what?” he asks, feigning ignorance, a smug smile playing on his lips .

“All this,” I gesture vaguely, feeling the frustration bubbling up. “You hanging on like a fly.”

He chuckles, the sound low and patronizing. “Is that so? And here I’ve heard you’re shy.”

Somehow, his brand of arrogance is only annoying and not as infuriatingly hot as Grey’s is. My patience is now long gone, and I cross my arms, staring him down. “You never talked to me before. Why now?”

“Well…” He pauses, his smug demeanor slipping as he runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, I wanted to discuss this at a later point when we had hung out a bit and become friends, but I guess you’re not as easily impressed as I’m used to. So why not play with open cards from the start? You’ve certainly already gathered what the plan here is.”

What is he even talking about?

“No, Daniel, that’s why I’m asking. What is the plan here?”

He sighs deeply, his shoulders sagging as he leans against the balcony railing. “Okay. So… our mothers want us to marry.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I say, stunned by his bluntness.

Although am I really surprised?

Mother basically told me the same.

“I know, I know. But you know how the game is.” He shrugs. “You know it as well as I do. And honestly, I always thought you were cool.”

“You thought I was cool?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.

Bullshit. No one’s ever thought I was cool.

I’m so not cool.

Uncrossing my arms, I take a step back, but Daniel takes a hesitant step closer, his demeanor shifting from smug to slightly earnest. “Yeah, I mean, you’ve always been different. You do your own thing, you’re smart, independent. That’s pretty cool. ”

I shake my head, the frustration building. “This is ridiculous.”

And he’s such a liar.

“I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out,” he says, reaching out as if to touch my arm but thinking better of it, letting his hand fall to his side. “Our mothers think we’d make a perfect match. And honestly, on paper, we do.”

I stare at him, my mind racing. “I’m not going to marry you, Daniel. This is insane.”

“I know. I’m sorry, okay,” Daniel’s tone softens. “Listen, how about this? I can keep my side chicks, you can keep yours. And I promise I will never embarrass you or disappoint you. Publicly, I will be the best and most loyal husband there ever was. I will keep everything as private as possible as long as you do too.”

Side chicks?

The words echo in my mind, and I can’t hide my disgust. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“They’ll want at least two kids from us, but I promise I’ll make it good for you,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that he probably thinks is charming. It reminds me of how Misha jokes, but where Misha’s flirty demeanor is endearing, Daniel’s attempt is repulsive. I want to say something, to tell him how ridiculous he sounds, but he continues, undeterred. “Maybe I’ll be the one who will turn you back straight again.”

“I-what? I’m not gay!” I blurt out, my frustration boiling over. “And even if I were, that’s not something you can turn on or off. What the hell?”

“You’re not?” He appears genuinely surprised.

“No! Who says that?”

For all the things they’ve talked about behind my back, I’ve never heard that one .

“ Everybody. And I thought it would be plausible after you slept with Davidson. That fucking idiot.”

“What?”

What has my ex to do with this?

“Yeah, we all thought you discovered you were gay thanks to his micropenis and went to America so you could live a happy gay life away from your parents.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“A happy gay life?” I ask, flabbergasted.

God, he’s even more pretentious and backward than I thought.

“Sorry, I know that was bad,” he says, offering a half-hearted apology. “But hey, even better. That means that when we need to have sex to make babies, you’re going to enjoy it.”

“I don’t want your babies or any babies,” I snap, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.

“It’s okay, I don’t either. We can get a nanny or two or three. I don’t fucking care. Between both of us, there is more than enough money to send them to a Swiss boarding school, and we only have to see them for Christmas or summer for a few weeks. And you can live your life, work on your computer or shit, and I can have mine.”

He’s fucking crazy and needs to be set straight.

“ I’m. Not. Going. To marry you. ”

“Listen, Amelia,” he pleads, his eyes searching mine. “I get it, okay? Maybe I said this the wrong way, maybe it came across too nonchalant. I’m trying to take it lightly, but this is our fucking lives we’re talking about. I don’t want to do it either, but it’s the life we’re stuck with. And I want to make the best of it. Wouldn’t you like to live that life with a friend?”

His earlier arrogance is gone, replaced by a sincerity that’s hard to ignore. He takes my hand again, and this time, I don’t pull away. His grip is firm but gentle, a silent plea for understanding.

“A friend you can talk to, where you don’t have to pretend,” he continues. “With a friend who understands that in front of everybody else, we’re the perfect couple, and at home understands that you want to do your own thing, work on your own things. I promise I will let you work. I will let you be everything you want to be. I won’t make a cute little housewife out of you if you don’t want that. We get staff, we get maids, you can work all day, all night for all I care. As long as for appearances, you play your role as much as I play mine. Wouldn’t you prefer that? Prefer being married to a friend instead of a guy who doesn’t understand you? And who would want you to be their good little housewife who goes on her knees for them every night and pushes out five to six children?”

The weight of his words sinks in, and I realize the trap we’re both caught in.

The picture he painted. It could turn into reality.

“It won’t be long before you realize how mediocre your efforts are, and when you do, you’ll come crawling back. And when that day comes, don’t be surprised if the only suitors interested in you are old bachelors desperate for an heir. And don’t expect me to help you then. I’d rather marry you off to any of them just to soften the disgrace you’ve become.”

My mother’s voice echoes in my mind, and I start to hyperventilate.

Daniel reaches out to push a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’re in this together, Amelia, and I swear, if you agree, we’re going to be a team. A team for life. A team that supports each other and understands each other. Okay?”

“I…”

I what?

“I’m tired,” I say instead, feeling overwhelmed .

“Fine. Think about it.” He pulls me close and kisses my cheek. “I could give you a good life. And I’m a good friend. Heard you haven’t got too many of them in your corner. At least in London.”

Nowhere else, either.

I stand there, watching him walk away. The cool night air does little to calm the storm inside me, and I know that this is far from over.