“I’m going to go look for that motherfucker. Go to your apartment and lock yourself inside. Don’t open the door until I get back. I mean it, Veronica.”
Without waiting for my response, he starts to run in the direction my attacker went. I’m so confused. Why is he going after whoever attacked me? He knows I can just call my brothers and cousins. I look at Will, who begins to do what he was told. I start to walk, and he walks next to me. He probably thinks I’m about to faint, and he’s ready to catch me. Wemake it into the elevator, and I lean against the wall. I’m shocked at how well I'm handling this; no doubt it’s the adrenaline. We get to my floor, and Will continues to follow behind me. I’m a couple of feet away from my front door when I notice that Cam’s apartment door is open—not completely, but enough for someone to let themselves in. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I locked myself in here. I’d be safe.
I turn to Will. “I’ll be waiting for Mr. Villanueva in his apartment. Thank you for tonight.”
“But Mr.—”
“I’ll speak with Mr. Villanueva. As you can see, his front door was already open.”
He nods because he doesn’t have a say in the matter. Plus, I can’t just call the police and walk into the hospital. It will be on the front page tomorrow. I can’t do that to my family. I also don’t want to worry them, so I need to talk to Cam and convince him to keep his mouth shut.
I make my way inside and close the door behind me. I turn and take in the view in front of me. I’ve never been inside, and it’s not at all what I expected. The apartment is modern and spacious. There is a minimalist vibe, but it’s the art on the wall that brings the space to life. There are vibrant paintings everywhere, bright shades of reds, yellows, and blues, so full of life. This is a contrast with the man I’ve been dealing with.
I cross to the couch because I feel like my legs are going to give out on me. My entire body hurts. On the coffee table, there’s an open laptop, with a pair of expensive reading glasses next to it. I didn’t know Cam wore glasses. Then again, it seems like I know nothing about him. I need something for the pain, so I head to his kitchen and look in the drawers. Everything is perfectly in place. After going through a couple of drawers, I give up and go to collapse on the couch. I don't have the energy torummage through his stuff. I’m walking back there when the laptop screen catches my attention. I swear I just saw movement.
I’ve always been too curious for my own good. Taking a seat in front of it, I decide to look at what caught my attention. I see the screen divided into frames. In one frame, I see the interior of the parking garage; in another, I see the inside of an elevator, my elevator, the one I was just in. The next frame shows the street where I just came from. These are on a live feed. I click on an arrow in the top corner. I can see every entrance and exit, and street views from all angles. Even outside my apartment door. I exit the screen and see a tab labeled with my name. My hand shakes as I click on the folder. It has all my high school and college transcripts, my grades, the classes I took,everything. My whole life is here. I click on another, and a password authenticator pops up. I type Cam’s name, hoping he’s that vein, but nothing.
There are files with Berenice’s name on them, along with Tabitha. Huh, Tabitha’s is also locked, but not Berenice’s. There’s a phone tracker icon at the bottom of the screen. I open it and find my name with a bubble next to it. It’s showing my current location. I grab my phone and pull up my location, but it’s off. I’ve had it off for years, since I found out Miles was tracking me. I never enabled it because I knew that it didn’t matter; he would always find me. I look at my phone and then back at the laptop. Trying to make sense of it, but my head is killing me. I’m trying so hard to keep it together.
“I should have known better than to think you would listen to me.”
I scream. Startled, I drop the computer, turning in the direction of the front door where Cam is standing and looking royally pissed. He looks at the laptop that’s on the floor and then at me.
“I thought I locked the front door.” That is all I can say after being caught snooping.
“Well, it’s my apartment, so I don’t need a key to enter. Just this.” He lifts a finger.
His fingerprint. I grab a glass ball that’s in the center of the coffee table, ready to throw it. Ready to protect myself. “Why are you tracking me? And why do you have all my goddamn life in a file?” I shout.
“What are you going to do? Throw a ball at me?” He’s mocking me.
“Tell me before I call my brother,” I threaten him, but he doesn’t seem to care. He rolls his eyes and takes a step toward me, but I take a step back. We stand in silence for a few moments.
“Do you ever pay attention to the people you let into your lives? Do you even care? Because if you paid more attention, you might realize some things.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, Princesa, are you sure you want to know?”
That condescending nickname. Only one person has ever called me that. That can’t be. There is no way. I’m trying to piece things together, but my throbbing headache isn’t helping.
“Ahh, I see that it’s finally clicking.”
"You're a billionaire who moonlights as a hacker? You’ve got to be kidding me." I step in his direction with the glass ball in my hand. My voice dripping with disbelief. "You’re telling me you’ve actually been my brother’s lapdog this entire time?"
A muscle in his jaw clenches, and his eye twitches at the nickname I gave him. Good. It still stings. The realization begins to settle in: the two most infuriating men in my life are actually one and the same.
"I prefer my given name, Camilo Villanueva, but you can call me Miles."
I don't hesitate. I hurl the glass ball straight at his head, but he’s faster, ducking just in time. It hits the wood paneling behind him and shattersinto a thousand pieces. The sound of his grinding teeth is audible in the sudden silence.
"Liar," I spit, my voice trembling. "I don’t believe you."
I need him to be lying. Because if he isn’t, he’s just another person in a long list who has made a fool out of me.
He doesn't argue. Instead, he wears a devious smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He pulls a phone from his pocket and taps a single button. A moment later, a familiar voice fills the room.
"Cam?" My brother’s voice is clear through the speaker. “This better be an emergency,” Gabe answers.
