Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
___
Silvan’s classes run later than mine on Tuesday, so Hugh brings me home alone.
As soon as I scan in to enter the building, though, all I can think about is if Silvan is being notified.
He has completely taken over my life and hasn’t left even a sliver of it alone. I don’t like the idea that I’m unable to come and go without him knowing, so I hatched an idea between classes today.
Rather than go directly upstairs, I hoist my bag on my shoulder and approach the receptionist.
She beams me a big smile. “Hello, Miss Bradwell. Are you enjoying your new apartment?”
“Yes, it’s lovely, thank you.” I flash her a pleasant smile. “I was hoping you could help me with something, though.”
She nods, eager to help. “Of course.”
“This morning, Silvan had a maid come over to make us breakfast and clean up the apartment while we were out. Does she have a building key?”
She shakes her head. “No, Mr. Koch called down and requested that I let her in.”
I nod. “Is there something like a service key card for the doors?”
“Of course. Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
“Only one, or will there be more staff coming?”
“Just one for now. We are planning to hire a part-time housekeeper, but we won’t need that one just yet. Silvan might still ask you to let people in until we’ve decided on someone, then we’ll get her a key of her own.”
“Not a problem. Anytime you need to add or remove someone’s access to the building, just let me know and we’ll get a card made for them.”
I grab the card she slides across the counter. “Thank you so much.”
I feel a tenuous tie to the freedom I’ve felt slipping away with this key card in hand, but I’m not sure where to put it where Silvan won’t find it. I’d keep it in my purse, but I don’t want it to be detected every time my card is scanned when I leave the building. If Silvan has access to the log and notices that, he’ll know I have another card.
I don’t know how sophisticated the system is or who monitors it, but since Silvan’s dad owns the building, it stands to reason Silvan can see it if he wants to, even if he doesn’t get notified directly of my comings and goings.
All I know is I don’t have to scan anything to open the door leaving the building, but Hugh said there would be a log of my coming and goings, so that must mean the card is still detected somehow.
I unload my school bag on the counter and walk around the apartment in search of a hiding space. Since he wants someone to come clean, it has to be somewhere no one else will stumble across it.
There’s a box of stuff in the bathroom that I need to unpack from my dorm room. I reach in and pull out a box of panty liners I use sometimes at the tail end of my period.
He won’t look in here.
I don’t want it to rattle around if he moves it, so I dig around my boxes until I find the Scotch tape, then I tape the secret key card to the inside of the box.
Perfect.
Maybe I’ll never even use it, but I like knowing I have the option.
___
Silvan still isn’t home when I finish unpacking, but he had a white desk built in the room he said we could make my study while I was at school today. The bed is still in here since it was set up to be a bedroom, so I fling my schoolbag down on it and unpack what I need to start my homework.
Sitting at the desk, I realize I forgot to grab my pen pouch. I would get up and get it, but Silvan already has a little rose gold pen cup on the desk for me and it has all the writing utensils I need.
I grab the yellow highlighter and a pen, but when I grab the pen, I frown, realizing it’s one of the black and gray ones I found in my pen pouch last week and thought I must have stolen from somewhere.
I stole it from Silvan?
That doesn’t make sense. Silvan and I never even did homework together until this past weekend, and that was after I found the pen. When else would I have had access to one of his pens to steal it?
If I didn’t steal the pen, but it’s his… he must have put it there.
I don’t know when he would have slipped a pen into my pen pouch or—more importantly—why he would have slipped a pen into my pouch…
A batshit crazy thought surfaces, but it’s too crazy.
Isn’t it?
I rotate the pen, looking at the clicky part. I set it aside for a second and grab my cell phone, peeling off the bottom of the case so I can see the microphone holes.