Chapter 61 CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Chapter 61 CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Amelia’s POV

The house was too quiet.
Not the quiet that meant peace, but the type that hummed beneath the skin electric, waiting. Every step I took echoed faintly against marble floors that had seen too much. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the scent of it lingered through the open corridor windows, mixing with the faint smell of smoke and something metallic.

I paused by the window, glancing at the garden below. It was empty. But in the puddles that still clung to the stones, I saw the reflection of the house’s lights flickering like a pulse. I used to think this place was beautiful. Now it felt like a maze built to swallow me.

Damian’s voice from earlier still replayed in my head:

“Welcome home.”

Home. The word sounded foreign, now a curse, not a comfort.

I moved through the hallway, every creak of the wood beneath my feet making me flinch. The penthouse had always been minimalist, flawless. But tonight, I could feel the cracks. A light bulb flickered above me. Somewhere, faintly, a door clicked shut.

I wasn’t sure if I was alone.

My reflection followed me in every pane of glass I passed, pale, drawn, eyes too wide. I caught myself stopping, staring into the mirrored surface of a painting frame. For a second, I thought I saw someone behind me.

“Adrian?” I whispered.

Only silence answered.

I turned, half-expecting him to be there the way he always appeared when the darkness closed in too tightly. But the hallway was empty, stretching on endlessly.

I pressed my palm against the wall, grounding myself. “He’s gone,” I murmured. “He’s gone, Amelia.”

But saying it didn’t make it true.

Somewhere in the house, faint static began to hum the sound of a television flickering to life without a remote. My pulse jumped. I followed the sound, cautious but pulled forward like a moth to the glow.

The massive screen across the far wall was on. Lines of distorted footage played glitching, blurring, and then my own face appeared. The camera angle was low, as though from a corner of the room.

I am standing by the window. I whisper Adrian’s name.

I took a shaky step back. “No…”

Another feed flashed. I was in the kitchen, days ago. Another from the elevator. One from the café. Each one cut with eerie precision, looping through moments I hadn’t realized were being watched.

And then, the newest feed from right now.

My breath hitched. On screen, I saw myself standing in the living room, head tilted, eyes wide, mouth trembling. The same position I was in now.

And behind me, in the reflection of the glass door, a shadow.

I turned instantly. Nothing. The doorway was empty.

“Damian?”

The television glitched again. The image flickered the same shadow, closer this time. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I snatched the remote and killed the power. The screen went black, but my reflection remained.

That’s when I saw it.

In the black screen’s faint sheen, a handprint appeared pressed from the inside.

I ran. Not out of fear, but out of instinct, the kind that tells you staying still will kill you faster. The study was the only room that still felt like mine. I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, chest heaving.

The desk lamp was still on, casting a warm pool of light across the scattered papers, the remnants of Project Helix: blueprints, notes, fragments of truth. I gathered them quickly, hands trembling.

If Damian wanted to keep me here, he’d have to burn me with it.

The papers whispered as I turned them over. One line caught my eye:

“Subject A-01: Compatible host. Partial genetic integration successful.”

My vision blurred. My initials were scribbled in the margin.

I didn’t remember any of this. But my body did. My skin prickled with the memory of something I couldn’t see, like a ghost that lived inside me.

And then, the faintest sound: the click of a shoe heel on tile.

“Still running?”

His voice slid through the room like a blade through silk. Damian stood in the doorway, composed, expression unreadable. He wasn’t wet anymore. He’d changed into a dark shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open, too calm, too put-together.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said softly.

He smiled. “This is my house.”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s my prison.”

He took a slow step forward. “Then why do you keep coming back?”

The question struck something raw in me. I opened my mouth, but no words came. Maybe because deep down, I didn’t have an answer that would save me.

His gaze drifted to the desk. “You’ve been reading again.”

My pulse quickened. “What is this, Damian? What did your father and mine do?”

He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked… relieved. “So you’ve seen it.”

“Project Helix,” I said. “You knew, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he circled the desk, his fingertips grazing the surface, brushing the papers like they were living things. “What difference would it make if I did?”

“Everything,” I said fiercely. “It means none of this was real. Not our marriage. Not us.”

He stopped in front of me. His eyes softened just slightly. “You think I don’t know that?”

The confession hit harder than I expected. His voice broke just enough to sound human again.

“I spent years,” he said quietly, “convincing myself that what I felt was choice. That I chose you. But then I found the files. I realized I was bred to find you. To love you.”

My breath caught. “And that makes it okay?”

“No,” he whispered. “That makes it impossible.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Thunder cracked again outside, the sound rolling like a final warning.

I stepped back, my mind reeling. “Where’s Adrian?”

Damian’s jaw flexed. “He made his choice.”

“What did you do to him?”

He didn’t respond. That was answer enough.

My chest tightened. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I already have,” he said softly.

I lunged for the flash drive, but his hand shot out faster, grabbing my wrist. Not hard, not violent, just enough to hold me still.

“Stop fighting me, Amelia.”

“Then stop controlling me.”

His expression cracked only slightly, but I saw it. The tiredness beneath the monster. The man who didn’t know if he was protecting or destroying what he loved.

“You think I don’t want to let you go?” he said. “But if I do, they’ll take you back.”

“They?” I whispered.

He looked past me toward the window, where lightning carved the world into white lines. “The ones who made us.”

He released me, turning to the window. His reflection stared back, and in that reflection, I saw something move behind him.

A figure.

Adrian.

Soaked, pale, eyes burning. Standing outside in the storm, staring in through the glass.

Damian didn’t see him. Not yet.

My breath hitched. My lips parted, but no sound came.

Adrian lifted a finger not to his lips, but toward the reflection, a silent warning.

Behind Damian, a red light blinked on the desk. The flash drive. Reconnected.

Lines of code began to appear on the monitor, data reassembling, messages decrypting.

Damian turned back, eyes narrowing.

“What did you do?” he asked.

I swallowed. “I didn’t do anything.”

But I had, without realizing it.

The screen flickered one last time before the power surged. The monitor filled with static, then a single phrase appeared, one line, in the same handwriting as my father’s old notes:

“If you’re reading this… the truth is already inside.”

Damian froze.

Adrian moved closer to the glass.

And I, standing between them, realized the walls that had trapped me all this time weren’t made of steel or secrets.

They were made of blood.

The lightning flashed once more, cutting across all three of us, predator, savior, creation, locked in a reflection that finally looked too real to escape.