Page 74 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

"I'm trying to protect her!"

"Umm, excuse me, can one of you please tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Silas walks around the counter, grabs the package from Mateo's bag, and tears into it. He stares at it for a second, then hands it to me.

"What in the hell?" I gasp. No one gives me any answers or explanations why I'm holding a picture of Mateo masturbating. Only, it's not him. Mateo's chest is defined, but not ripped like this guy in the picture. He doesn't have those boob-like pecs and his nipples are dark brown, not nearly purple.

"What is this, Mateo?" I ask, handing it over. He takes it in, looking the image over, before handing it to Noah, then walks to a built-in shelf in the dining room. Pulling open a drawer, he digs through some linens, then pulls out two more pictures buried in the back. Apparently, if I ever want to snoop, this is where we all hide our shit—in the backs of all the drawers.

Mateo tells me the previous pictures were also left in the lobby downstairs and, apart from verifying that a local delivery service paid for them, he doesn't know the sender's identity.

I suggest going to the police because someone is clearly stalking—at the very least, tormenting—Mateo, but he outright refuses.

"I'll get my lawyer to deal with this. A third picture, this is escalating. The first two I just thought were… I don't know. Meant to fuck with my head. Or yours. I'll get a restraining order."

"Against who?"

"The only person who's currently fucking with our lives."

"You think this is Delaney?"

"Who else would it be?"

He has a point. But this is so fucked up. Paired with the video she just made about me, all I can think is she's trying to get me out of the way and take Mateo for herself. Which is absurd, considering how she's going about it, but she's clearly unhinged.

"Why would you keep this from me?" I ask, digging my phone out of the cutlery drawer and turning it back on. One way to get my mind off my one set of problems is to discover some new ones. Finding Portia's contact, I sift through a bunch of unread messages.

My heart contracts when I see a message and a bunch of social media links from her, Cara and Mary-Anne, all calling Delaney out on her lies. I send her a text to thank her, then ask if she can set up a meeting with me and Delaney. For now, considering how far this is escalating, I think it's best to go through a third party and not try to talk to her myself. I don't want her to twist anything any more than she already has.

"What are you doing?" Mateo snaps. God, he sounds like a brat.

"You didn't answer my question. Why would you keep this from me?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"It's not your job to protect me, Mateo."

"Bull-fucking-shit." He stalks toward me, one hand flat on my sternum, and shoves me against the refrigerator door. My panties flood and I curse myself for being turned on at a timelike this. "You are ours to protect. If you don't like that, too fucking bad. I will do anything for you, Lucy, and dealing with this psychopath so you don't have to is part of that."

Inhaling heavily, I argue back, "I texted Portia and asked her to set up a meeting—"

"No—"

"Not your decision. And isn't it nice that I'm telling you right away and not trying to keep that from you?"

Silas chuckles from behind Mateo, making me smile. Mateo isn't smiling, though. "I won't let her hurt you again."

"Pictures of you naked, even if it's not really you, is a violation againstyou, Mateo, not me. We protect each other. Isn't that what this relationship is all about?" And I'm not talking about a poly relationship, I'm talking about anything and everything we have between us. Relationships are built on trust and honesty and respect.

"The lies she said about you—"

"Are lies. I'll figure it out. With my girls, because they know how to navigate online scandals. She won't win, I swear it. But these pictures, that's different. It's darker and fucked up and honestly, it kind of scares me. I need to sit down with her and confront her about it. If that doesn't work, we can meet with your lawyer or go to the police, get the restraining order."

He shakes his head. "No." Just like that, no compromise.

Frustration boils within me. "Please, Mateo. I'm so… it's so…intense!" Hovering my open palms over my temples, I feel the weight of the last hour, the pressure against my brain, the fog, the dissociation coupled with the tension and worry over what's to come. Public scandals, getting canceled, fixing my reputation. It's too much. It's all too much.

My voice cracks when I continue, "I'm so fucking stressed out. I almost lost my shit again today. I watched that video, and I panicked, and I swear I blacked out on my walk home." Ignoringhis growling, I add, "I can't do that again. I can't. I just need to talk to her and start taking control. We don't even know if this is her. Please, Mateo. Please." I sniff away a tear, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand, feeling the panic ebb and flow, shaking my nerves, making my skin clammy and cold, while my chest feels like it's on fire.

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