Page 61 of Push My Buttons
We order takeout and eat on my couch, the three of us pressed together in a tangle of limbs that feels surprisingly natural. After dinner, Theo insists on a movie—"something mindless and explosive"—to take our minds off everything else.
As the film plays, I find myself nestled between them, Jace's arm around my shoulders, Theo's hand resting on my thigh. The simple comfort of their touch grounds me, keeps the anxiety at bay.
Later, when we prepare for bed, there's a moment of awkwardness as we navigate the logistics of three people in my queen-sized bed. But then Jace simply pulls back the covers and Theo dims the lights, and we fall into place as if we've done this a hundred times before—me in the middle, their bodies creating a protective barrier between me and the world.
As I drift toward sleep, cocooned in their warmth, I realize that for the first time since I lost my voice, I don't feel alone in the silence. Whatever comes tomorrow—the therapy, the investigation, the looming threat of my stalker—I'll face it with them beside me.
Unknown
I stand in the darkness of her bedroom, watching them sleep. They look so peaceful, so fucking content with themselves. Lilliana—my Lilliana—nestled between them like she belongs there. Her pink hair splayed across the pillow, her body curved toward the one on her left. Jace, I think his name is. The other one, Theo, has his arm draped possessively across her waist.
It makes me sick.
The new lock they installed was a joke. I almost laughed when I saw it. Amateur hour. It barely slowed me down—five minutes, tops. A skill I perfected years ago when my best friend and I would break into summer homes for fun. We were young, reckless, stupid. But effective.
I move silently around the bed, studying their faces in the dim light filtering through the curtains. They think they can protect her. They think they deserve her. After everything I've invested in Lilliana—resources, planning, all that fucking time—these two idiots waltz in and think they can claim her?
I know her better than they ever will.
Taking the flowers was a calculated move. Let her question her own memory. Let her wonder if she imagined the danger. And now, seeing these two here with her, I'm glad I made that choice. It's forced her hand, pushed her closer to them, making my next move all the more devastating.
Because I'm going to take her from them.
Not yet, though. First, I want them to sweat. I want them to think they've won, that they've created this perfect little sanctuary where she's safe and loved. I want them to lower theirguard just enough. And then I'll show them how easily their world can shatter.
Just like mine almost did.
I could take her now. She's right there, barely three feet away. But that's not the plan. The plan requires patience. Precision. The kind of methodical execution that separates professionals from amateurs.
Besides, I want her to come willingly. In the end, she'll understand that I'm the only one who truly sees her. The only one who ever has. The only one who can protect her.
I move to the kitchen, pulling a small notepad from my pocket. The pen makes no sound as I write, my handwriting deliberately neat and controlled. When I'm finished, I place the note on the counter where she'll find it in the morning. Right where the flowers were.
"I MISS YOUR VOICE, LILLIANA. SOON."
Simple. Direct. A reminder that I know who she really is. That I've been close enough to hear her. And exactly how long I’ve been watching her. That "soon" is a promise, not a threat.
I take one last look around the apartment, my gaze lingering on the bedroom door. Part of me wants to stay, to watch over her the way I have so many nights before. But discipline wins out. There will be time for that later, when she's where she belongs.
With me.
They think a new lock will keep me out. They think their presence will scare me away. They don't understand that some bonds can't be broken by simple barriers or bodyguards. They don't understand what she means to me.
But they will. Soon enough, they'll understand everything.
I disappear out the door and back into the shadows, already planning my next move. The game is evolving now, becoming more complex with these new players. But that's fine. I've always enjoyed a challenge.
And I've never lost a game I truly wanted to win.
Chapter 23
Theo
Iwakewithastart, unsure what pulled me from sleep. The digital clock on Wren's nightstand reads 5:42 AM—way too early for someone who considers noon a reasonable time to start the day. But now that I'm awake, my bladder makes its demands known.
Carefully extracting myself from the tangle of limbs without waking Wren or Jace requires more coordination than I typically possess before coffee, but somehow I manage it. She looks peaceful nestled against Jace's chest, pink hair splayed across the pillow, her face relaxed in sleep. It's a rare sight—Wren without the vigilance that usually tightens her features, without the constant awareness of potential threats.
I allow myself a moment to simply look at them both. Something warm and possessive unfurls in my chest. Mine, I think. Ours.
