Page 60 of Fractured Allegiance
I pull the robe tighter, tying it around my waist like it's a shield.
Across the room, the phone on the kitchen island blinks once. I grab it immediately. Not a call. Just a notification.
Loop cycle ending in 8 minutes.
The surveillance system. The one Drazen installed after that club incident last month—when a client got too close, too handsy, too fucking confident the woman in the room had already been bought. Like just because I was there, I somehow belonged to him. I handled it, cutting his ego open with three words and a smile. But Drazen didn't like the optics, and that's all that mattered.
He had cameras installed the next day. Not because he cared. Because possession is easier to monitor than trust. His way of saying "you're safe" while meaning "you're mine."
Three weeks ago, I paid someone very well to give me a workaround. Twelve-hour windows where the system plays recorded footage from a previous "safe" period. Me sleeping, reading, doing nothing that would raise flags.
Drazen caught it within forty-eight hours.
I thought I was done. Thought he'd punish me for tampering with his system, use it as proof I was planning something.
Instead, he called me to his office, poured two glasses of whiskey, and said: "You think I don't know what you're doing? I installed this system to protect you, Lydia. But if you need your... privacy, I understand. Everyone needs to breathe. Just remember—I'm allowing this. And what I allow, I can take away."
That was three weeks ago.
Since then, I've used the loop sparingly. Maybe once a week, when the weight of being watched becomes too much. When I need to cry or scream or just exist without performing for an audience.
But every time I activate it, I know: he's letting me. He could revoke this privilege whenever he wants. Could use it against me. Could claim I'm hiding something and demand to know why I need privacy if I have nothing to hide.
The loop isn't freedom.
It's a leash that's slightly longer than the others. And he holds the other end.
I forgot I'd activated it last night. I'd wanted one night where no one was watching me fall apart.
The current loop shows footage from two nights ago—me coming home, showering, going to bed. Boring. Safe. Exactly what Drazen would expect to see.
But I need to be in position before it ends.
Eight minutes.
I know Drazen knows about the loop. But when I set this system up, I programmed it to sync with the footage timestamps—so when the live feed kicks back in, I'm exactly where I would be in the recording. Seamless transitions. No visual discrepancies.
Not because it fools Drazen. He knows what I'm doing.
But because I don't know who else might be watching. Dom has access to some of Drazen's systems. Other people in the organization might too. Better to keep the transition clean for the watchers I don't know about than to get sloppy assuming only Drazen is paying attention.
I move back toward the bedroom. In the looped footage, I'd been heading to the bathroom around this timestamp. Which means I need to be there when the live feed kicks back in.
I step into the bathroom and close the door behind me. Turn on the shower. Let the steam build.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of my robe.
Live feed restored.
I shed the robe and step under the water, letting it beat against my shoulders. The heat cuts through the fog in my head, sharp and clarifying.
I take my time. Not because I need to pretend for Drazen—he knows. But because I still need to feel like my body is mine before I hand it back over to performance.
When I'm done, I wrap myself in a fresh robe—soft cotton, cream-colored, nothing like the silk I'd been wearing before. I towel-dry my hair enough that it won't drip, then step back into the bedroom.
The city is fully awake outside. Traffic builds under the window. A garbage truck groans its way down the alley behind the building, hydraulics whining like something in pain.
I used to sleep through sounds like that.
