Page 9 of Crossing Lines
What the hell?
“Nate,” I say urgently, flipping on the light. He’s next to me in an instant and there’s water everywhere, a good couple inches of it.
“Stay here,” he demands, taking out his gun and usinghand signals to have the others spread out and canvas the house.
Since becoming a billionaire, I’ve dealt with my share of threats—robbery, stalkers, and extortion. Enough to make me cautious, enough to push me into mastering self-defense and make sure Mom and Zeki can hold their own. Getting robbed at gunpoint outside an airfield in Spain five years ago was a turning point. Since then, I’ve made sure to have security on myself, Mom, and Zeki at all times.
Nate reappears minutes later with a frown. “All sinks and bathtubs are running, but the handles aren’t on. No one is in or has been in the house.”
I whip out my phone and open my house app. All the sinks and the bathtubs are set to “on,” and the stop-fill feature, which stops the water at a specific level, is turned off. The kitchen sink doesn’t have an autofill feature, but apparently it does now.
“Someone hacked the system?” I ask, swiping each water source and turning it into the “off” position. How? It’s state-of-the-art and supposed to be unhackable.
“It appears that way. Come, let’s get you somewhere safe while we discuss this more.” He gestures to his car, one of his men already in the driver’s seat.
“And my home?” I ask.
“There’s a lot of damage. Repairs will take months, at least.”
Rage fills me at his statement. Whoever did this is putting me out of the house I love so much. The homeI’ve worked hard to make in my new city, in my new country. It’s the one thing I love in Skyrise…and now it’s ruined.
With endless questions swirling around in my head, I get into Nate’s car and add finding a new home to my endless to-do list.
Chapter 3
Nina
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I debate what I should do now. Being tired but wired just so happens to be the most annoying feeling in the world.
It’s dark out and my fingers ache from hours of painting, arranging,and obsessing on Stella’s bedroom. Decorating while she’s away on tour is my distraction, mylifeline, and every penny of the salary she insists on paying me is getting funneled right back into these walls. It’s a loophole, a way to give her something without taking anything in return.
Staying in the main house feels wrong—like trespassing in a life I don’t deserve—so I’ve claimed the pool house that’s separated from the main house as my own. It’s cozy, just a single room with a bathroom attached, but it’s enough. For now, at least. Until she comes home.
But decorating Stella’s house and helping Elodie ather bakery every once in a while isn’t enough to keep me busy. I’m bored and need a hobby, something new and exciting, to distract me from Mom’s messages. Her latest one? Wanting me to ask Elodie for money. She even included a screenshot of her marriage announcement to Hunter, a multimillionaire.
I respond with a simple no and immediately open my burner Instagram account as a distraction from the fact that Mom’s still sending messages. Messages I don’t want to open. She knows Elodie and her mom will never give her a dime, not after they cut her off years ago.
Interrupting my doomscrolling is a post from my father’s company appearing on my feed. It’s like a jump scare and I almost drop my phone when it comes up. I’m no expert at the algorithms but if I’m getting shown his content, does that mean he’s also searched for me? Kept tabs on me? Being abandoned by him before I was born left me with too many questions, and no answers.
My entire life, Mom blamed me for not only being born but the fact she signed contracts out the wazoo to ensure my father would never be part of my life, or hers.
She’d always use his name as a curse in our house. I grew up hearing it repeated over and over again: Miguel Mercer.
Turns out he’s a successful CEO of a famous food company. I never told anyone about him, or that I know who he is. Not even Elodie. Pretending like I don’t know he exists is easier than admitting to the fact that he didn’t want me. He’s never met me, and part of me thinks that ifhe did, maybe he’d change his mind on getting to know me. But those are the desires of a sad eight-year-old who wanted her father to attend the daddy-daughter dance at school.
Needing to do something other than think about him, I head into the main house to grab a snack from the kitchen. Not using a light, I open the fridge and debate what to eat. My phone buzzes and I grin when I see it’s the girls.
Elodie: Have y’all heard? Evren’s house is wrecked.
Aria: Did someone break in?
Elodie: No, last night apparently his smart house turned against him, and the sinks and bathtubs went rogue. At least, that’s how Hunter describes it.
Me: He’s stupid to have such a high-tech house. Hasn’t he ever watched I, Robot?
Elodie: I’ll be sure to ask that question the next time I see him.
Me: You should also ask him about his water bill next time you see him.
