Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Do I even want him to know? Do I want to be with a man who is potentially dangerous? A man who asks me to create listening software that the NSA would be afraid of?
Plus, if anyone were to find out about this little program I’m working on, Damien would probably be arrested. I don’t want that. If nothing else, I don’t want the father of my child to go to jail.
I do care about him. Even after everything I know, he’s rooted his way so deeply into my heart that I don’t think I could stop caring about him if I tried. But I also don’t want to become someone I don’t recognize, and that’s exactly what’s happening to me.
I rub my temples and close my eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The cursor on the screen blinks like it’s waiting for me to make a decision. Write the next line. Complete the next block. Finish the system that will help him listen in on someone. Or I can walk away from this. I can put an end to this right now, tell him I can’t complete the code, and leave this job forever.
I don’t want to be responsible for what happens with this software. I don’t know what damage this program might inflict. Then again, if I don’t do it, someone else might come along and build something even worse.
I start typing again, forcing myself to focus. I already crossed the line by saying yes. I’ve already committed to this. Finishing it is the least I can do.
Hours pass without me noticing. The office gets quieter, the soft hum of machines fading into the background. Most of the staff has gone home by now, and the overhead lights have dimmed automatically. I don’t realize how late it is until my phone buzzes with a low-battery warning. I glance at the clock and see it’s almost nine. I’ve completely lost track of time.
I sit back, rub my eyes, then save my progress and lock the files behind biometric encryption. Only Damien and I have access. No one else can open them.
I gather my things and step into the hallway. It’s dark and still, making my footsteps echo louder than they should. I pass the break room, the main conference space, and the wall of glass that overlooks the city. The lights from the skyline glitter like a sea of eyes. Watching. Waiting.
When I get to the elevator, I pause. My reflection in the metal doors looks different somehow. A little more tired. A little more uncertain. I touch my stomach again, barely breathing. One way or another, this secret won’t stay hidden for long. I just hope I can figure out what to do before everything changes.
I toss and turn that night, arguing with myself about what I should do. Finally, I fall into a fitful sleep, and when I wake up, the answer has come to me so clearly I almost laugh.
I get to the office before the sun rises and sit at my desk. I have a steaming cup of tea next to me, but I already know that by the time I drink it, it’ll be lukewarm. I’m too lost in this project to pay much attention to anything else. I hardly look up as people start to trickle in, and I ignore all my emails. All I can focus on is the code.
Because I’m not just building what Damien asked for anymore. I’m building something else, too.
A way in. A door only I can see.
I want to know what he’s doing. I want to hear the things he doesn’t tell me, see the choices he makes when no one’s watching. I want to know the kind of man my child’s father will be, so I can decide whether he even knows this child exists.
The back door is subtle and elegant, so well-hidden that only the most adept coder would even realize it’s there. It’ll ping a secure relay server I’ve designed off-grid, one that only I can access. From there, I can tap into the audio feed once the system goes live. Whatever Damien hears, I’ll hear too. And then I can have a better idea of what I’m getting myself into.
It’s wrong. I know that. But this whole situation is wrong. Damien’s job is dangerous and could put me in harm’s way. And I don’t just have my own safety to worry about anymore. I have to safeguard my child’s future.
By Friday, the software is finished. I run the last round of internal diagnostics and encrypt the final build. Then I close the lid of my laptop, sit back in my chair, and press a hand to my abdomen. I refuse to feel guilty about what I’ve done. Damien kept something major from me. I’ve just leveled the playing field.