Page 11 of Cup of Lies

No. Seth’s not her real father.

My pulse quickens at that realization. Has this man kidnapped us? How did we get here?

I close my eyes, desperate to remember more, even the sick parts of Vivienne. As clear as day, I see a journal written in female swoops and curls. There are pictures of me and this woman. We look so much alike.

Mother.

Now I know my mind is playing tricks on me. Vivienne was my nanny, not my mom. My real mom left us.

So I was told.

Your mind plays tricks on you, Romy.

Maura, my previous therapist, is in my head, telling me to sit down and shut up. There was a time when I did just that. Iswallowed the pills she gave me and did the psychological work in an effort to go along with the brainwashing my father insisted upon.

I have another fragment of a memory in my bedroom back home. Me and Bastian are arguing. I’m furious at him. And then I see his rage-filled face as he slams my head against a wall.

Megan got away.

Who’s Megan?

A woman in an evening gown runs through the city, the wind blasting her hair, making it whip all around her.

Relief floods through me, though I don’t know who Megan is.

I feel as though she’s somehow connected with my brother. Maybe I saved her and he was angry about it.

Overwhelming dread crushes me into the chair. Do I even have any friends or allies or family who would want to help me?

Caius?

I wish I could remember his face—anything about him. The harder I try, the more shadowed my brain gets.

I need to get access to the internet somehow.

Seth’s phone.

Rising to my feet, I dry my wet cheeks with the heel of my hands and make my way back to the bedroom where my captor sleeps. His snoring is the same as before. As stealthily as a pregnant woman can be, I prowl over to his side of the bed where his phone is plugged into the charger. When I pick it up, it lights up the dark room but instantly denies me access.

It has a face scanner.

My heart hammers wildly in my chest as I come to terms with what I must do. Seth is on his side, facing the middle of the bed. To get to his face, I’ll need to lean over him while trying not to mash him with my big belly.

Carefully, I do just that, stretching my arm as far as I can while keeping my body from touching his, and line the phone up with his face.

Denied.

He snorts out a louder snore, briefly opening his eyes. I freeze, horrified at being caught. The phone unlocks. His eyes flutter closed again, not truly waking up. I snatch the phone back and step away from him, shuddering in fear.

I quickly look for the mysterious app. The one that strikes me as odd is a brain-shaped one that’s called Stem Lock. Once inside, I see two profiles. Subject R. Subject K.

Romy. Kaitlyn.

Bile rushes up my throat.

I’m going to be sick. Morning sickness has chosen the wrong time to make its appearance.

I open my profile. It’s a bunch of scientific jargon that is confusing to me, but I do my best to read every part, memorizing all the details. Then I do the same for Kaitlyn. There’s no way to disable it from what I can tell. Knowing it’s there, though, is enough for now.

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