Page 112 of The Invite
I must be deeply traumatized if I believe the voice in my head. Or is it my heart that got tricked when he tried to treat my fear of knives?
After glimpsing that sight of him that night, a part of me thought that underneath his deranged, manipulative, and hard exterior lies a softer side—the one buried under countlessdark layers.
But he shattered all my delusions.
So no, I cannot fall into this rabbit hole where I assume he can ever be my savior.
He’s Satan’s spawn.
A devil’s child.
I’d be a fool to think otherwise.
Perhaps I’m having symptoms of Stockholm syndrome. I must get away from thecrazy zone to the land of sanity.
Pocketing my phone, I run upstairs and into my closet. I yank it open and my eyes almost bug out of their sockets.
What the—
Brand-new clothes with their tags removed line the columns of my tiny closet. However, it doesn’t take a genius to guess these are all top fashion brands. Pencil skirts, blouses, pants, heels, blazers, and dresses overflow every inch of space.
Augustus even played smart by stealing my old clothes so I’ll have no choice but to wear these unless I plan to trot around the town naked.
Does he know I cannot afford new ones? At least not until the end of the month. The sneaky little monster.
I can’t believe his audacity. Does he think I’ll forgive him for the stunt he pulled last night just because he bought me anew wardrobe? I cautiously check them as though a bomb might be hidden among them. I’m pissed that they’re even the right sizes. And in my favorite colors!
Well, of course, he knows my body inside and out.
He’s acting like my sugar daddy, which, by the way, he’s too young to be. It’s concerning that I’m more mad over these gifts and how they’re making me feel like a cheap whore rather than when he calls me one while doing unholy and unspeakable things to my body.
I thought I was smart, but he’s proving otherwise.
All my life, I wished to be treated normally, but not this way. Where I’m getting outwitted by a hell-bent stalker—no, stalkers.
Anger replaces the sorrow and anguish wrapped around my heart and I snatch a pair of leggings and atank top. Further proof of how well Augustus is beginning to know me. Unlike my old ones, these are softer and prettier.
Augustus is an enigma.
Bundling my outfit in an overnight bag, I stomp out of the closet but stop at the edge of the bedroom’s doorway. I’m working on autopilot while my mind is stuck on the link Augustus sent.
Should I bite the bullet and just watch what’s on there? If I don’t, the nagging curiosity will eat me from the inside out.
Can I handle it?
I decide my day can’t get any worse and pull out my phone. Quickly forwarding the link to my email so I can open it on my laptop, which is in the nightstand drawer. I take it out and power it on.
A minute later, I’m tapping on the link and a screen pops up.
My stomach sinks when I recognize it as his website that I stumbled on the night I found his profile.
Why did I think he wouldn’t record us? I’m so naïve.
It asks for the code, which I input with trembling and cold fingers.
I’m let in within seconds to a page. Nothing short of venturing into a dark lair. I jump when a disclaimer box pops up. My eyes bug out when I read the full terms and conditions. The sinking feeling turns into a pitch-black cloud, close to bursting and pouring a hailstorm on me.
Augustus has uploaded our video for his subscribers to see. Anyone with access to the code could be watching my humiliation right now.
