Page 3 of Awaited Love with You (Wasted Love #3)

Et tu, Brute?

Autumn

M y childhood bedroom is now my refuge, and my mattress is the safe place.

My phone is tucked away in my desk drawer—powered off and trapped in a steel case so I won’t be tempted to check it.

I readjust my blankets and roll over, hoping that today will be the day when I might feel well enough to walk outside.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this ache in my chest isn’t heartbreak but something worse—regret.

“You’re safe now, Autumn,” a familiar voice suddenly whispers. “You’ll be alright for life now.”

I open my eyes to see Kylie sitting on the edge of my bed.

“What’s going on?” I slowly sit up. “How did you even know I was here?”

“I had a feeling,” she says. “I wasn’t sure when you’d come to your senses about him, but I knew you would.”

My heart is still aching—telling me that I’ve made a major mistake, so I can’t agree right now.

“Want to get some breakfast?” I say instead. “I could use a loaded waffle and some coffee.”

“Sure. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She leaves my room, and I flip the covers off my body. Standing, I stretch, but it does little to alleviate the pain in my chest. I’m seconds away from bursting into tears.

Keep it together, Autumn. Keep it together…

I pull on a hoodie and head to the bathroom. I splash my face with cold water and force a smile while brushing my teeth.

I stare at my reflection as Ryder’s words echo through me like a scratched vinyl—looping over and over, bleeding through every crack.

“I told you exactly what this was from day one…”

Before I dissolve any further, I hit the lights and head downstairs.

Kylie is rummaging through my parents’ cabinets, shaking her head.

“You don’t have any waffle mix,” she says. “Want to make a quick trip to Gayle’s?”

I nod, zombie-walking outside and to her car.

As she starts the engine, I notice the glint of a pink and coral keychain swaying from her ignition. The same shade she once pressed into my palm.

“Put it on your keychain and never let it out of your sight…”

I swallow hard.

Thankfully, she doesn’t try to force a conversation as we ride, and by the time we arrive, I’m in a slightly better mood.

We order the same loaded waffle, and when she’s done filling me in on celebrity gossip that I’ll never remember, I brace myself for chaos.

“What did you mean when you said ‘I’m alright for life now?’”

“That you don’t have to worry about disappearing or dying anytime soon.”

“Can you be clearer?”

“Edward Rochester.” She places her hand over mine.

I flinch.

“You mean Ryder?”

She shrugs. “Whatever name he goes by.”

I still.

“He was arrested last week,” she says. “He’s going to prison for a very long time.”

“What?” My fork clatters against the plate.

“You hadn’t heard?”

“No…” My heart drops. “How would I have known?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Don’t you still—Never mind.

It hasn’t hit the news yet, but it will this week.

They went in stealth and got him outside a warehouse near his estate.

Apparently, they needed to make sure they got a few more people quietly before anyone else he’s tied to could get away. ”

I stare at her, stunned. Something about her tone feels too smooth.

“How do you know all this?” I ask. “Could you be wrong?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve been quietly keeping tabs on him through some back-end databases since you told me—Sorry.”

“You’ve been watching him?”

“Just monitoring,” she says too casually. “Checking in through old systems, a few off-the-books ones I still have access to. Just in case.”

I nod slowly, but something inside me is starting to shift.

Tears prick my eyes. “How long do you think he’ll be away?”

“For life.” She picks up her fork. “He’s a monster, Autumn. He’ll feel right at home, though, so don’t waste your time worrying about him.”

“What about Adele?”

“Who?”

I bite my tongue.

“Did you say Adele?” She laughs. “We are a bit too late to go to her residency, but you can make it up to me somehow later. I think you’re officially the random one between us now.”

I nod, grateful she didn’t press any further.

“You can find someone far better,” she says. “And you will. You already made the first step—the best step—in deciding to get the hell away from him.”

He’s not a monster…

I pick up my fork and force a few bites of waffle down my throat.

“Here,” she says, handing me a glittering keychain. “It’s pepper spray.”

“For what?”

She shrugs. “You just never know these days. You don’t have a gun or any other weapon for protection, so…”

I sigh.

“I hate to end this so soon, but I’m really tired, Kylie,” I say, knowing I won’t be able to fake being okay for too much longer. “Raincheck for breakfast another day?”

“Oh, sure. Sure.” She smiles and signals for the waiter. “I should probably get back to my actual job before they realize I’m a bad employee.”

I laugh for the first time in weeks.

After paying for our food, she drives me back home, and I return to my bed.

That night, I try to sleep.

But something’s off.

I can feel it…

A faint sound begins to thread through the quiet—an irregular buzz, like interference from an old radio, soft but insistent. I freeze beneath my covers, holding my breath as it surges again, sharper this time.

It’s not coming from outside. Not the hallway. Not my phone.

I sit up and scan my room. The sound vanishes for a moment, then returns—higher-pitched now, tingling at the edge of my nerves like a mosquito I can’t swat away.

It pulses again.

Then… something inside my purse pulses in return.

I get up slowly, every movement deliberate. My heart is already pounding, but I try to ground myself. It’s probably nothing. Some app glitch. Maybe a forgotten portable charger losing power.

Except when I open the purse, I see the pink and coral keychain Kylie gave me weeks ago blinking. Faint white light. Irregular hum.

I fish it out and lay it on my desk, then dig out the second one—the one she gave me this morning. That one’s blinking, too. Syncing in rhythm.

Neither have buttons. No off switch. Just that pale flash and that quiet, almost living sound.

Something’s wrong.

I don't trust myself to Google this. Not when my mind is already spiraling into places I don’t want it to go.

Sliding both into a sunglasses case, I slip out of the house and drive my dad’s car to a run-down pawn shop two towns over. The guy behind the counter looks like he hasn't slept in days, but he perks up when I show him the case.

He picks up one of the keychains, turning it in his hands, eyebrows lifting slightly. “You want me to open it?”

“Please.”

He works with quiet precision, popping it apart with a small flat tool. As the pieces come undone, I see what’s inside—tiny wires, a circuit board, something that looks like a mic chip and a transmitter.

“Okay,” he says, dragging a lamp closer. “This isn’t just pepper spray. It’s a tracking device. High-end. Audio-capable, too.”

My mouth goes dry. “You sell these?”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Not ones like this . This is FBI-grade. Government-level tech. Expensive. Not something you find on Amazon.”

I don’t move. I don’t breathe.

He pulls a clunky, knockoff version from a drawer under the counter and places it beside mine for comparison. “This one’s what the average creep uses. Yours? Yours is the kind they use when they want to watch and listen without getting caught for a long time.”

My legs suddenly feel unsteady, like the floor beneath me has shifted.

I thank him, not sure how I get the words out, and I don’t remember the drive home. All I know is that I’m sitting at my desk again, staring down at the second device as I pry it open with shaking hands.

It’s the same. Wires. Battery. Microphone. No mistaking it now.

She told me it was pepper spray. Said it was nearly lethal. Said it was for my protection.

Told me to keep it close. To never let it out of my sight.

And I listened.

I kept it on me for weeks. Through every moment of my life with Ryder. Every conversation. Every touch. Every secret I thought was safe.

She’s been listening.

She’s been watching.

And she’s been doing it from the start.

I stare at the shattered pieces on my desk—shiny plastic and surgical precision—and all I feel is the cold shock of betrayal pressing down on my ribs like a weight I can’t lift.

This wasn’t protection. It was surveillance .

End of Episode 3