The hospital released me after three days of observation. No major injuries from what they called my 'unfortunate accident'—just bruises, whiplash, and the lingering terror of a car that had tried to kill me. Erik drove me home in silence, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. I couldn't tell if he was angry at me or at the situation. These days, I could never tell.
'I've been worried sick,' he said finally as we pulled into our driveway. The smart home system recognized his car and the garage door opened automatically. I flinched at the mechanical whirr. After what happened with the house before, every automated function felt like a potential weapon.
'I know,' I murmured, though I wasn't sure I believed him. The Erik I'd grown up with, the one who'd once loved me more than his own ambitions—he would have been devastated. This Erik seemed... inconvenienced.
He helped me inside with surprising gentleness, guiding me to our bedroom where he'd already arranged pillows and my favorite throw blanket. For a moment, I glimpsed the boy I'd fallen in love with, the one who'd once stayed up all night when I had the flu, coding by my bedside so I wouldn't feel alone.
'I have something for you,' he said, reaching into his pocket. He produced a small velvet box, the kind that usually holds jewelry. My heart stuttered—was this some kind of apology? A recognition of what I'd been going through?
Inside was a sleek silver bracelet. Elegant, minimalist, with a subtle digital display that blended seamlessly into the metal.
'It's beautiful,' I said cautiously, lifting it from the box.
'It's more than that.' Erik took it from my fingers, his face lighting with the enthusiasm he usually reserved for new tech breakthroughs. 'It's a health monitoring device. Top of the line. It tracks your heart rate, sleep patterns, stress levels—everything. After what you've been through, I want to make sure you're recovering properly.'
Something cold settled in my stomach as he fastened it around my wrist. The clasp made a soft click, but it sounded like a lock engaging.
'Can I see the app?' I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. 'I'd like to understand how it works.'
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. 'You don't need to worry about the technical details. It syncs to my phone. I'll monitor everything.'
I turned the bracelet on my wrist, examining it more closely. The design was familiar—similar to prototypes I'd seen in Erik's lab. But this wasn't just a health tracker. The embedded sensors, the microperforations along the band, the weight of it... this was surveillance equipment.
'Erik, I don't think—' I began, sliding my finger under the band, testing if I could remove it.
Instantly, his phone buzzed. He glanced down, then back at me, his expression hardening.
'Jane, please don't remove it. It's for your own good.'
'I don't want to be monitored,' I said, my voice stronger now. 'I'm not one of your beta testers.'
'This isn't about testing.' His tone shifted to the one he used with difficult clients—reasonable, patient, condescending. 'After everything that's happened—the house malfunctions, the car accident, your... episodes—we need to track your mental state.'
'My mental state?' The words felt like ice in my mouth. 'There's nothing wrong with my mental state. Someone hacked our systems. Someone tried to kill me.'
Erik sighed, running a hand through his hair. 'Jane, please. The car accident was a software glitch. Marina's already patched the vulnerability. And the house...' He gestured vaguely. 'You dismantled half our systems before I could even look at the logs. There's no evidence of hacking.'
Because Marina deleted it, I wanted to scream. Because she's the one doing this.
Instead, I tried once more to remove the bracelet. The clasp wouldn't budge.
'It's locked,' I said, the panic rising in my throat.
'It's secure,' Erik corrected, as if I were a child misunderstanding a simple concept. 'For safety. We can't have it falling off and missing data.'
He left soon after, claiming an urgent meeting at the office. I sat on our bed, staring at the silver band around my wrist, feeling the weight of it like a shackle. When I tried to pry it open with a letter opener, Erik called within seconds.
'Jane, stop that. You're only proving my point about your mental state.'
That's when I knew with absolute certainty: I was a prisoner in my own home.
