CHAPTER 416: CHAPTER 416: THE TRUTH (PART 19)

A second passed.

Then—

"It is I," came Winter’s voice, flat and unmistakable. "Your mother informed me I would find Don here."

Summer visibly relaxed the moment the words reached her ears. Her body, previously coiled beneath the blankets like some startled animal, sank an inch into the mattress.

The only part of her showing was her face—just her eyes and the bridge of her nose peeking out from under the covers. Still, she looked like a kid pretending the monster would go away if she stayed still enough.

Don stepped off the bed with a grin and stretched his back casually. "See? I was right."

Summer glared at him. Or tried to. With her mouth hidden and her cheeks still holding the last traces of redness, the effect was more pout than menace. Her brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and she let out a sharp little huff.

"This doesn’t prove anything," she snapped, voice muffled. And then, in an act of supreme childish defiance, she yanked the blanket over her entire head and turned over, curling inward.

"Now get lost," she added, voice low and sullen through fabric. "I want to sleep."

Don chuckled softly. She was quick to get flustered, quicker to pretend she wasn’t. But he could hear it—her heartbeat, still a little too fast to sell the act. Not fear. Just embarrassment. The kind she didn’t want to admit was still clinging to her.

He didn’t press. No reason to drag it out. She wasn’t upset—just done for the night.

He came to the edge of the bed and leaned over her turned back. The covers were pulled high, nearly over her head. Don tugged them down slightly, just enough to expose the back of her head, and gave her hair a gentle ruffle.

"Goodnight, grumpy."

He felt her shoulders twitch beneath the blanket. Maybe a groan. Maybe a muttered curse. He didn’t check.

He straightened and headed for the door. The panel near the frame scanned him with a soft beep, then slid open with a whispery shhhhft.

Outside, Winter stood motionless.

Her black-and-white maid uniform bore the marks of the day—dirt streaks on the hem, a few frayed threads near the cuff. She held her arms in front of her, fingers interlocked, posture perfect as always. Her face, as usual, showed no emotion.

"I have collected your smartphone replacement," she said.

Don nodded. "Great. Thanks. Where is it?"

What followed wasn’t expected. Or at least not... conventional.

Winter raised her hands to her chest and undid the top buttons of her dress without ceremony. Her movements were mechanical—no hesitation, no coyness. Once she reached a sufficient gap, she reached into her cleavage and retrieved a thin, dark-gray smartphone.

She extended it toward Don like she was handing him a clipboard.

He raised a brow, took it, and stared.

"Why," he asked slowly, "did you keep it there?"

Winter tilted her head, thinking. "When I was returning into the building, I noticed a woman near the parcel cubbies hide a large black dildo between her breasts."

"A what—"

"I wanted to see if it was feasible to transport smaller parcels," she finished.

Don blinked.

"I encountered no issues," Winter continued, buttoning her uniform without fuss. "However, I suspect a human female would. Factors such as sweat, variable breast sizes and textures, and the general lack of structural control in organic tissue would pose complications. I, on the other hand, can apply up to 37 newtons of force to press my breasts together—more than enough to secure items like this without discomfort or slippage."

He said nothing.

For a moment, it was just him holding the phone and staring at her.

Winter then added, deadpan: "And yes. You could theoretically insert a penis and use variable force and vibration patterns to climax approximately 23% faster than traditional masturbation."

Don blinked again. "I wasn’t going to ask that."

"But you thought about it," she replied immediately.

He squinted. "No, I—" He stopped.

They both blinked. Winter’s was more of a scheduled eye-refresh than any real reaction.

Don cleared his throat. "Ahem. Anything else?"

Winter nodded. "My breasts can be used for a pleth—"

"No. I meant—messages. Updates. General logistics. That kind of anything else."

Winter paused. "Yes. Gary requested to speak with you. At your earliest convenience, but preferably sooner rather than later. He specified that a call or in-person meeting would be ideal."

Don glanced down at the phone in his hand, thumb brushing over the edge.

"Hm." He looked up. "What’s my mom doing?"

"Mrs. Bright is currently preparing dinner. She is in the kitchen. I estimate completion in forty-five minutes. I offered to assist, but she instructed me to clean instead."

Don raised a brow. "Guess I’ll use the time to call Gary then."

He started down the hallway.

"I’ll be on the terrace if anything comes up."

Don left and soon stepped into the hallway, the quiet hum of the penthouse returning to him like background music he hadn’t noticed until now.

He moved past the wide entry of the living area, the edge of the open kitchen just beyond it.

Samantha stood at the stove, one hand on her hip, the other holding a wooden spatula as she gently worked a skillet.

She turned when she heard him. "Oh hi, sweetie," she said with a warm smile. "Are you done helping your sister?"

He paused. "More or less." He scratched at the back of his neck. "She said she’s going to sleep, so I’m not sure she’ll be up again."

Samantha sighed, shaking her head softly. "It’s fine. She used to always be like this before—moody. I’ll just set aside a plate for her. And one for Amanda, too. I don’t think she’ll be joining us either."

Don shrugged. "Their loss, Mom."

He gestured toward the terrace doors with his phone in hand. "I’ll just be out here for a bit. I need to make a call."

Samantha nodded, curious but not enough to poke. "Okay, sweetie. Take your time."

He returned the nod and turned just as the smell of something slightly too crisp wafted through the air.

"Oh, fooie!" Samantha snapped, eyes widening as she whipped back around. She lunged for the pan, spatula clacking against the edge with a clang.

Don stepped through the sliding doors before he could hear the rest of her muttering.

Outside, the air bit cold.

The terrace welcomed him with a sweeping gust, the kind that made weaker men curse their decision to come outside at all.

The night sky offered no moon. Just thick, slow-moving clouds dragging themselves across a horizon barely lit by the far-off bleed of city light.

The wind clawed at his sleeves, but Don barely noticed. He walked past the edge of the infinity pool, the water within sloshing restlessly. It crept dangerously close to spilling over but never quite did.

He made his way to the lounge area— seats cushioned, arranged around a fireplace that looked like it belonged more in a showroom than a home. He didn’t bother igniting it.

Don dropped into one of the seats, letting the chill press into his skin. His feet propped up onto the edge of the low marble-lined table that bordered the fire pit.

He pulled out the new phone. Still cold from its... prior storage location.

Click. The device lit up. Different shell, same layout. That was comforting in a way. The contacts had transferred over, too.

He scrolled, tapped Gary’s name, and brought the phone to his ear.

It rang once.

Then again.

Click.

"Ah, sir Don," came Gary’s voice, crisp and polite as ever. "I hope your evening is going well."

"Well enough," Don said, eyes scanning the horizon without focus. "Hope the same’s true for yours."

"I’d say it’s been quite productive, sir." There was something oddly satisfied in Gary’s tone. "The crawler unit I had monitoring Strass did lose function... but not before capturing enough data to confirm he may possess valuable information."

Don’s brow lifted slightly. "What kind of information?"

"Hard to say for certain without follow-up," Gary said. "But I can handle that without issue. The only complication is resource allocation."

Don leaned back further into the lounge seat, the wind brushing his face like cold fingers. "Go on."

"There’s another issue, sir. Our systems picked up an emergency broadcast regarding the Theatre of Nightmares."

Don’s gaze sharpened slightly.

Gary continued. "Apparently, a fire broke out. Possible arson."

Don frowned.

Gary’s tone didn’t shift. "It may be nothing. That district is known for vandalism. Discrimination against its... less favored residents. Could be an escalation of that. But if it isn’t—"

"Then someone’s testing boundaries," Don finished.

"Exactly, sir."

There was a pause, long enough for the wind to whistle across the terrace again. The pool gurgled with another soft slosh.

"If you want, I can head to the theatre after the emergency crews leave," Gary offered. "From what I understand, they aren’t exactly fast to respond when it involves people from that district."

Don exhaled through his nose. He didn’t like it. But he didn’t have anything better.

"Stick with Strass. If Irene is alive and knows who did it, we follow up later."

"Understood, sir," Gary said. "I’ll begin the pursuit immediately. I’ll keep you posted."

Don nodded. "Good."

The call ended with a soft click.

He set the phone down on the armrest beside him and leaned his head back. The clouds above were still moving. Slowly. Pointlessly.

’I wonder what he plans to do...’