30. Reset
30
Reset
From Barry Wright’s manifesto:
We call it the Great Reset. An international governing power—not a government but one of those conglomerates like the UN—will create a global disruption, such as a war or pandemic. After that, the power will take away individual ownership and autonomy, looking like they’re doing us a favor the whole time. And they’ll end up with total control over the population.
TESSA
O utside the window, the sky was ink-blue, the way it never was in San Francisco or Silicon Valley. Stars glittered over the rolling hills that surrounded the resort and were obscured at the horizon by the distant mountains. The only sound was Oliver’s deep breathing as he slept. The arm that had pinned me to him was still flung over my side of the bed.
I wished there was a balcony where I could slip outside and hear the yips of the coyotes or a great horned owl or even an obnoxious mockingbird, but Oliver never would have chosen a room with a balcony. It wasn’t safe. He even slept on the side of the bed closest to the door, thinking he could protect me from anything that came in.
What I needed protection from was already in the room. It was him and the baby that had slipped past his lips, the dangerous feelings that kept me from correcting him.
He knew, but he didn’t understand how I used to sleep outdoors next to a campfire all the time with nothing but my sleeping bag and Dad’s shotgun protecting me from any critters that might slither or stalk past. He didn’t know what it felt like to face threats far more terrifying later: tech bro culture, a backstabbing partner, disgruntled employees who threatened retribution. I pulled the fluffy robe up to my neck.
He thought together, we’d be safe. It was why he’d whispered, “I love you,” into my skin like the Litany Against Fear from Dune. He thought his love could offer me safety, but I knew love was anything but safe.
I’d learned that from my dad.
Seeing Harry yesterday was a shocking but timely reminder. I’d loved him too, desperately, na?vely. I’d trusted him to look out for our—my—best interests, to advise me, to comfort me, and to love me back. He hadn’t. He’d used me for profit, and after he got his payout, he walked away.
And now, like a fool, I’d tangled myself up with Oliver, someone I worked with, someone who needed something from me, someone who didn’t understand my need to protect myself and my secrets. He’d told Carly and Lucie about my dad like it was no big deal. But exposing that shameful truth was a very big deal to me.
And what else would he reveal about me, and to whom? I liked living my secluded, private life. All it would take was one leak for the media circus to blow up again. For some nosy reporter to find my home and write me up as that eccentric woman who used to be famous. No one would work with me again, not even my favorite charities. I’d have destroyed the glass-brittle legacy I’d worked so hard to reconstruct.
I was older and wiser than I’d been with Harry. I couldn’t let myself fall for it again. I’d fight to keep my independence, and I wouldn’t get hurt.
Oliver shifted in the bed, tucked one of my pillows against his chest, and buried his face in it. My icy heart melted a little. He was so goddamned adorable, like a kitten. Maybe he actually thought he loved me. But as soon as I let my guard down, he’d ruin everything I’d worked so hard for, the way Hedy had shredded my curtains.
I couldn’t let him do that to my heart.