Chapter Four
Georgia
By the time I get home, I’m ready to drop face down on my bed and just go to sleep.
I kick off my shoes just inside the door and drop my bag onto the small bench, already mentally listing everything I didn’t get done and everything I still need to do.
The apartment is quiet in that familiar way that grounds me.
I move into the kitchen on autopilot, twisting the faucet on as I reach for a glass.
I pause for a second, my brows dipping in confusion.
Something isn’t quite right…
Hand still wrapped around the handle, I listen for the familiar dripping sound of the pipe beneath the sink, but it doesn’t come.
My stomach tightens.
I turn the handle off and back on again, slower this time, watching closely. Still nothing. I crouch and open the cabinet beneath the sink, half-expecting water damage or a bucket shoved underneath.
Everything looks…right.
Too right.
I straighten and open one of the upper cabinets. It swings smoothly instead of catching. I try another one, and it’s the same thing. My pulse starts to tick faster.
My landlord didn’t do this.
I know that for a fact. He’d called me two days ago to complain about his health and told me he wouldn’t be able to come by for weeks. He’d suggested I call a plumber instead. I’d thanked him, hung up, and like always, I’d put it off.
I turn slowly, scanning the kitchen even as the answer to the puzzle forms in my subconscious. My eyes suddenly fall on the note on the counter placed beneath the salt jar. I pick it up, leaning against the counter. My hands shake as I unfold the note.
It’s from Zane, admonishing me that I haven’t been taking care of myself as I should. As I read, my breath catches, my stomach tightens with a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and something I can’t quite put my finger on.
He goes on to say he doesn’t like the idea of me skipping meals. That he knows how easy it is to forget when work takes over. That if I don’t go to the grocery store tomorrow, he’ll have food delivered for me instead.
It’s not a threat. Not even framed as a demand.
Just…stated.
Then it suddenly hits me… How does he know so much? It’s almost as if he’s living right here with me…
I lower the letter slowly, my thoughts moving faster as the pieces fall in place. If he knows about my empty fridge…If my sink and the cabinet doors are miraculously fixed... doesn’t that mean…?
Zane was in my apartment.
The realization should feel like a slap but instead, it lands quietly.
I press the letter flat on the counter, smoothing it with my palm. My heart is beating harder now, but not from fear. Not exactly. There’s something else threaded through it…something warm yet confusing.
I push away from the counter and begin to walk through the apartment, looking around, imagining him in my space… The thought is exhilarating.
Suddenly, a faint glint of light catches my attention.
I stop.
It’s subtle enough that I might have missed it any other day—just a brief reflection that seems out of place. The result of me getting off work at a normal hour today, something that never happens with Mick Flint as my boss. I step closer, leaning in toward the shelf.
There, tucked between a stack of books and a decorative object I’ve had for years, is something small and dark. Almost invisible unless you know what you’re looking for.
A camera.
I stare at it for a long moment, my mind going strangely quiet.
I am being watched… Inside my home…
By a man I’ve never met. Never spoken to in person.
Questions instantly flood my head.
How long has it been there?
How much of me has he seen?
Are there others?
All those questions and yet…the fear still doesn’t come.
What I feel instead is a slow, spreading warmth. A complicated one. Uncomfortable, maybe. But not terrifying. Zane has never tried to frighten me. Never pushed past what I’ve given him. Everything he’s done…letters, flowers, quiet gestures, has circled the same intent.
To protect. To care.
I don’t move the camera. I don’t cover it. I just stand there, looking at it, more aware now of myself—and of him, somewhere beyond these walls, watching and waiting. On impulse, I lift my chin and look straight at the shelf. Into the lens.
My heart thumps once, hard, before I speak. “Are you…watching right now?”
My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
I wait.
For a second, nothing happens. I almost convince myself I imagined the whole thing, until the sound of his voice suddenly echoes through the quiet room.
“Yes.”
A single word, but with enough intensity to make my knees wobble.
His voice is deep. Rough around the edges, like it’s been worn down by things I can’t see. It slides under my skin before I can stop it, settling somewhere uncomfortably intimate. I let go a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“You can hear me,” I say—not quite a question but with an uncertain tilt, still unsure if I’m hallucinating.
“I can,” he replies.
That sends a ripple through me, part awareness, part heat. I steady myself against the back of the couch.
“How many…?” I ask, needing something concrete to hold on to. “How many cameras are there?”
There’s a pause this time. Not long but deliberate.
“Three,” he says finally. “The living room. The kitchen. And…the bedroom.”
My cheeks warm instantly.
“The bedroom?” I repeat, my voice cracking a little at the end.
“In the ceiling fan,” he adds. “Above your bed.”
I swallow. My pulse jumps, my thoughts scattering. Before I can spiral too far, he speaks again.
“The video is off,” he says. “In there, it’s audio only.”
Relief loosens something tight in my chest. Not completely, but enough that I can breathe again.
“Are you angry?” he asks quietly.
The question catches me off guard. I consider it honestly, standing there in the middle of my living room, staring at proof that my life isn’t quite private anymore.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m…processing.”
“Do you think I’d hurt you?”
I don’t hesitate. “No.”
The certainty of it surprises me, but it’s true. I’ve never felt threatened by him. Not once.
“I wouldn’t,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”
The words settle over me, heavy and strange. Comforting and unsettling, all at once.
“I need time,” I say after a moment. “To think about all of this. I need you to turn off the camera feeds.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Okay,” he says. He sounds disappointed, and something like guilt twists in my chest. How ridiculous to feel guilty for demanding a stranger not watch me in my own home. But I can’t deny the feeling is there.
“I… You can leave the microphones on,” I add, surprising myself as much as him. “For now.”
I retrieve a tea towel from the counter and drape it over the camera on the bookshelf, just to be sure. The one in the kitchen doesn’t bother me as much. I leave it alone.
After that, I have a quick dinner—cereal straight from the box. I don’t even bother to sit, just gulp as much as I can stomach while standing at the counter. I’m acutely aware of his presence even though he’s not physically here… I can almost feel the intensity of his eyes.
I wonder what color they are…
“I’ll order groceries tomorrow,” I blurt out in a fickle attempt to fill the charged silence.
“Good girl,” he says, and a shock zaps my core. A feeling I have experienced only sparingly in the past. His words ignite something in me, something I hope to explore more.
After dinner, I head straight to the bathroom for a quick shower. As the water slides down my skin, I can’t help but wonder if he’s hearing me right now… Did he lie about how many cameras there are? Something tells me he didn’t. What’s going through his mind?
Heat creeps up my neck at the thought, and suddenly, I feel the pressing urge to know what’s happening on the other side of the lens…
After my shower, I dry off and for reasons beyond me, I slide under the covers naked. I don’t know what I am thinking. Maybe I’m not.
I look at the ceiling, trying to spot the hidden camera.
The thought of him listening, aware of me at this very moment…does something to my body I don’t fully understand.
Suddenly feeling bold in the darkness, I slowly slip a hand under the covers, running it hesitantly down my chest to my stomach until my fingers are brushing the short hairs of my mound.
I run my tongue over my chapped lips, sliding a little further down. My breathing becomes slow and uneven, my body growing hot with strange electric sensations.
I close my eyes, wondering if he can hear that too.
“Zane?” I call softly.
What the hell am I doing?
“I’m here,” he answers immediately.
There’s something about his voice…a controlled tightness that sends shivers through my entire body.
“Are you…watching?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “You asked me not to.”
I hesitate, my pulse beating a little faster now. The air feels charged, like something waiting just beneath the surface.
“Turn it on,” I say.
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end. A sound he doesn’t quite manage to hide.
“Georgia—”
“Please.”
Another second passes. Then a quiet sound comes through the speaker, something rough and unmistakably human. A low moan.
My breath catches.
“C-can you see me?” I stutter, despite already knowing the answer to that.
“Yes,” he answers, his voice tighter now. “The camera’s got night vision.”
Heat spreads through me, slow and disorienting. The idea of him seeing me like this makes my skin feel too warm. I think about what it’d feel like to have his hand on me touching…caressing
My finger brushes my clit, and a soft gasp escapes at the dizzying pleasure that rushes through me.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I swallow. “I’m…thinking about you…” The words feel dangerous once they’re out, but I don’t take them back. Instead I brush my hand over my clit—deliberately this time.
I hear his sharp intake of breath. And when he speaks again, his voice is rough in a sexy way that makes my vagina walls contract involuntarily.
“And?”