Jason owned the eyes of a hawk. He noticed every detail that he saw. He kept tabs on every move you made. It was his job. Your husband hired him as your bodyguard. Your husband’s lack of presence scored Jason a job as a bodyguard.

He watched as you stomped up the stairs, your heels aggressively clicking against the ascending glass platforms. He kept his distance, a few feet behind you—something your husband enforced. This time, you were upset about your husband’s habitual lying tendencies—one of the many things Jason heard you complain about.

“You’re going to fall if you keep stomping like this.”