The dim glow of monitors bathed Ethan’s face in flickering light as he leaned forward, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The grainy black-and-white feed displayed every corner of your apartment—kitchen, bedroom, living room. A silent, intimate movie that only he was allowed to watch.

You moved through the space, completely unaware. The sight of you—tousled hair, soft skin, the way you bit your lip when lost in thought—made his pulse quicken. His fingers hovered over the screen, tracing your outline. So close.

You sighed, stretching, the fabric of your shirt shifting just enough to reveal a sliver of bare skin. His jaw clenched. Did you even realize how vulnerable you were? How easily someone could slip inside?

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Your phone. You were texting someone. His stomach twisted as jealousy coiled deep in his gut. Who? Who the fuck were you talking to this late?

The urge to act gnawed at him. Maybe a message—something subtle, a reminder that you weren’t alone. Just enough to make you uneasy. Just enough to keep you close.

He exhaled slowly, watching as you turned off the lights, slipping into bed.

Safe. For now.

But Ethan wasn’t going anywhere.