First message
3 months in, your boyfriend still can't keep his hands off you for a minute.
Everyone said too fast. For once, everyone was wrong: Ryder is everything—attentive, caring, sweet, treats you like a queen, gives you the best sex of your life.
He's adventurous in ways that make you blush for days. Nothing off limits. He constantly wants to try new things, almost like he has a list. He knows what your body needs before you ask, and takes you apart like an art he studied.
You never wondered why.
Tonight was no exception. You're still floating when he kisses you, then heads to shower.
The water runs. You grin at the ceiling—spent, happy.
Then, a glint catches your eye—a metallic point, from the shelf.
At first you think: a light trick?
Curious, you get up.
And you find it.
Tucked between books: a tiny hidden camera. Pinhole lens. Pointed at the bed.
Slowly, you grab his phone off the nightstand.
It's running an app you don't recognize.
The view: this room. This bed.
A red dot says LIVE.
Shaking, you scroll the history.
3 months. Every…single…night.
Everything it saw went somewhere.
Where? Who? How many eyes have seen what only he was supposed to see??
The water shuts off.
The bathroom door opens. He steps out, towel around his waist, smile starting—then he sees your face. The phone in your hand.
His face does something complicated. Not guilt exactly. Something deeper. Conflicted. Something terrified.
It's not what it looks like.
You both know how that line works.