As he waddles out, my eyes wander the room. Where the dishes are usually perfectly tidy, clean, and in their homes, they’re strewn in the sink, waiting for a tired Serena to do them.
I’ll get them done today, baby.
Freddie paws at the door, signaling that he’s ready to come back inside, and I happily oblige, locking the door behind him after he waddles into the house.
“All right, you do the dishes. I’ll tackle laundry. Deal?” I ask him, and his tail wags back and forth vigorously.
His big brown eyes look up at me, so innocent and happy. I’ve never met a dog who was so happy to just be around their people. I don’t know if that’s a weenie dog thing or just a Freddie and Serena thing.
I spend the next two hours cleaning every inch of her house. Dishes. Laundry. Sweeping. Mopping. Vacuuming. I even cleaned out the bathrooms, showers, and toilets.
Feeling pretty damn proud of myself, I plop down in her bed, and Freddie races up his ramp and jumps into my lap, curling up and dozing off almost immediately, as if he were exhausted from cleaning, like I am. I suppose he did spend the entire time supervising, which can be hard work.
I made sure to keep an eye on my Serena work camswhile cleaning. This is supposed to be a surprise, and I didn’t want her to stumble into the house while my mask was off.
Breathing in deeply, I close my eyes, letting her scent invade every inch of my lungs and body. I can practically imagine her next to me, how perfect her head would lay on my chest.
Images of her lying in bed through my cameras fill my mind. I’m lying in her spot, the exact place she sleeps every night. The same place she uses that vibrator from her nightstand while she moans and falls apart, whimpering with my cards beside her.
I haven’t told her I’ve seen those nights, those moments where she thought she was alone. But she’s smart. She knows about the cameras now, and I know she’s put two and two together. Now, I’m just wondering if she’s going to do it again, knowing that I’ll be watching.
Her laptop dings on her nightstand, pulling me from my thoughts. My eyes flutter open, locking on to her ceiling, and I slowly sit up.
I shouldn’t look. I definitely shouldn’t snoop. But … at this point, I’m already in her house, where she didn’t tell me I could go.
Truth be told, no matter how much I try to talk myself out of it, the second that sound filled the air, I knew I was going to look.
Grabbing it, I open the lid, and a login screen stares at me. I tap my thumb on the edge, next to the keyboard. What would Serena’s laptop password be?
I already know her alarm system code for both her home and work, thanks to a flipper device and capturingthe info while she entered them into her systems. But those are strictly numerical while her laptop login could be endless.
I know her though. I’ve studied her for months. Watched, waited, learned.
Statistically, most people’s passwords are related to a pet, a spouse, a significant date, or a combination of the sorts.
Freddie is one of the most important aspects of her life. I type his name in, capitalizing theF. I try that with nothing else added, and it doesn’t work. I type his name again and this time add her birth date at the end.
Nope.
I try to add Freddie’s birthday next—having discovered it from her social media during one of my first deep dives.
Nope.
Working through a thousand variations, I try nearly every version before a warning pops up on the screen, notifying me that I now have three tries remaining.Shit.
A thought pops into my brain.
I wonder …
On occasion, Serena addresses Freddie as Frederick, typically when he’s being naughty. Although, in my opinion, I think that’s impossible because he’s the best boy.
Entering his full name, I add the last two digits of her birth year and hover my thumb over the Enter key. I still have two tries left, but I’m starting to wonder if this is the universe telling me to fuck off and mind my business.
But it should know better than that when it comes to my obsession with her.
Pressing Enter, I hold my breath. A second passes, and a spinning icon appears on-screen. The next second, the login screen fades, and her home screen appears.
“Holy shit,” I murmur. “I actually did it.”
