Like a ghost who wanted to be noticed without leaving footprints.
I took my time walking the hall, fingertips grazing the wall like I was reading Braille. Every detail told a story.
A chair, slightly askew.
Not sloppy—angled, like she’d sat, hesitated, left.
A cabinet door left open just enough to speak.
The scent of her perfume still hanging in the air—warm, sweet, and so obviously hers it hurt.
She’d found the study.
And she hadn’t said a word.
Even better.
Because silence?
Silence is where power fermented.
Anger cooled into resolve.
Fear twisted into obsession.
And when she didn’t scream?
That was when I knew the game was working.
I smiled.
Let the tension melt into me like honey on a blade.
She was brewing, letting all those delicious questions fester in that brilliant little mind…
How long had I been watching her?
How deep did my plan go?
What else had I hidden in plain sight?
She was learning the truth in slow, sharp doses.
And that was exactly how I wanted it.
My steps echoed soft and slow down the hallway, every movement intentional.
Not a king returning to his castle.
A god descending into his temple.
I passed her door.
Didn’t stop.
She’d already invited me in—with her curiosity, her defiance, her need to know.
I reached my office and paused in the doorway.
