She gasps. Arches. Gives him what he expects.
But I can see the truth. The way her eyes stay unfocused. The way her body responds on command but without genuine desire. She's faking it. For him. Because it's easier than explaining why she can't feel anything.
Then his fingers push inside her.
I see red.
Literally. Everything goes red. Vision narrows to a pinpoint. Blood roaring in my ears. Hands trembling so violently I almost drop the laptop.
Inside her. His fingers. Inside. My. Woman.
"Boss," Yuri says urgently. "Boss, you want me to go in there? I can—"
"NO!" I snarl. "Nobody moves. Nobody fucking moves."
"But Boss, he's—"
"I KNOW WHAT HE'S DOING!" My voice cracks the air like a whip. "Just—just watch. I need to—" I can't finish. Can't explain why I'm torturing myself like this. Why I need to see every second of this violation.
Maybe because I deserve it. Maybe because this is my punishment for leaving her. For making her so lonely that she'd let a stranger touch her just to feel less empty.
Or maybe because I'm a sick fuck who needs to catalog every moment so I know exactly what I'm avenging when I finally snap his neck.
His fingers move inside her. In and out. Curling. Searching. She's not wet enough. I can tell from the way she winces, the way her body tenses despite the moans she forces out.
He doesn't notice. Or doesn't care. "You're so tight," he says against her neck.
I taste blood. Bitten through my cheek without realizing.
My hands are shaking so hard the laptop screen blurs. I want to destroy him. Want to tear him apart piece by piece. Want to make him understand what happens to men who touch things that don't belong to them.
But I don't move. Can't move. Trapped. Forced to watch every second. Every violation. My woman. Mine. And I'm sitting here three houses away watching another man's fingers inside her while rage eats me alive from the inside out.
The lights flicker on screen. Once. Twice. The shadows in the corners thicken dramatically. Move with purpose. Alive in ways shadows shouldn't be.
Her ghosts. They're furious.
Good. At least something in that house has sense.
Oliver pulls his hand away. Sits up. "That's weird."
The lights flicker again, longer this time. The cold intensifies—I can see their breath fogging now.
"Is your wiring okay?" he asks, pulling his hand away and sitting up.
"It's fine."
"It's freezing in here." His breath fogs too now, confusion crossing his perfect features.
"Old house." The lie comes automatically.
The shadows reach closer, almost touching him now. I can feel their rage—protective, possessive, furious that this stranger dared touch what belongs to them. What belongs to him.
The lights flicker again and die completely, plunging us into absolute darkness on the feed—just the faint glow of emergency lighting from the hallway.
I lean closer to the screen, every nerve screaming, willing her to stay strong. To send him away.
Fucker move. Leave or I will lose my shit, and I will come and drag you out.
