that my boss provided. Three monitors display feeds from four different cameras. Each one shows a different room or angle of the apartment just below mine.
The one where Wren lives.
His apartment was bugged the day after he moved in. While Wren was off dealing with his duties as an escort one night, I snuck in and placed the cameras and microphones wherever I thought they’d provide the best vantage point. It’s why the boss chose me after all. I’m not really a financier...just a guy who’s really good at surveillance.
And I’ve never felt bad about it before. Not really anyway.
Now, however, just glancing at those screens gives me heart burn. Especially because it looks like Wren is getting ready for a shower. It seems our kiss on the front stoop worked him up a bit more than he was letting on.
I don’t know why that makes me happy.
It shouldn’t. I was doing it to take advantage of him. My whole intention was to deceive him. To get under his skin and distract him. But my attraction to him makes it hard for me to regret that kiss.
I turn my back on the monitoring devices as he starts to strip out of his clothing. My skin is flushed, and my cock is starting to swell. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to watch him. After weeks of monitoring him, I’ve seen him naked plenty of times.
But now, for some reason, it’s eating away at me.
Anger fills my chest as I yank the door shut and head into the bedroom across the hall. An expensive king-sized bed dominates the room. It’s made up with a luxurious duvet and sheets with a sinfully high thread count. Just like everything else in this godforsaken apartment, it’s all part of my mask.
My deception.
It’s not like I’m ever going to risk bringing Wren into the apartment. I can’t take the chance that he might find the monitoring devices. Any seduction will have to take place in his apartment...under the watchful eye of the cameras.
I shake away those thoughts. My nausea is at an all-time high, but I bite it back. I can’t afford to grow a conscience now. There are more important things at stake. My soul is already stained with countless sins anyway, so what’s one more?
Stripping out of my clothes, I leave them in a pile in the middle of the floor and head to the closet. The suits inside are not of my choosing. They’re all carefully tailored to my measurements. All of the highest quality. High end, designer, made from the best fabrics.
But not me at all.
A past version of myself might have been impressed, but right now, I’m mostly just annoyed. I don’t even own my own clothes. Everything about me has been fabricated by the man holding my leash.
Almost everything.
Tucked back in the bottom of the closet is a duffle bag. I drag it out and toss it onto the bed. The clothes inside aren’t quite as nice, but they’re familiar and they’re all mine. I pull out a few pieces, draping them over my arm. I end up with a comfy pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt with a faded Stanford logo, my favorite boxer shorts, and some socks with a hole in one toe.
Whenever I’m starting to feel a little unhinged and adrift, I can take solace in these ties to my true self. The person I really am. At least that’s always helped in the past.
Inside the bathroom, I set the clothes on the counter by the sink and turn on the shower. It’s time to wash away the remnants of my mask.
Too hot water pounds against my skin as steam billows into the air around me. I revel in the discomfort, letting the heat chase away the demons in my head.
It might sound dumb, but the only way I’ve managed to survive this long is by compartmentalizing everything. This ritual, bathing in scalding hot water, is a kind of signal that lets me shut off the me that works for the scum of the earth and spies on desperate omegas who just want to be free.
I can momentarily escape from the darkness that I’ve allowed to become my daily life and revisit the person I wish I could be. The one who still believes I can be a good person.
Steam rises from my skin as I step out of the shower and dry myself. Wiping the condensation from the bathroom mirror, I gaze at